Sometimes we get lucky and get real steer wrestlers in here but not so much anymore. Each month, this place drops down a notch. The money coming in seems to be the same, but upkeep isn’t being maintained, and my father keeps cutting more staff. Things are starting to fall apart. At least that's how it seems to me.

Both Nina and the man she’s talking to finally notice that I’m here. I’ve got my hip pressed against the stand she worked tonight slinging canned beer, and my feet are killing me. Normally I can go all day in boots, but we’d been short-staffed, and I had to do a list of other things tonight that I usually don’t. One was cleaning stalls.

I don’t mind doing it, but at this point I’m pushing sixteen hours on my feet for the third day in a row. I could’ve been in sneakers and my feet would still be killing me. All I want to do is sit down and do what I need to do to get out of here and back to my trailer in the parking lot.

“And who are you?” the man drawls. His eyes roam up and down my body, and I fight not to fidget. I’m used to the looks, I'm just never sure what kind of stares they are.

All the girls that work here wear the same thing. It doesn't matter that my father owns the place, I’ve gotta wear it too. Our uniforms consist of jean shorts and a tight black V-neck tank top. The only problem is, all the other girls are tiny in comparison to me. They fit into the uniform the way you’re supposed to. Or I suppose the body type that was imagined when it was created. Me? Not so much.

I’ve got curves everywhere, and they are begging to escape these tight clothes. Some men turn their noses up at my size, and others have some kind of kink for chubby girls. No, thanks. Oh, I want a man to want and enjoy my body, but not because it’s all he sees. With how slowly this man’s eyes roam up and down my body, I’m not sure where he falls, and I don’t care.

“Trashy.” Nina snorts as she answers the guy. “I mean Tracy,” she corrects with another laugh as if she didn't mean to call me the terrible nickname. The worst part is it doesn’t bother me. Somehow, I’ve grown used to it. Or maybe I’m lying to myself in hopes that if I give no reaction people will stop using the stupid name, but it’s been years, so that’s not working either. “She’s no one.”

“She could be a third.” The man smirks, but Nina’s smile dies. In fact, her whole face starts to turn red, and she’s pissed.

“You couldn’t stay on the bull for two seconds and you think you can not only handle two girls, but one that big?” She points her thumb toward me, and I almost want to laugh because it’s kind of funny.