Page 156 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
And Josie is eating it all up. “That Daddy brain short-circuiting?”
Dean chokes on his beer. “I hope someone’s filming this. He’s dying. Death by pet name.”
“She keeps calling him that”—Daisy leans over to whisper to me—“and he’s gonna combust.”
Josie circles the table and steps in close to Bronx, looking up at him through her lashes, with a teasing smile.
“What’s the matter, Daddy? You gonna spank me or sulk?”
Bronx’s nostrils flare. His hands flex at his sides. He looks seconds away from doing something reckless.
Dean throws his hands up. “Get a fuckin’ room.”
“He couldn’t handle me.”
Bronx stands, and Josie tumbles backward. “That’s where you and I are different. I’m not looking for something to be handled. I’m interested in someone who can handle themselves.”
Then he turns and walks off without waiting for a comeback.
“Ogre,” Josie snarls at him, then finds us all staring. “Not like that.” She slaps the table. “You’re up, Jade.”
It’s not a difficult performance to compete against.
I walk inside the caged area. “Get a good look, ‘cause this is how it’s done.”
I swing one leg over the saddle, easing into it like I’ve done a thousand times on Onyx.
The warm leather under my thighs reminds me that I’m wearing a dress—a dress that’s going to put on a show. Hadn’t been my intention, but I’m not backing down now.
The machine hums to life beneath me.
“Let’s see how you do. Keep your balance and hold on tight.” The operator thinks I’m going to flop like my sister.
I grip the saddle, roll back my shoulders, square my hips, and glance across the room.
Hart’s watching me. He’s moved now, leaning against the railing with a beer in his hand, and that damn unreadable expression on his face. His hat sits low, and his eyes are darker than sin.
And damn me, it makes my palms itch. Makes my breath come a little shorter. It makes me want to do something stupid and reckless.
“Looking strong up there, but remember, it’s all about balance. Don’t let that bull throw you off!” The operator’s voice crackles through the speaker.
The bull shifts under me. My thighs squeeze in tighter. I lean back just enough to show I know what I’m doing.
It kicks once. Easy. A warm-up. Then again, rougher.
Lord, help me. The way Hart stares at me.
The bull jerks, and my body moves with it, hips rolling just right to stay on top.
“That’s it! You’re doing great! Keep those hands up and stay loose. This bull is no match for you!” The operator’s voice is a distant hum now.
I can’t tear my gaze from Hart.
His hard eyes are heated and hungry, as if I’m not on the bull... as if I’m on him.
My body moves, remembering this rhythm. And oh, it does.
The sway. The grind. The slow build of heat in my belly.
