“Unrealistic? You ever ridden a real bull, son? A real one would break your back and gore you faster than you can blink. Bessie here is a cakewalk.”
The kid looks at me with horror before bolting over to his group of friends.
“Gee, you really have a way with kids. You’re a natural.”
I turn to my right to see where the breathy voice is coming from when my eyes land on a pair of brand-new shiny cowboy boots on bare, shapely legs.
“Best they know the truth. You can get seriously hurt or killed out here if you don’t respect the land and the animals.” I shake out the glove and stare across the field. “Had to deal with it firsthand with these damn transplants and tourists,” I mutter slightly under my breath but loud enough that she hears.
“Even the fake mechanical ones?” She’s being sarcastic and I won’t lie, it’s fucking sexy. I like a little attitude in a woman. Makes it challenging.
I turn my attention back to the bull, trying my damndest not to notice the way her plump ass fills out her tight denim shorts. Her lips are a shiny red, matching the print of her flannel shirt and her fingernails.
“So what do I get if I win?”
I turn back to face her, an eyebrow instinctively rising as I give her an obvious once-over. “You’re going to ride the bull?”
“Yeah,” she shrugs, “why the hell not?”
She takes off her fake cowboy hat and situates it between her thighs as she pulls her long blonde hair up into a high ponytail, her curls bouncing at the end.
“Just don’t seem the type.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her full tits together right in my line of vision. She juts out one hip, cocking her head to the side.
“Oh yeah? And what type do I seem like?”
I can’t help but chuckle as my eyes drop back down to her boots. I make no effort to hide my gaze as it slowly travels up her curvy body, pausing briefly on her full hips.
I wonder what it would be like to grip those hips as she rides me.
“Like a little tourist who’s wearing a costume of what she thinks Colorado people dress like.”
“You seem to like it.” A coy smile spreads across her lips as she reaches for the glove in my hand.
“You’re just missing a cow-print vest and a six-shooter, little miss tourist.” I smile and she looks at me questioningly. “Then you’d complete your look of Woody from Toy Story.” She rolls her eyes as I let out a hearty laugh.
“Give me that!” She snatches the glove from my hand and tugs it onto her manicured fingers. “I’ve gotten several compliments on my outfit today, so you can suck it.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, sweetheart. I bet everyone was really impressed with your Amazon cowboy hat and belt buckle.”
“Stop flirting with me and go over the rules so I can ride this damn bull.”
Flirting? She thinks I’m flirting with her? Wait . . . am I flirting with her?
“Make sure that glove is on your dominant hand; you’ll grip the strap with that. Your other hand has to be in the air and can’t be touching the saddle or any part of the bull. You can squeeze the bull with your thighs, and here’s a tip: Try to move your body with it, otherwise you’ll just get thrown off and it’ll hurt like hell. I’ll flip the switch and you try to stay on, simple as that.”
“So, you never answered me. What do I get if I can last the entire time?”
“Same as everyone else,” I say, “bragging rights.”
She tilts her head. “That’s not going to work. We need something that will motivate me.”
I hesitate because I know I shouldn’t be flirting with the guests, let alone someone who looks at least a decade younger than me. But I ask anyway . . .
“What do you want?”
She taps her chin and squints one eye like she’s deep in thought. “A date.”