Bullheaded

when he realized the man was looking directly at him.
    After that he was painfully conscious that the man’s gaze was mostly on him, whether he was dancing away from a bull or just hanging at the sides checking in with Vern and Reese. It made him nervous, and he thought up all kinds of lurid reasons some rabid bull-riding fan might be looking at him. Maybe he was a reporter and had spotted Johnny at a gay club. Maybe he was someone Cody knew—but that didn’t make sense. There was no need to stalk him; the schedule for the touring division was online.
    Someone from his home state? Whatever the man’s reason, he paid more attention to the bullfighters than the riders, which was unusual. Johnny tried to stare him down at one point, but the man was irrepressible. He licked his lips with a feral grin that all but said, Eventually you’re going to be in my bed and I’m going to fuck the daylights out of you . It was as if the man had growled it in his ear, Johnny heard it so clearly.
    The unusual attention got him so distracted, Johnny made a mistake that could have cost him dearly. When the bull slammed him back into the fence, he managed to take the brunt of the metal on the fleshiest part of his buttocks, but it was going to leave a mark. It wasn’t the worst injury he’d had in the ring, but it was the most avoidable and humiliating and it was all his own fault. He knew Vern would call him on it later, and he would be right.
    After the final ride, Johnny sat with Vern and Reese in their changing room for the usual review and prayer. He wasn’t surprised when Vern pointed out his mistake first thing.
    “Staring into the stands for at least half the night,” Vern said with disapproval. “You gotta focus on what’s happening in the ring. That’s where the action is. Our lives and the riders’ safety are in your hands.”
    “We got your back, but you gotta have ours,” Reese put in. “Your paycheck is in the ring, not in the stands.”
    Johnny knew he’d fucked up bad if Reese felt he had to say something. “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”
    “If there’s some cute girl in the audience giving you the come-hither eye, she’ll just have to wait,” Vern continued. “You’re getting paid to do a job and you’ll do it while I’m in charge.” The implication was clear. Vern had put him on the team and he could kick him off at any time.
    “Yes, sir.” Johnny made no excuse. There was none that could be acceptable in their line of work. “I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”
    Vern gave a firm nod, as if pleased that Johnny didn’t try to defend himself. “I respect that you can admit to it, but don’t never let me see you mooning over some filly again. Reese, you did a great job tonight.”
    Feeling too ashamed to walk out with the other two men, Johnny took a long shower to ditch them. Besides, he needed some hot water therapy on his ass where he’d slammed the rail. He’d wanted to explain himself to Vern, but he knew how it would sound if he claimed his lapse was due to eyeballing a potential stalker, rather than a flirtation. If he wouldn’t want to hear it, neither would they. This wasn’t like putting a letter in the wrong file; someone could die or get badly injured because of his sloppy performance.
    Therefore, when he saw the man with silver hair standing outside the venue and casually smoking a cigar like he didn’t have a care in the world, Johnny snapped at him.
    “What the fuck?”
    “Exactly,” the man answered in a deep, growly voice that matched Johnny’s imagination perfectly. He held out his hand. “March Avery. And your name is?”
    “None of your business.”
    Ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, Johnny walked right past him, but the man showed no sign of irritation. “I was hoping to ask you to join me for dinner and drinks.”
    “You can ask.”
    “I’m not stupid enough to ask questions when I know the answer will be no. The art of negotiation is not to ask until the answer is yes.” March gave a rich, deep chuckle. “You haven’t even known me five minutes and you’re already pissed off at me. That might be a new record.”
    “Great. Guess we can call it a night then.”
    The man caught up to Johnny and fell into step. “I’d like to have a shot at convincing you to at least let me buy you a beer.”
    “You’re a persistent bastard.”
    “And that’s bad because?” March chuckled again. “I know you’ll be in town until