Chapter 26 God Winked at Me #2
He leans over the booth, clearly amused. “You coming back for a rematch?”
She grins as she steps down off the mat, never breaking eye contact. “Eventually. So don’t go shutting that booth down too early tonight. I’ll be back and not for the bull.” She tosses a wink up at him.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” Dean says. “Is how you get laid.”
“Is that how you think you got me?” Harper circles beside Dean and sips his drink.
“You’ve never been able to resist this charm.” He tilts his head. “And this jawline.”
“It wasn’t the charm or the jawline. It was the guy who showed up when no one was watching.”
He grips her chin and pulls her close. “Shh...that’s my best-kept secret and you’re supposed to protect it.” He kisses her.
I remember once thinking I was Hart’s best-kept secret, only he was keeping a far bigger secret from me. And there are times it feels like he’s still keeping one from me.
Josie is still catching her breath when she gets to us.
Hannah smirks. “How’d that ‘boss’ moment work out for you?”
Josie holds up a finger. “First of all,”—she inhales deeply, and releases—“I didn’t fall. I made a swift, very graceful exit.”
Daisy laughs. “You lasted like, ten seconds.”
She shrugs. “And made every one of those seconds look good.”
“That’s up for debate.” Bronx raises his drink at her. “But congrats. Message heard loud and clear. Ain’t a man in here that don’t know you’re lookin’ for a ride tonight. Rookie mistake, kid.”
She narrows her eyes at him, and her flirt is gone. “You make it sound like I’m some amateur.”
He chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink, then leans back against his chair and scans the room. “It ain’t about bein’ fresh outta the gate, little one. Every newbie pulls it. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”
“It’s cute you think I need ‘figuring out’.” She licks her lips. “I mean, I have a fuck date tonight. What about you?”
“Mm. Maybe I do. Kinda depends on where the night ends up.” He takes a sip of his drink.
She leans over the table. “Is that an offer?”
He chokes on his sip. Coughs, then clears his throat fast.
“What? No—I meant—I wasn’t—” He fumbles, then rubs the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off. “I was talkin’ in general.”
She grins like she just won a game and bumps my hip as she walks beside him. “Sure you were.” She takes his drink and finishes it off. “Don’t be mad, Daddy, but you’re not my type.”
He stiffens.
Just slightly.
But we all see it.
His mouth opens like he’s about to fire back—then closes again, jaw flexing. He ain’t flirting. He’s damn well furious.
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.
His jaw clenches now, one muscle ticking like it’s taking everything in him not to react. His gaze follows every move I make. Down my chest, my hips, and the way I ride this damn thing.
I move more deliberately now, arching my back just a little, letting my hair fall as I move into the buck of the machine.
I’m not supposed to be doing this. I’m supposed to be over him.
My breath quickens, not from the ride, but from him. From the weight of his stare and the tension it ties into every part of me.
Every pump of the bull has me bracing harder, clenching tighter. I shift my grip, moving with it, riding it in a way I hadn’t intended.
And the whole time, I feel him.
Watching.
Wanting.
Not caring, he’s showing it.
The crowd’s cheering, but I only hear one thing, my own pulse, loud and fast, beating with something I won’t name.
But I feel it.
Right there.
The friction.
The pulse.
The pressure is building between my legs.
My breath comes shallow, but I play it cool.
Chin up.
“Jade, you got it!” Natalie shouts.
“You’ve been holding out, cowgirl.” Daisy whistles with her fingers.
The bull jerks harder, and I moan without meaning to.
Just a whisper. But I know he hears it.
His eyes widen. His nostrils flare. And his knuckles go white where he grips his beer bottle.
I know that look.
I shift again, grip tighter. The bull bucks harder. My body jerks forward, then back, and my dress rides up just enough that I know damn well he’s getting a view of my outer thigh.
My legs clamp around the beast, and my back arches with every twist.
And still—still—he’s watching me like I’m the only woman in this godforsaken bar.
Another glance at him through my lashes, and our eyes lock.
That’s my mistake.
Because it hits me like a punch to the gut: the look in his eyes isn’t hate, it’s hunger, and I’ve never seen this hunger in him—hunger for me.
It’s like I’m not another mistake from his past. He’s feeling it, too.
I roll my hips with the bull’s motion, slow, steady, and ready. Like I’m showing him what he missed all those years ago when he left me with nothing but silence and a broken heart.
The rhythm of the bull picks up, and so does my pulse.
My thighs ache. My breath’s shallow.
Every damn movement pushes up against something profound and electric in me.
And knowing he’s watching, knowing I’m the only thing holding his attention, makes it worse. Or better. I can’t tell anymore.
The bull slows, and the ride ends before I want it to.
But the heat?
The ache?
That’s just getting started.
I dismount, knees a little unsteady, and my heart racing. I smooth down my skirt, pretending my whole body isn’t buzzing.
Then I look at him.
And he’s still looking back like he hasn’t breathed since I got on.
“Officially ticked off the bucket list!” A round of high fives is shared.
“Hart’s turn.” Dean slaps his brother’s shoulder, and Hart looks anything but impressed.