Chapter 5
Beau
“Yo, Beau, did you see a chick wearing a shirt that says cowboy pillows, sparkly boots?” Dalton ran out of the area we were staged in.
The event was over, so most of the guys had already changed and were heading to their hotels. It was a one-day event, and we had a few days before we had to turn around and head to Idaho next week.
“Yeah, she headed that way.” I pointed behind me, and Dalton cursed under his breath.
“Fuck. There’s a hot Snow White–looking girl back there that threatened to chop my balls off if I didn’t bring her back to the group.”
“Oh shit. She’s not a buckle bunny? I thought she got lost.”
Dalton scrunched his eyebrows. “Did she look like one? Come on, she looked like she was going on a trip to Nashville. At least the buckle bunnies have some fucking respect with their clothes.”
I pushed him. “That’s fucking mean, bro.”
Dalton was always fucking up. I thought Dad was going to talk to him after tonight, but it looks like it went nowhere.
“I’ll get her and help her back. I assume everyone’s in the back of the bucking chutes?”
Dalton nodded.
“Fuck,” I grumbled and turned back toward where I’d sent my new pair of pillows.
“Wait,” Dalton shouted, and I spun on my heel in annoyance.
“What now?” I snapped.
“Are you coming to dinner tonight? To celebrate?”
“Guess the fuck not,” I shot back, glaring at him. “I’m cleaning up your mistakes.” I turned back in the direction I’d come from. “As fucking always,” I muttered.
Frustration churned in my chest as I retraced my steps to deal with yet another mess that wasn’t mine. My mood soured further when I remembered the girl I’d just sent off. The one who’d so quickly rejected my offer to rest atop her pillows tonight.
A reluctant smile slipped. Bold, sharp-tongued, and clearly uninterested. A challenge. Maybe this night wouldn’t be a dud.
I made it all the way to the chutes, but she was nowhere to be found, and neither was the rest of the group. The cleaning crew was already pushing the dirt out, and there was no sign of sparkly boots anywhere.
I kept going down the hall and toward the door where I heard it slam open and the familiar click of heels on the ground.
“In the cold, too.” I grumbled. “This really better be worth my time.” I picked up my pace and ran toward her. “Yo, Cowgirl.”
The girl was already two steps outside, the cold winter wind hitting both of us. I held the door propped open because if it closed, then I’d have no way to get back to the locker rooms. Although I had already changed, my gear bag was still back there.
“Oh my God. Not you again,” she groaned, spinning on her heel and wrapping her arms protectively around her chest. “My shirt is a fucking joke. Get over yourself. Find someone else’s pillows.”
“But I want yours,” I whined exaggeratedly.
Her eyes rolled so hard I thought she might tip over, and she turned to storm off, her boots clicking sharply against the pavement as she moved past the parking lot.
“Not interested,” she shouted, throwing a middle finger over her shoulder like punctuation.
Fuck, she’s fiery. My dick twitched unhelpfully. Just how I like them too.
I watched her walk farther into the cold, dark night, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind.
Every instinct told me to let her go. If I followed her, I’d definitely get locked out of the arena.
If I turned around, I’d be letting her wander aimlessly into a freezing, empty parking lot. Something about that didn’t sit right.
I reached into my pocket and felt the familiar weight of my wallet and car keys. Good. At least I wouldn’t look like a complete idiot. Pulling my phone out, I texted my dad to grab my gear bag.
Decision made, I took a deep breath and followed her.
I couldn’t shake the pull she had on me—the way her saucy attitude hit me like a shot of adrenaline, the questions swirling in my mind about why she was in the staging area to begin with. There was something about her, something I couldn’t quite explain.
“Let me walk you to your car at least,” I said as I caught up to her. She didn’t look at me, only huffed. “It’s freezing out.”
“I don’t have a fucking car. My ride left me, so I’m going to head to the road and get a ride share.”
I reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “I’m not going to let you walk in the cold, alone. I am somewhat of a gentleman.”
She raised her eyebrow as she stopped dead in her tracks. “Really?”
I chuckled. “Alright, so maybe I can be a bit of an ass, but I promise. I’ll give you a ride to wherever you’re going.”
