Page 27 of Ride the Sky

His approach is like a record scratch. The energy shifts. Everyone watches us like we’re a TV show they can’t turn off.

Muscles ripple around his square jaw. He doesn’t smile. His eyes have me locked in some intense gaze.

Truth is, I can’t tear my own from him.

Wild, windswept light-brown hair. A chiseled jaw dusted with stubble. Dimples women would sell their firstborn for. Wyatt’s always reminded me of a colt. Long, tall, tan. I’d set myself on fire before admitting how goddamn sexy he looks in those tight blue jeans.

I wonder if he’s kept our secrets like he promised.

I straighten. “Hell or not, I love it here.”

His boots settle inches from mine. Wyatt’s gaze drifts. I don’t miss the way those light silver-blue eyes slowly run the length of my body. The long black slip. My breasts. My face.

That’s when I remember what I look like. What I’m wearing.

I rub my mouth, hoping to erase the scarlet lipstick applied for the photoshoot.

“Been some time,” Wyatt says irritably.

Aware of eyes on us, I meet his stare with cool indifference. “Wish I could say I missed you.”

He lifts a brow. “I’d say that’s too sweet, even for you.”

Ford groans.

Defensive instincts take over, and I cross my arms. If he wants to fight, fine. I’ll bite. “I see you’re still an asshole.”

His eyes flash, anger there. “And you’re still a—”

Davis snaps his fingers. “How about we fuckin’ don’t?”

As Wyatt and I glare daggers, my fists ball like they can chase away the ache in my core. Like they can remind me of all the reasons why I have hated Wyatt Montgomery for so damn long.

One. He’s too damn handsome for his own good.

Two. He knows every way to push my buttons.

Three. For what he said years ago. He broke my heart, and I’m still not over it. I’ve held on to the petty grudge since I was sixteen.

The first time I met Wyatt, I was starstruck. He was the fastest rider I ever saw. Hewasrodeo. Dust and grit. Everything a cowboy should be. When my father told me he had signed me up for lessons, I screamed into my pillow.

Everything about it was a dream. My hero in the flesh. He’d make me a better rider.

Later that night, Dakota pops her head into my bedroom. “Better pucker up,” she teases, pointing at the poster of him above my bed.

“Shut. Up.” I bounce on my bed and chew my lower lip, remembering the way my father had looked at Wyatt earlier today. Another thing that got me bad. I had always worried my father wanted a son to carry on his legacy. It burned me that I couldn’t do that. “Dad likes him more than me.”

Dakota rolls her eyes. “Youlike him more than Dad.”

“Dakota,” I hiss. She isn’t wrong, but she doesn’t have to say it so loud. “I will kill you.”

Wyatt and I trained together for six months. Evenings and weekends by his side. We bickered, argued, but it was still one of the best times in my life.

And then he said what he said.

Tears on my pillow. Dakota stroked my back and murmured soothing motherly things to me. I vowed he’d never know how hard I cried. I hated him. This stupid cowboy.

After overhearing what I did, I considered Wyatt Montgomery my rival. As good as dead to me.

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