"…a beaver."
I let my answer hang in the air without further comment, at first. When it lands, the expected titters and chuckles float up from the audience. After everything that's happened today, why the hell not?
"If you think about it, beavers are determined to get their way. Well, I can relate. This beaver," I say, pointing at myself, "Always gets her way. And that's all there is to say about that. Thank you very much!”
Chapter Nine
Jet
I'm still laughing at my Rocket's answer to that ridiculous question when the governor gestures for all of us judges to huddle together for a quick confab.
The poise and congeniality portion of the event is finished, and we're tallying up our votes.
"I gotta tell you folks. I wasn't sure about the idea of including someone like Aleesha in this contest, but after all, it's not my pageant. I think she's the clear winner," the governor marvels. His tone changes after he glances around to make sure nobody is listening. "I'm going to catch hell for voting this way — that young lady Paris's daddy runs the biggest meatpacking company in the state, and he thinks he can buy my vote, but that daughter of his made my ears bleed with her screeching and wailing and carrying on. Aleesha's magic show, on the other hand… Did you see the way she put a knife through her hand? I still can't figure out how there was not a drop of blood."
I nod my head in agreement, as do the other judges. The one wearing a tiara and a sash from last year nods enthusiastically. "I for one can't stand magic shows, but that was exciting to watch. I think we know all know who the next Butter Queen is."
Chapter Ten
Rocket
At the end of the day, I don't lose because Paris got to me, and neither do I lose because I dropped my baton, lit up the stage, and described myself as a beaver.
I lost because Aleesha freaking destroyed us all. She earned it.
But the best part of all was when the governor stood up to deliver an unprecedented announcement.
"It's never fun to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm afraid that we judges have just learned about an incident of sabotage at the pageant. The police and fire department are investigating food poisoning, injury, and arson. I cannot comment other than to say that our first runner-up has been disqualified, and instead our first runner-up is Rocket Montgomery!"
I'm both elated and mortified as I shoot Jet with a questioning look. His expression and hand gestures tell me he is not responsible for me earning the votes for this title, and I've won it on merit alone.
I try to keep my calm as the governor comes over to pin on my ribbon. I can feel Jet's eyes shooting guided missiles into the governor's back for daring to touch me. I'm not against the idea of this little bit of jealously I feel coming off of him from twenty feet away.
Bursting into happy tears as Harley Jensen attaches the Butter Queen crown on top of Aleesha's head, I sashay over to help her don her title sash. I'm genuinely so happy for her.
Jet's eyes are boring into me, and he looks like he's going to bust out a caveman club and drag me away by my hair. Honestly, I don't hate that image.
"Aleesha, I know I'm supposed to stay for the photoshoot but…"
"Don't even start with your excuses. I see what's going on here," she interrupts. For a moment I'm terrified, but then her face breaks into a laugh. "Rocket, go on and get him before I tell everybody that I saw you two go off to dry hump in the back of the butter sculpture truck. Imagine if someone drove that truck to the exhibition hall and opened it, a thousand people waiting to see it, and there you were, with that flyboy all up in your business."
"You saw us go in there?"
Aleesha rolls her eyes. "Go on and get."
I turn and run smack into Jet's chest. "Oh! Hi. Listen. Give me five minutes in the tent to change, and I'll meet you outside."
Although I'm keeping my eyes straight ahead, I still can't help but take a ridiculous amount of enjoyment at seeing Paris in my peripheral vision backstage, dabbing at crocodile tears while undergoing the third degree from Cameron and the state fair president himself. It takes everything in me not to stop and ask if anyone needs a witness testimony to her shenanigans, but big things are about to happen to me. At least, one very big thing, the thought of which is making me salivate.
* * *
Makeup removed, changed into my comfortable T-shirt, cutoffs, and sandals, I gather up my garment bags and luggage as quickly as I can.
When I open the tent flap, Jet is already there.
I expect him to make a fuss about all my luggage, but he says nothing as he takes every piece of it off my hands.
I show him the way to my car—being a pageant contestant affords me a close parking spot adjacent to the stage. When he loads all my stuff in my trunk, he opens my driver's door for me.
"I thought you were going to ask for the keys. Most men can't stand riding shotgun with their girlfriend."
The sensation of Jet's index finger sliding between my denim waistband and the skin just below my navel sends prickles of heat skittering all over my lower half.
"Who gives a shit about that? Unless you want me to take the wheel because you're tired." He drives his mouth over mine in a searing kiss, sucking my bottom lip into his warm mouth, his index finger tugging at my waistband and slipping lower against my bare skin, and I moan. His one naughty
