Chapter 2
Six months ago
MOLLY
What was I doing? WHAT WAS I DOING?
What I was doing was kissing a guy. Not a peck on the cheek, but fully pressed against a door in a janitor’s closet at the event center, making out like it was an Olympic sport and we were going for gold.
Yup, me. I was making out with a hot, sexy stranger in a supply closet. This wasn’t me. Not at all. More like my sister, Missy, who did everything that was crazy. This guy and I, we hadn’t even exchanged names!
One minute we were eyeing each other across the arena, the next, we were in a closet and he had his hand beneath my shirt and was cupping my boob.
I was working the four-day long rodeo as one of the event’s doctors.
There was a paramedic crew with an ambulance on standby just off the arena floor, but because of the danger of bull riding and other events and the size of the crowd, the organizers had a doctor on site as well.
There were three of us and I’d finished my six hour time slot.
I’d lived in Cheyenne for a few months and had yet to see a rodeo, the quintessential western sport.
New to town and having only a few acquaintances to keep me company, I’d volunteered to work at the event on the days I didn’t have shifts at the ER.
It was hard to become friends with people when I had to up and relocate.
It’d happened twice since I finished my residency because of my sister.
I didn’t even want to think back on what she’d done before then.
Turned out, with my med shift finished for the day, the organizers offered me tickets to watch the evening event.
My seat was near the chutes and I’d had a close up view of the cowboys settling atop a bucking bronc or a furious bull before the gate was swung open and off they went, trying to remain atop for as long as possible.
Amazingly, the only injury I’d had to tend to was a broken collarbone, which meant he didn’t need my lifesaving skills and had been taken to the hospital by the paramedics.
Growing up in Florida, I’d thought the sport was reckless and invented by a bunch of drunk men with too much time on their hands and too little sense.
I still believed that, but watching it in person, there was something ridiculously manly and sexy about a cowboy.
The hat. The shirt. The snug pants. The I-don’t-mind-getting-my-hands-dirty attitude.
No, it was the big dick energy. To get on the back of a bull, a guy had to have it.
An arena full of them meant the testosterone was potent.
It had to be that because when I saw him helping one of the bull riders settle onto his eight second ride to glory, my nipples had hardened in the craziest sign my body’d ever given me to do something.
Then he’d looked up, caught my gaze fixed on him and stared right on back.
Raked his gaze down my body, at least what he could see of it with me in the stands, and I would swear I saw his gaze heat. Darken. Become aroused.
We pretty much eye fucked for an indeterminate length of time before he tipped his hat, winked at me, then curled his finger.
At me.
Beckoning me to him. I’d like to say I made a smart decision using my very expensively educated brain, but it was my vagina that had me leave the stands and make my way to the chute area.
And him.