Part 15 (2/2)

It was hard to tell who turned to stare at her quicker-me or the trooper in distress.

”Did you hear that, Tiara? He's with her.” Keelie crossed her arms and gave Taylor one of those look-you-up-and-down numbers. ”Oh? And am I supposed to give a s.h.i.+t?”

I winced. I hoped they bleeped out the naughty words before airing.

”I have no idea whether you're supposed to give one or not,” Taylor said. ”I guess it depends on how you were raised.”

Rrrear!

Cat fight! Cat fight!

Sensing a ratings booster in the making, the cameramen moved in for a closer shot.

”I thought you two were a couple,” Keelie said, and motioned at Dixie.

”You thought wrong,” Taylor said.

I looked from Keelie to Taylor.

Thirty seconds pa.s.sed and no one blinked. Not even me.

Worth the price of admission? You betcha.

”What's the hold up?” A dwarf of a man-roly-poly and reminding me of Danny DeVito with a bad toupee-stepped between Keelie and Taylor.

”Just pre-ride meet and greet, Vinny,” Keelie said, still not taking her eyes off Taylor.

”We've got a schedule to keep, Keelie. Live blogging. Photos. Interviews. Tick-tock. Tick-tock! There'll be time for schmoozing up the local-yokels later.”

”Ah, come on, Vinny. What are you? Keelie's manager or her mother?” Tiara whined.

Keelie gave Taylor a final stare down.

”To be continued,” she said, and grabbed hold of Tiara's and Langley's arms and pulled her pals off in the direction of the bus. ”Let's leave the hicks from the sticks to their red meat and corn pone, shall we?” she said.

I watched Keelie flounce her way up the stairs of her bus. When she reached the top, she stopped, turned around, and stuck both middle fingers up in our direction.

”Tressa?” Taylor put a hand on my shoulder.

”Yeah?”

”This week. On TribRide.”

”Yes?”

”Whatever you do. Beat that b.i.a.t.c.h like a dusty saddle blanket.”

I blinked.

What just happened?

My sister just punched my ticket to ride, that's what.

Gulp.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

”A little help would be nice.”

I turned a still-sleepy gaze to where Drew Van Vleet stood fidgeting with our tandem torture devise. I sighed. One of those ”my life sucks” sighs the drama queens in all of us like to let loose with on a semi-regular basis.

I was down in the dumps even before I discovered Van Vleet had managed to find matching f.a.n.n.y packs with the Star Trek emblem.

And now? I'd have to perk up considerably just to reach glum.

My tent, clothing, toiletries, etcetera, were stowed in my Uncle Frank's Suburban-admittedly an upgrade from the big ol' trailers that generally hauled riders' belongings from each day's overnight city to the next.

I'd taken the opportunity our modest sponsors.h.i.+p provided to do a bit of TribRide clothes prep. Come on. Tell me you wouldn't take advantage of an opportunity to shop on someone else's plastic if you had a chance.

My casual attire usually consisted of tanks and T-s.h.i.+rts with cute cowgirl slogans and happy horse sentiments. For my two-wheeled work a.s.signment, however, I'd selected novelty T-s.h.i.+rts with clever biker quips.

Today's tee sported a lone biker followed by zombie stick figures with the caption: ”I ride bikes because zombies can't.”

It totally worked for me. It's like when people tell you the only time they run is if someone is chasing them with a knife. Yeah. I'm one of those.

I yawned. ”What kind of help does El Capitn require?” I asked. Besides the obvious, of course. ”Every time I try to check out the two-wheeled wonder, you tell me to back off, that I'll screw something up. Besides, I'd rather not be seen with you in that s.h.i.+rt until I have to.”

”Which reminds me.” A plastic bag smacked me in the head. ”Your Inaugural Day Team Trekkie tee. You left it behind.”

Which time?

I pulled the red s.h.i.+rt out of the bag. I wrinkled my nose.

Good grief. Along with the words, TEAM TREKKIE on the back, the s.h.i.+rt also included ads from various local merchants. I shook my head. I guess I should be thankful I wasn't sporting tat ads. h.e.l.lo. Talk about ”peddling” flesh.

I flipped the s.h.i.+rt over and saw the now familiar emblem. I let loose with a ”the h.e.l.l you say” when I noticed the word st.i.tched in white above the arch.

Stroker.

”Is this really necessary?” I said.

”You heard the bosses. They think it's a great idea.”

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