I shake his hand, trying to process. A sponsorship opportunity is nothing to sneeze at—especially from a company I've never heard of, which usually means they're flush with cash and eager to make a splash.
"VitaPerform," I repeat, buying myself time to think. "What kind of products?"
"Performance supplements. Vitamins, protein powders, recovery drinks." Derek pulls out his phone, showing me their website. "We're already established in CrossFit and MMA. Rodeo's our next target market."
"This is my guy," Brittany says, sliding closer and resting her hand on my arm like she has every right to touch me. Derek glances between us, and I see him clock the possessive way she's standing, the familiarity in her touch.
I step back slightly, putting distance between us, but my mind's already working through the math. A supplement sponsorship could mean extra cash for flights back to Colorado between rodeos and more time with Kinsley without draining my savings.
"I appreciate you thinking of me," I say to Derek. "What kind of commitment are you looking for?"
"Social media presence, wearing our gear at events, maybe some promotional appearances." Derek pulls up something on his phone. "We're offering a tiered structure—base sponsorship starts at five thousand, with performance bonuses."
Five thousand would cover a lot of plane tickets. "This sounds like a good opportunity. Let me give you my number.” I rattle it off for him.
"Perfect." Derek grins. "Brittany, let's get a photo with Wyatt before we head out."
Before I can object, Brittany's pressed against my side, her arm around my waist. Derek snaps a few photos with his phone, then hands it to Brittany so she can check them.
"These are great," she says, as she taps at the screen. I catch a glimpse over her shoulder—she's cropping Derek out of the frame, making it look like it's just the two of us together. Cozy.
My stomach turns. "Brittany—"
"Thanks so much, Wyatt." She looks up at me through her lashes. “I hope this works out for you.” She and Derek disappear, and I'm left standing there with a bad taste in my mouth.
"That was weird," Jake says quietly.
"Yeah."
We head back toward our gear bags because Jake needs to get ready for his ride. The music changes and the announcer gets all excited. The horses are run into their chutes and the energy shifts.
Jake's draw tonight is a sorrel gelding called Thunder Road—a horse with more attitude than sense and a tendency to sunfish that's sent plenty of good riders to the dirt. But Jake's loose and confident as he settles in, the kind of calm that usually means a good score. He hands me his phone.
"He'll try to dump you to the right about four seconds in," I tell him, checking his rope one final time. "Counter it and ride him to the whistle."
"Thanks for the tip." Jake grins up at me from the chute right before he nods.
The chute gate flies open, and Thunder Road explodes into the arena. Jake stays centered through the horse's initial rage, his free arm finding rhythm while his riding hand stays locked in position. He starts spurring and I holler at him to, “Ride! Ride!”
The crowd's on its feet. The horse tries every trick he knows—spinning, sunfishing, trying to scrape his rider off against the fence—but Jake matches him move for move, making eight seconds look easy.
When the buzzer sounds, Jake kicks free and lands on his feet like he planned it that way. The scoreboard flashes 87 points, and the arena erupts.
I can't stop grinning. Jake points at a group of buckle bunnies in the stands and blows them a kiss. They swoon.
My phone buzzes. Kinsley:Update?
Me:Jake scored an 87.
Kinsley:Yes! Be safe. You got this.
I grin down at my phone.What I have is fifteen cowboys and cowgirls signed up for dinner in Gritstone.
Kinsley:15!! You're incredible.
For the first time in my life, I can't wait to get home. "What are you doing to me, Kinsley?" I ask quietly.
I'm not sure—but I like it and want more.