6. Royal

Chapter 6

Royal

What a crazy night.

Royal sipped his beer at the bar and attempted to focus on his current environment. The bar was crowded but not shoulder to shoulder. A decent band graced the stage, and the beer on tap wasn't abysmal. Plus, there was no shortage of buckle bunnies. In all, it turned out to be one of the better after-work establishments. However, his mind kept floating to Easton alone with Maddox in the hotel room. What was going on there? What was Maddox doing? Touching Easton? I'll choke the son of a ? —

Quit it!

No, he couldn't allow his thoughts to drift to that dangerous place. That rabbit hole was best left unexplored. It wasn't a hole—more like a groundhog tunnel that kept going and going. Popping his head up in the wrong spot could get it whacked slam off. No, he needed a distraction.

"Royal Guérin," called the familiar voice over the bluegrass song.

Royal looked up from nursing his beer and at the smiling face. "Abilene Bailey." Ah! Distraction on cue. He opened his arms to welcome an embrace from the travel blogger. "What has you in these parts?"

"Why, I came to see you boys ride, of course. Quite the show tonight."

He nodded. "Yes, it was, but I can't believe you came all this way for us."

"Honestly, I wasn't going to, but you know that arena has a reputation."

Royal's smile soured. "Don't tell me you came to see one of us get killed."

"No. Don't be that way. You know I love you guys."

"Well, that's kind of a fucked-up reason to come."

"It's a job, Roy. Someone has to write it."

"That someone certainly doesn't have to be you."

Abilene twisted her face in an unflattering series of lines and wrinkles. "I don't know why you detest my job so much. I never criticize yours. It's not always teacups and roses with neat little petits fours on the side. I write the story at hand the same as you ride the bulls you draw."

Royal couldn't disagree. That was a fair assessment. Abilene was one of the few women who got it—who would crawl in and out of his bed without questions, expectations, or complaints. She was pretty perfect in that regard, and Royal was certain that her job had carved her that way. Her career was important to her. With all the traveling she did, plus her ambition to be famous and desire to see the world, she didn't have time to settle down and pump out a houseload of babies. However, time was what one made it to be. Royal figured it probably had more to do with want. Many of the men on the circuit had family, and many more of them teetered on the edge of divorce. The rodeo lifestyle wasn't for everyone. In reality, the circle was small, which was why Royal needed to appreciate his. Abilene, in an odd way, was part of it, yet he couldn't help being rubbed the wrong way by some of the articles she printed.

Yes, she considered herself a travel blogger—writing about the places she visited. But those weren't the blogs that paid the bills, although Royal knew she would never admit it to him because he'd made his feelings known. No, her bread and butter were the freelance articles she sold to gossip sites using a pseudonym. Royal had figured out her secret last year after an article about him appeared in Chaps & Chutes magazine. In the article, it mentioned his trademark blue spurs being the same color as grape hyacinths. Perhaps it had been an odd coincidence, but Royal found it curious that the article would compare his spurs to that particular flower when the only people he'd ever mentioned it to were Marcel, his mother, Abilene during pillow talk, and, of course, Easton. His mother never gave interviews, and he doubted Marcel would have remembered. Easton wouldn't have a reason to mention it. When Royal reread other articles about himself from this same author—Dusty Rooks—a pattern of small details became apparent, and the only reporter who would know about them was Abilene.

Yet, to her credit, Royal had to admit that Abilene wrote the least salacious articles, providing mostly facts without all the fluff. Of course, she did her bit of exaggerating too. And while Royal considered her a friend, he had to consider her an online journalist first. Therefore, he had to be careful of what he allowed to slip. He knew she would eventually get around to asking about Easton tonight, and there was no way he could relay what had really happened in the arena. Might as well get ahead of it.

"You're right," he said, pointing to the empty stool next to him. "Let me buy you a drink. Have a seat." He waved to a waitress before his companion could respond. "It's been a grisly night, but it always is with tough bulls. It's always a mixture of luck and skill. Luck was on the side of the beasts tonight, but fortunately, no one got injured."

Abilene quirked her brow. "No one? Is that why Easton's not here tonight—cos he's not hurt?"

"He had other plans." It wasn't a complete lie. Not exactly the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but he didn't imagine it was anything that would hurl him into the depths of purgatory either.

"Oh?"

"You know bars aren't his scene."

"Since when?"

Damn, she's going to dig. "Since forever. He hangs out to be social, but truth be known, he prefers to curl up with a good mystery book." He studied the blogger's face. She wasn't sold. "And off the record?"

"Sure," she agreed, her eyes sparkling with interest.

He could trust her, especially since what he was about to feed her wasn't juicy. "He's been taking online courses. The boy has homework."

"In what?"

"Business and broadcast."

"Really?"

"Darling, we can't do this forever, you know. There has to be an exit strategy."

"Easton's thinking about quitting?"

Shit! And this was why he disliked talking to reporters. They could read into and twist anything.

"That's not what I said. It's never too early to begin planning for the future. Procrastination is no one's lover. You can't tell me you're not stuffing away a few coins a little on the side."

A waitress approached them. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have whatever he's having," Abilene responded.

"I'll take another beer and a scotch neat."

Abilene waited until the waitress was out of earshot before angling her head and speaking. "You're in a mood. You going to tell me what's bothering you?"

Royal's lips twitched. She could read him better than most. "It's just one of those evenings. The road gets lonely."

Abilene tipped her head toward Royal's and curled her lips seductively. "Would you like for me to make it less lonely?"

Would he? The fact that his response wasn't automatic or his enthusiasm several notches higher should have given him some indication. Over the past several months, crawling in bed with random hookups had become less and less appealing. But, on the other hand, why shouldn't he? What, or rather, who did he have waiting at the hotel to scratch his itch?

"Maybe later. I need food in my gut first. I'm a growing boy, you know."

Abilene inched forward and hooked her fingers in Royal's front pockets. "I'll have you growing for sure."

His dick didn't even twitch. Damn. It's going to be one of those nights —a night that he'd have to concentrate extra hard to make stuff happen. But did he want to exert that kind of effort?

He smiled sweetly and nodded in an ambiguous acknowledgment. He'd worry about it after a nice juicy steak. It would buy him time. And who knew? Maybe something would happen between now and then that would make him more responsive . Besides, there were worse ways he could spend his evening. He could be stuck in a room with Maddox.

Dammit!

He didn't need the recurring thought of his best friend spending the evening alone with Maddox Pyrite in his head again. That was the entire point of the alcohol. He downed the remainder of his beer.