Page 31 of Eight Seconds

“Hey!” I look between them. “I actually know what to look for. And I can be impartial.”

“No, you can’t,” they say in unison, and I can’t help but shrug in agreement. The words sounded false when I offered them.

“We each pick two people in there to judge. In the event of a tie, the operator breaks it,” Charlotte finishes setting up the bet, extending her hand for Travis. He nods, clasping her hand, and I can’t help but shake my head as I follow them into the bar.

* * *

It’s been a couple of hours of drinks and dancing before Charlotte slams back a shot of amber liquid and calls to Travis across the high-top table we’re at.

“Time to put up or shut up.” Her eyes are bright, and her skin is slightly flushed from the alcohol and atmosphere. The jean jacket lays across the back of our tall chairs, and her hair has abandoned all pretense of being contained by a messy braid. The ebony strands float around her shoulders, and I smile as she spins to kiss me. I like the whiskey taste of her lips, but before I can sip too long at them, she breaks and starts strutting to the padded riding ring. Travis stands and we both make to follow her. I grab my friend’s shoulder and turn him to face me.

“I’m not asking you to lose,” I start, infusing my voice with the deepest sincerity I can while conveying my warning. “But if you do anything—and I meananything—to cause her to get hurt, I don’t care that you’re my best friend. I?—”

“Nothing’s going to happen. It’s just a little fun. We both found our own judges, and the operator has his own bouncer.” He indicates the small booth where a balding man in a too-tight Budweiser shirt sits behind a control panel. My eyes flick to the burly man standing near the door with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. I truly don’t believe Travis would do anything to hurt Charlotte, but I wouldn’t put it past him to make it harder on her just to preserve his ego. “Unlike last time, this is on the up and up.” Travis squeezes my arm in reassurance before leaning in so his words are just between us. “But I still want to fucking win.”

“She’s going to kick your ass.” I push off him, laughing as I chase after my girl.

I find Charlotte near the entrance to the ring, stretching her arms and neck. She looks like she’s getting ready for a boxing match instead of taking a ride on a mechanical bull. As the defending champ in this bet, Travis has insisted he goes first, so I wrap her in my arms and pull her against my chest. She’s warm and soft in all the ways I’ve come to love as she rests back against me, notching her head at my shoulder to turn her face up and gift me a blinding smile.

We turn at the announcement of Travis’ ride, watching him enter the ring and mount the padded pommel that makes up the “bull.” He settles in naturally, hooking his hand into the hold and scooting up close to the handle.

“Use your dominant hand to hold on, baby,” I whisper into Charlotte’s ear. The music kicks up, and the bull starts to move. It takes slow, steady turns as it warms up. I lean down further, dropping more tips for riding as I see them. “When the head dips, move toward it so you don’t fall off the back.” The bull picks up speed. “Keep your upper body loose and use your free arm to counterbalance the turns, but squeeze your thighs as tight as possible.”

“Can I pretend I’m squeezing your head?” Charlotte presses her ass back on me, and I groan at the sensation as well as the visual she provides. I love being between this woman’s thighs. I drop my forehead to her shoulder, biting the inside of my cheek when she rotates her hips against me. The motion stirs my cock, and I reach between us to adjust myself in an attempt to get more comfortable.

“What are you doing to me?” I grumble as an honest-to-God whimper passes between my lips.

“Showing you exactly how I plan to win,” Charlotte says, and I look up to realize she’s moving in time with the motion of the bull. Travis is selling the shit out of his ride, all style and professionalism that has drawn a lot of applause from the gathered crowd. The alarm blares, signifying the end of the eight seconds. The operator gives the bull one more vicious turn, but Travis swings a leg over, letting the force of it throw him off. He lands perfectly on his feet and pumps his fists. I grip Charlotte’s hips, pushing her toward the ring with a swat against her ass.

“Good ride, baby.”

She tosses her hat back at me, which I quickly use to hide my half-hard cock. Her eyes follow my movements, and she winks before passing Travis and walking into the ring. She crosses to the control booth, leaning over to have a word with the operator. The crowd is still cheering when Travis comes to stand beside me at the barrier. We look over to where the judges have raised their scores on napkins. Travis’ pair—a bouncy blonde in tight jeans and her less than enthusiastic boyfriend Travis didn’t realize wouldn’t let her participate without him—hold up a ten and an eight, respectfully. Charlotte’s frat boy duo hold up a nine and an eight to the delight of the patrons.

“Your girl is going to have a tough time beating that,” Travis says, leaning forward on the barrier, pushing his hat back to watch Charlotte climb the bull. The asshole didn’t even lose his hat during his ride.

“I’d never count Charlie out. Especially when she wants to win.”

Charlotte settles on the padded seat. She shakes her head, making the ebony strands catch the light. With false innocence, she gathers the material of her dress with both hands, pulling it up her legs to flash a fair amount of thigh to the crowd. She rotates her hips as if she’s getting familiar with the bull, but it’s also intentionally suggestive. I glance back to the panel of judges, smiling shrewdly when I realize that Charlotte’s pair are chugging their beers with one hand and high-fiving with the other before pointing. There’s a part of me—the possessive, jealous part—that hates how they stare at my girl, but I push it down. This is a keen strategy, and my feelings are soothed when Charlotte looks over her shoulder to blow me a kiss.

A familiar song starts up, the crowd losing their minds for the biggest cliché of the rodeo: “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” and I know in that moment, Charlotte’s going to win.

18

CHARLOTTE

DURANGO, COLORADO — OCTOBER

My skin buzzes the same way it does after a race. But considering I just beat a bull rider at his own game, I guess winning is winning. Wilder and I haven’t been able to stop laughing about the look on Travis’ face when the “judges” came back with three perfect tens and a seven from the blonde. She was furiously slapping her boyfriend’s shoulder for his score, which only made us laugh harder.

“He really wanted a rematch,” Wilder says from the driver’s seat. We’re making our way back to Travis’ place. He stayed at the bar to find a way to ease his bruised ego.

“Not going to happen.” I lean my head back and smile. “Those tricks only work once, but they were well worth it.”

“Damn fucking right, they were.” Wilder’s hand lands on my thigh, warm and heavy. He flicks the hem of my dress up, running his calloused fingers teasingly higher against my sensitive skin. “But I gotta tell you, seeing all those men watch you ride got my blood boiling, baby.”

With one hand, he turns the truck off the road and into the frontage of Travis’ house, the vast acreage stretching out behind it. The faint orange glow of the lights inside splash onto the dirt and dried grass of the yard, giving us ample light to walk the broken flagstone path to the porch.

“You feeling jealous?” I tease as Wilder sets the truck in park, and I hop out. There’s a tiny growl from the cab as I close the door. He hates that I don’t let him open my side and help me out, but if I did that, I wouldn’t get to see his adorably annoyed expression when he catches up. Right now, Wilder doesn’t have that look on his face.

---