Toward the end of our walk through the rows of vendors, she found a leatherworker that makes custom chaps and tried on a pre-made pair. They were charcoal leather with ivory highlights and ornate silver details. Her ass looked like an apple that I’d trade a limb to bite.
She checked the price tag, and I saw her consider it. I’ve only known Summer for a short time, but I already know she likes nice things. Nice boots, nice skirts—quality stuff. But she hesitated with these.
“You taking up riding, cowgirl?” I’d teased.
“I already know how.” She smiled, a faraway look on her face. “It’s been a while though. I was pretty into it but quit when I got sick.” And with that, she handed the chaps back to the man and carried on into the crowd, leaving me to catch up with her after I spent a few beats staring at her perfectly round ass. Again. And wishing she’d stuck around so I could ask her more about her past.
Now, I’m back in the locker room with the other guys, trying to get my head in the game. But it keeps wandering back to Summer.
Her fingers brushing my hair away.
Her breath on my neck.
Her lips when she purses them in disapproval.
Her ass in those goddamn jeans and chaps.
“Who’s the hot new piece, Eaton?” Emmett asks from where’s he’s lounging on a bench across the room. I don’t hate Emmett, but I don’t like him either. And that has nothing to do with him breathing down my neck in the standings this season.
He pretends he’s so wholesome, all tightly cropped blond hair and big blue eyes that the girls seem to lose their minds over. But he’s a sleaze bag. Something they find out quickly when he treats them like shit the morning after he gets what he wants.
I generally stick to a one-night stand. It’s just less complicated that way. And I’m not above banging the odd buckle bunny. I’m just not a disrespectful dick about it. The difference between Emmett and me is I like women...with him, I’m not so sure. I wouldn’t want my sister stuck in an elevator with him. That’s for sure.
I also know he’s reveling in my current scandal. He sees it as an opportunity rather than something shitty that’s happened to a friend or teammate.
Yeah, I trust this fucker about as far as I can throw him. Which, considering the current state of my shoulder, is not at all.
“She’s not a new piece,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intend as I tape my hands without bothering to glance up at him.
He chuckles, like he knows he’s struck a chord I didn’t even know was there. “So, fair game then?”
“She’s my agent. So, no. Not fair game.”
Emmett props a booted foot across his knee, knowing that he has the attention of the other guys in the room now too. “I thought Kip Hamilton was your agent?”
“Yeah. And she’s his daughter.”
“Hooo boy!” He slaps his knee and laughs, his hillbilly accent really shining through right now. “So not fair game for you. But fair game for me.”
I hum in response. I’m pretty sure Summer could handle this fuckboy without my help, but I don’t like the thought of it. Not at all.
“Just ignore him.” Theo elbows me and mumbles, “You know he’s trying to throw you off.”
“You’re smart for a baby, Theo.”
He smiles and elbows me a little harder. His dad, a world-famous bull rider from Brazil, was my mentor, until a bull took him from us. So, I’ve taken Theo under my wing, and I make it my business to see him succeed. To give him all the support his old man gave to me once upon a time.
“Ready, old man?” He removes his ear buds and comes to stand in front of me. He pulls me up and then we’re off, walking through the staging area toward the din of the crowd and the flashing lights in the ring.
I drew another good bull for tonight. A real jumper. A vicious spinner. He’ll toss me like a lawn dart or give me the ride of my life. Later Gator is just that kind of bull. I’ve ridden him before, and he hated it. But I loved my score. So, here’s hoping he hates the feel of my spurs against his ribs again tonight because after that exchange, I sure as shit don’t want Emmett Bush leaping me in the standings.
People say hello, but it’s all in my periphery. This always happens to me before I step into the ring. The world melts away, and I hear nothing else. I see nothing else. My focus is singular, and I love this feeling.
Other riders take their turns. The cheering and color from the crowd becomes a backdrop for me and what I’m about to do.
Do I know a bull can kill me? Yeah. But I don’t think about that. Half the battle in this sport is mental toughness. If I think that way, who knows what will happen. I’ve always told myself as soon as I look down at a bull and feel fear rather than anticipation, that’s when I’ll know my career is done.
So instead, I turn up the swagger. The confidence. The devil-may-care smile. It’s a mask meant for the fans and competitors just as much as it’s meant for me.