She shook her head. “I live in the city. It’s like forty-five freaking minutes from here.”
“Great,” I said with determination, the sparkly fringe of her jacket brushing against my hand.
She was not my type—at all. Everything about her screamed city girl, from the overly polished look to the glittery attempt at fitting in. I couldn’t stand girls who thought sparkles and rhinestones meant they understood anything about our world, about my lifestyle.
Girls like her didn’t know how to get down and dirty—never felt the sting of calloused hands or the satisfaction of mud-soaked boots after a hard day’s work. They played dress-up, chasing the look without the grit.
As she turned her head slightly, her blonde hair catching in the wind, I realized there was something different about her.
That fire in her eyes, the way she didn’t shrink under my gaze or hold her tongue—that wasn’t the attitude of someone playing dress-up.
That was someone who might surprise me, who might have a streak of wild under all that polish.
Still, I wasn’t convinced. She looked too put-together, too clean, like she’d walk off the set of some Instagram photoshoot the second her boots got a scuff.
Girls like her didn’t last long out here.
But damn, something about her made me curious, something that made me want to see how far she could push back.
Maybe I’d let her prove me wrong. Or maybe I’d just enjoy the show. Either way, I wasn’t letting her go.
“One, I don’t know you, and two, a long time ago, I was told that I should never accept rides from strangers.”
“Not a stranger. We met a few minutes ago when you ran into me.”
“You”—she shoved my chest—“propositioned me in a lewd way in that meeting too.”
My lips quirked. “Offer still stands.”
“See,” she huffed and then continued to walk toward the road.
“Wait, wait.” I grabbed her again. “I’m kidding. Sorry, my big-ass mouth doesn’t know how to shut up.”
“Maybe it’s that mustache that’s making you dumb.”
See. Fiery. Commence dick twitching.
“Baby, it’s just a handlebar, gives a little extra friction down there when you’re riding me like a—”
She gagged.
“Do not finish that sentence.” She pushed me back again, and I held up my hand in surrender. “This is why I cannot accept a ride from you. You’ve hit on me a hundred times since I met you ten minutes ago. Plus, I don’t even know your name.”
What an idiot. “You’re right. Sorry ’bout that. The name is Beaudreau Banks, but my friends call me Beau.”
Her eyes lit up in surprise. “Oh, you’re the guy who won tonight.”
That twisted smug smile made its way back to my lips. “You payin’ attention to me, Cowgirl?”
“Nope. I liked the blonde from earlier,” she said with a wink.
“Come on, baby. Don’t play me like a fool. I can see the way you want me.”
She rolled her eyes and turned, storming off like a wildfire—fierce, untamed, and leaving chaos in her wake. She was a stunning kind of destruction, all strawberries and vanilla, with deep green eyes that burned with defiance and long honey-colored hair that rippled like silk in the wind.
“I’ll take you out, get you a drink, then I’ll take you back home.”
“No thanks,” she said as she waved.
Damn, she was fast, even in those stiff boots that had to hurt her feet.
“I’ll take you home, then. No funny business.”
“Nope,” she huffed, her breath visible in the cold air as she strode toward the edge of the parking lot.
I stepped forward and reached out, gently grabbing her hand to stop her. “Listen,” I said, meeting her fiery gaze. “I’m freezing. I’m from Texas—I don’t do this kind of weather. I’m trying to be a gentleman here, so please, let me take you home.”
She tugged her hand back and crossed her arms. “You don’t even know my name.”
I chuckled. “Well, what’s your name? Besides the pillows I want to sleep on tonight, Cowgirl, and my baby.”
She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Not yours. Not a baby. My pillows are tiny, and I already told you I’m not a cowgirl.”
My gaze dropped briefly to her hands—red and raw from the cold. But no rings. I liked hitting on her, but if she was married, that was a hard line in the sand.
I held up mine again, palms out in mock surrender. “Alright, fair, though I will say I think your pillows looked fine earlier. What should I call you, then?”
She sighed, clearly debating whether to humor me. “Fable,” she clipped out.
Fable. The name stuck in my mind, unique and intriguing, just like her.
“Alright, Fable.” I smirked. “Can I please take you home now? Before we both turn into popsicles out here?”