Page 33 of Austin
The question surprised him, coming out of nowhere as it did. “What about it?”
“Anything.”
He put a hand behind his head, the movement making him aware of his sore shoulder. “I get on. Hope the bull doesn’t throw anything my way that I can’t counter.” He wasn’t sure how much she wanted to hear. She wasn’t like the buckle bunnies, who wanted to hear anything he said in order to carve another notch in their figurative bedpost.
“Why bulls? Why not become a calf roper? Or a bronc rider?”
“Maybe because Ty is a bronc rider and he’s damned good at it, and someone accused me of being a loser, so I decided to become the best at something.”
Kristen didn’t answer immediately and when she did, she sounded suspicious. “Really?”
“Let’s say that moment caused me to think about things differently. I was never a loser. I had a plan. It just didn’t involve school. But after you, I took that plan a whole lot more seriously.”
“So you owe me.”
He gave a low laugh. “I would have been a champion regardless.”
“You’re certain?”
“Champions run in the family.” Which was true, although his dad had given up his promising rodeo career to farm and the decision had made him a bitter man after he lost the land he’d sacrificed for—which was why he lived through his two sons. He was proud as hell of Ty, who was the subject of a documentary, and prouder still of Austin, who was still out on the road, keeping the family name squarely in the limelight.
Heaven help him when he was no longer doing that. A bull rider didn’t have a long career, and what was his dad going to do when both of his sons retired?
Austin never let those thoughts hang for too long. As it was, his dad could be a royal pain while in his stage-father persona. If he didn’t have his sons to brag about and try to micromanage from a distance…again, Austin didn’t want to think about it.
“You make a lot of money at this?”
“I have this season.”
“And you risk death while you do it.”
It was a fact all bull riders lived with.
“Do you really consider this a serious career?”
“I do. The most serious you can imagine.”
“But you have no plans afterward.”
They’d covered this territory. He wasn’t in the mood to cover it again. But he did like talking to Kris, and maybe it was best that they end on a good note. “My plans right now involve sleeping so that I’m at the top of my game.”
“I understand.” He heard the sheets rustle as she rolled over in bed, and he found himself wishing that he was in the bed with her. Just to spoon her up against him, if nothing else.
Spooning wouldn’t be enough.
But it would be a start…
“Good night, Kristen.”
There was a wistful note to her voice, almost enough to make him cross the distance to her bed, when she said, “Good night, Austin.”
*
The next morning,he woke up with morning wood straining against his boxers. Kristen’s bed was empty, and the shower was running. He closed his eyes, idly rubbing his hand over the length of his hard-on through his underwear. It would be advisable tonothave a hard-on when he got out of bed—either that or to get out of bed when Kristen wasn’t around—but envisioning naked Kristen on the other side of the wall, water cascading over her body, wasn’t doing him a lot of good.
In fact, it was doing him no good.
He grabbed for the remote, turned on the news and laced his hands behind his head. Couldn’t focus.
