Page 163 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
But standing straight?
It’s a damn struggle.
I straighten with a grunt.
“Next time, ride with some aloe vera,” Dean heads to the bull for his turn.
“Crank it up to full!” I shout at the operator, stepping in front of my brother.
Three. Four. Five.
My next attempt, I get cocky and raise my hand, yelling, “Yeehaw!”
I instantly regret it. I hit the floor.
The crowd is laughing.
I am sweating, but I keep getting back on. Because if I don’t, he’ll get on with her.
As I straddle the beast again, the lights start to flash and swirl around me, dizzying in their intensity.
My stomach lurches, a tight knot forming deep inside. I try to steady myself, gripping the saddle, but the bar tilts, spinning faster than I can keep up.
And then, just like that, I know.
I slide off the bull, my legs giving out beneath me as I stumble forward a few steps. My stomach flips violently, and before I can stop it, everything comes rushing up. Right here, in front of the entire crowd.
The sound of my stomach emptying onto the floor rings louder than the reactions.
That ends the night quickly.
The walk back to the campground feels like forever, mostly because I have to stop every few steps to either dry heave or lean on a fence post.
“Shouldn’t have gotten on that bull,” I mutter.
“Shouldn’t have drunk so much.” Wyatt is my designated walker after everyone else took off ahead of us.
I pause to swallow down another wave of nausea. “I regret it.”
He snorts. “Not as much as you’re gonna in the mornin’. I know you. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself for letting whatever’s bugging you get the best of you.”
I wave my hand at him. I just can’t right now.
When I finally make it to my tent, I collapse face-first on the inflated mattress.
“You good?” Wyatt stands outside my tent.
“Define good.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Fair.”
My eyes close, and I try to focus on breathing and not barfing.
Then I hear it.
Moaning.
