Page 104 of The Other Guy

My body turns to mush and I relax against his side when he shifts our chairs so we can watch the mechanical bull together. I used to always scoff and make fun of those couples who’d slide into the same side of a booth and no one would join them. I’m eating all those words. There’s something to it, even though we’re on individual chairs rather than a booth seat. It’s cozy and a little romantic. Maybe it’s the knowledge that he wants me close or maybe it’s simply being close to him. Whatever the reason, I like it.

“In all seriousness,” Jack says, his arm on the table in front of us, playing with my fingers. “I’m glad you met Mallory and I’m really glad you two got along well.”

“Sierra Harthorn,” someone by the bull calls out.

“Oh, shit. That’s me!”

“It is. Good thing you told me your last name, huh?”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Good thing.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. How about we make a wager? Who can stay on longer.”

“No way. You’ll win. This is my first time and you’re probably an old pro.”

“Pro? Not hardly.”

I place my hands on my hips and stare up at him. So handsome as he smiles down, staring into my eyes. “What’s the wager?”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Hmm. I can think of plenty that I want from you.”

“Oh, really?” I sass, popping my hip out a little. “Like what?”

His lips brush my ear, his hot breath ghosting across my sensitive skin. “Nothing appropriate to say out loud in public.”

I like that more than I should. As evidence, my stomach clenches, my entire body quivers, and mouth goes dry. I want to shift and rub my legs together to alleviate the ache that’s already building. It always seems to be simmering at the surface when I’m around him.

We walk over to the bull and the enthusiastic employee standing next to it, ready to put me through hell. I want to push her down and run away but I’m not going to. Because I’m strong and capable of mounting up on this bull and making a complete ass out of myself. Just like the fourteen people before me have done. And just like Jack will do after me.

“Let’s do this.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Jack says with a gentle slap to my ass.

I look over my shoulder at him and wink.

I take a deep breath and listen carefully to the very (too short, if you ask me) list of instructions and climb on. Mount up. Straddle. Whatever. I get on the damn mechanical bull, stick my arm in the air, hold on for dear life with the other.

The bull starts to move and I’m pretty sure I’m about to make this mechanical bull my bitch because this is way easier than I expected it to be. It’s a slow roll back and forth.

Until…

The slow is no longer part of the equation.

And the back and forth is no longer the only direction. It’s twisting and turning and bucking and I’m sliding, sliding, sliding…

I right myself up and try to rearrange myself but doing that and holding on at the same time is really, really, freaking hard. Like waaaay harder than it should be. I briefly wonder what Jack is thinking. He’s probably like well, looks like I’m gonna have to be on top forever and ever because this chick ain’t got what it takes and that shakes me up because I CAN BE ON TOP! I’m great on top. Just ask anyone!

Or don’t.

Because that’d be really weird.

I keep bouncing around and my crotch jams into the front handle kind of hard and I wince because… well, ouch! How do guys do this?

And then it picks up speed again. Of course it does, right? Like, why wouldn’t it? It’s apparently unacceptable for someone to just have a relaxing ride. It’s gotta be maniacal.

But I manage just fine. Not really but I try my hardest, until I’m flat on my back on the cushioned mat below. I blink up at the ceiling and wonder how in the world that happened.

Jack’s incredibly handsome and smiling face peers down at me, his arm extended to help me up. I hold on, laughing and happy, as he jerks me to standing and I pop up on a little hop.

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