“Bull riding.”
Beck shot him a glare, and he held his hand up.
“Hear me out. I want to do an annual invitational. Get the big names up here, something little and up-close, so fans from all over would want to come. If I make it close to an event up north, I’ll get a good stock contractor. It’s a way to do…what I know to do.”
“Bull riding.” Beck stared at him, a curious grin tugging at the corner of those perfect lips. “You could get sponsors, no problem, I bet.”
“Cody already says the League is in. Hotels, restaurants—it would be one weekend a year. We could travel and do what we wanted, but I’d have a thing.”
“A big thing. A thing that could take most of the year to plan and put together. A thing with your name on it. The Skyler Paulson Invitational.” Beck looked pretty into it if that grin was anything to go by.
“Yeah. I was talking to Trish and she was talking about wanting to see a bull-riding. One weekend a year should be good work for one man.” He squeezed Beck’s hand. “It’s doable, I think. At least once.”
“The second time is easier.” Beck winked at him. “When?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to sit down with the suits, find out what venues are available. There are a bunch of things to do, but I got time to try this.” He had a basic plan, seed money, and time. And he was used to dealing with folks—all sorts, from sponsors to event managers to animal activists.
“Well, I think it’s brilliant, and I think you’re going to rock it.” Beck leaned over and kissed him. “How about I take you out to dinner to celebrate?”
“Yeah? I think…it’s a good idea. I do.” And he was sort of stupidly glad that Beck thought so too. “I’d love to go out with you.”
It hit him, square in the chest, how he could do this—have an idea, share it with his husband. Go out together and celebrate.
“Great. I’m going to change really quick. You think about what you want to eat.” Beck’s smile was open and genuine, and it felt good having Beck in his corner too. Beck hopped up, headed for the stairs. “If you start now, you might have enough put together before finals to make it part of your retirement announcement. Even if you don’t have dates, you know the league is in. Good publicity, right?”
Beck winked again and then disappeared upstairs.
Turd.
Beck was right, but he was still a turd.
“I want a steak and a baked potato,” he called up.
“And wine!” Beck’s voice floated down from upstairs. “I know just the place.”
When Beck appeared again, he’d lost the suit he’d worn to court that day and was in soft jeans and a button-down. “You feel like dancing?”
“Look at you. You’re the finest thing I’ve ever seen.” Beck made his mouth dry.
His husband did like compliments. Beck’s shoulders looked broader all of a sudden. “Thank you, Stud. Let’s go get some wine in you, so I can have my way with you later.”
“Hell yeah. A little wine, a little love?” He was all in. Maybe a lot of love.
“A little wine and an all-nighter. Tomorrow is Saturday.” Beck cupped his ass with a hot hand on the way out to the Jeep.
“Hell, yeah. We’ll grab doughnuts for tomorrow on our way home. Then we can sleep in.” He lifted his face for a kiss.
The one he got left him breathless for the first mile on the way to supper.
25
“Iwant to go home.”
They stepped out of the gangway into McCarran, and the noise of the slot machines and the advertisements and all the people was huge. Welcome to Las Vegas.
Sky winked at Beck, easing the desperation of his words, pulled his hat down, and headed to the tram for baggage. “I’m having a car pick us up here, so we don’t have to mess with the lines.”
“You can’t go home yet, Champ. You haven’t been studly and badass yet.” Beck grinned at him.