About Shutter Speed: A Roughstock Story
Written by BA Tortuga
Kelly is used to spoiled rotten celebrities and jerks in his line of work as a photographer, especially in Nashville. When he meets Garret, a Texas bull rider, he figures the man is just another redneck with an attitude. Garret takes exception to Kelly's smart mouth, and proves Kelly right when he picks a fight.
Garret isn't sorry that he shut Kelly up, but when he gets to know a little more about the hot young artist, he decides it's time to cowboy up and apologize. He offers to take Kelly out for a beer, hoping that it might lead to more. Can Garret and Kelly learn to get along long enough to find some common ground?
Kelly was working the post-event dance, climbing on chairs to get the money shots of drunken hillbillies with scantily clad women draped over their arms.
It was fascinating.
Testosterone city, but fascinating.
A little like a weird-assed high school fantasy, but fascinating.
He dragged a chair around one table, climbed up and tilted his flash, looking for the shot. Just about the time he clicked the shutter, something jostled him hard, losing the focus.
"God damn it." Kelly glared down. "Easy. Don't kill the event photog."
A square-jawed cowboy glared back, blue eyes flashing fire, even with the bad light. "Well, maybe he ought not put a chair out where people will run into it."
"Don't you have an appointment with a ballroom dance class?" Asshole.
"You really are a shit, ain't you? I mean, I chalked it up to bad manners and a bad mood, but you're solid gold fucker."
The man had the broadest shoulders Kelly had ever seen, and even if he was skinny, he was taller than a bull rider was supposed to be. Right? A lot taller.
"Whatever, man. Go back and ride something horny, huh? I'm working." Working and not in the mood for bullshit. Why he couldn't have pulled the Carrie Linders concert, he didn't know.
"So am I." The guy had a good, deep growl, considering his medium tenor voice.
Kelly rolled his eyes, took a deep breath. "Look, as fun as it is, having a little snarkfest with you, if I don't get some good shots, I don't pay my rent, which I'm sure you understand. So go shake your moneymaker, I'll make your shoulders look broad and we'll all be fucking happy." Then he could head down Broadway and get laid.
"No. No, I don't think so." The drawly Neanderthal grabbed him and yanked him down off the chair, hauling him toward a mostly hidden side door.
"What the fuck?" Kelly fought to get his feet under him, but his boots were more for fashion than use and he couldn't get traction. Asshole from cowboy country had good treads on his damned boots, and kept him stumbling all the way out. The door slammed behind him, the sudden quiet disorienting.
Great. He was going to get the shit beaten out of him by a fucking square-jawed asshole. "If you hurt my Nikon, I'll sue your ass until you glow in the dark." If he lost it, he lost everything.
"Oh, I ain't after your camera. Put it down if you want. Then I'll tear you a new one." Clenched fists, clenched jaw. Yeah. The guy wanted a piece of him.
"Okay." He could survive a fight, if he had his camera.
He turned, found a safe place for his baby and sighed. He hated cowboy assholes. Really.
"Come on, man. Quit stalling." Shit, the guy was impatient.