Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(3)

“The PBR ain’t the only game in town,” he reminded her.
Winnie laughed. “Don’t think the PBR isn’t aware that you spoke to the PRCA folks about jumping circuits. We didn’t address it because, given how you’ve been riding? Chances were high the situation would resolve itself and you’d get kicked off the PBR tour anyway.”

Chase fumed but kept his mouth shut as another layer of harsh reality settled in.
“I tried to get you on track. Suggesting you focus on improving your average by going back to basics. By keeping distractions during the season to a minimum. And by distractions, yes, I meant women. You don’t need me to tell you how good looking you are. But I’ll point out that even the homeliest riders in the PBR are highly sought after. Those types of women want the thrill of riding a man who rides a bull. They dream of being the wives in the stands the cameras pan to when you get a hoof to the gut. They’re star-f*ckers. It’s less about you personally than about the fact that you’re on TV every week. Or you’re talked about incessantly on the fan sites. Or your career is dissected in the trade mags. Oh, and let’s not forget the potential for the top riders to make over a million bucks in a single season. That’s mighty appealing to a woman who just has to show a little cleavage to garner your attention.”

“Got a high opinion of the PBR fans, do you, Winnie?” he half-snarled. “Because I’ll remind you, they’re paying your salary.”

She shook her finger in his face. “Do not twist this around, Chase. The fans are there to watch you ride. To get behind you in a good season. To stay behind you in a bad season. Ninety-nine percent of the PBR fans don’t want to climb into your bed. So I find it ironic that you only give a crap about the one percent of fans that do.”

Good thing the shadows hid the heat burning his cheeks and neck. He’d never had a dressing down like this. Ever.
You need it.
The fact it came from mealy-mouthed Winnie, who normally wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful? That seemed to make everything about this nightmare situation a hundred times worse.
“You have so much potential. You’re wasting it. I hope to heaven that you use this time off to pull your head out of your ass before you start that downward spiral.”

“Are you really worried about me?” he asked with total sincerity.
“No, I’m worried about the image you project. An image the PBR doesn’t need.”

“What image is that?”

“Spoiled. You, Chase McKay, are a spoiled brat.” With that, Winnie spun on her high-heeled boot and stormed off.

Smarting from the dressing down, Chase waited until he heard her car roar away before he moved and sat on a bench.
She’d called him a spoiled brat.
For Christsake, he was a twenty-eight-year-old man. He was too goddamned old to be a brat.
Wasn’t he?
How’d you react tonight after getting your ass handed to you on an easy bull?
He’d taken off to indulge in a threesome instead of sticking around to talk to the fans.
Yeah. That was kind of bratty.
How did you respond after being caught in bed with two women by PBR officials?
He’d gotten indignant. Like he was being persecuted for his bad choices. Like he was being singled out.
Yeah. That was kind of bratty behavior too.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. This was all kinds of f*cked up. But he wasn’t too delusional or self-centered to admit the astute Winnie had a point. Several of them. He didn’t have much farther to fall before he hit bottom.
And Winnie knew just where to strike the hardest blow—when it came to his family. Maybe his parents had indulged him, given him leeway with ranch chores. His brothers Quinn and Ben hadn’t minded. Had they?