17. Wilder
17
WILDER
DURANGO, COLORADO — OCTOBER
I t’s a quiet drive to the bar in town. The autumn colors of the leaves on the trees we drive past are vibrant in the dying daylight. It’s been nearly two weeks since the conclusion of the rodeo season, and since then, Charlotte and I have been traveling and staying together. She was disappointed to miss her final ride in Texas, but recovering from her ear infection was the priority.
We came to Travis’ property yesterday for an extended stay and to make the most of our training time before the National Finals Rodeo in December. All of us qualified for our respective events, and I know we all want our titles. The bragging rights alone used to be enough for me, but now I have my eyes on the money that comes with it. The winning purse in Vegas contains enough to pay off the property and building costs in Idaho.
Thinking about the home I’ve been quietly designing has me sliding my hand over to rest on Charlotte’s thigh as I drive. I can’t keep the smile off my face when I think of the life I picture for us there. The property will be a mix of the essentials we need and the small things I know she wants. I see quiet falls and snowed-in winters before spring dawns, and we will get to train together in the lead-up to rodeo season. It’s so perfect that it almost scares me that I can’t have it. But then she immediately winds her fingers through mine, and I love how they fill the gaps with an easy touch, the same way she’s filled the empty spaces in my heart and my life. Having this amazing woman beside me as I chase my dream isn’t something I would have ever considered for my life. I was content to ride through life alone—literally and figuratively. But now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The radio plays a sweet and soulful love song when we pull into the parking lot, and I’m looking forward to showing off tonight. Finally letting go and having fun. This place was Travis’ suggestion, and he’s pulled in not too far ahead of us. When I look at the neon sign, it’s immediately clear why he’s picked it. Velvet Saddle flashes boldly with a byline promising drinks, live music, and mechanical bull rides. I put the truck in park and let out a sigh.
“Fucking Travis,” I mumble. Charlotte flashes me a confused look before she glances around for the man I consider my best friend. When she doesn’t see him, her eyes rest back on mine questioningly. I point up at the sign.
“Why do I have a feeling there’s more to your annoyance than Travis getting in extra practice on his nights out?” Charlotte cuts the bullshit.
“We had a bet a couple of years ago at a place like this,” I confess, sucking my teeth. “Travis said bronc riders couldn’t stay on as long as bull riders.”
“And you agreed to prove him wrong.” She rolls her eyes, gentle laughter spilling from her crimson-painted lips. “Oh.” She twists in her seat, eagerness in her glare as she takes me in. I don’t like the calculated look in her eyes. Charlotte officially knows me better than anyone, and right now, she’s about to level me with what I haven’t admitted. “But you lost.”
“That cocky asshole probably paid them off.” I can hear the pout in my voice, but I don’t care. I’m still bitter. And she’s still laughing next to me before drawing in a breath.
“Baby, you’re a cocky asshole and you’ve never paid anyone off to look good. I doubt Travis had to either.” She pops open the truck door and scoots to get out, her giggles fading. I follow around to meet her as quickly as I can since she never waits for me to help her out. Once her boots are on the ground, I push the door closed and back her up against it.
“You think I look good?” I crowd into her space, smirking down at her. “Is that an all the time thing? Or just when I’m on the back of a horse?”
I love the way Charlotte rolls her eyes in annoyance. I know it’s playful, and I double down on my teasing when I grip her hips and pull her closer. I left my hat at the ranch tonight. I didn’t want there to be any thoughts from other women angling for the temporary ownership that comes in pursuit of it. Too many years of buckle bunnies have taught me well. I’m proudly showing off that I’m spoken for, but Charlotte wears hers. It goes well with the cotton dress flirting around her knees. It’s soft and floaty under my hands, topped by a denim jacket she pulled out of my trailer closet a week ago. It’s loose on her, sleeves covering her hands, and it slips off one shoulder. Seeing her in my clothes does something to me. It brings out a feral side closer to the behavior I see in the livestock we’re around all the time. It’s possessive and runs through my veins like a shot of adrenaline. It makes me want to make this thing between us permanent in a way that’s too early to confess out loud. Just staring at her as I wait for her response, I can’t help but know one day, I’ll be able to say it. I’ll marry Charlotte and make her mine in a way no one will question. I’m a lucky son of a bitch.
“Ready for a rematch tonight, McCoy?”
Travis’ voice comes from the end of my truck, where he leans lazily with an arm on the tailgate, thumb hitching to the door behind him in invitation. We both turn to follow him into the bar, Charlotte linking her fingers with mine again and pulling the jacket back into place.
“Wilder’s not facing off against you tonight,” she says, and I pull up short. Travis spins around in the gravel to cock a questioning eyebrow at me. I lift my other hand in confusion. We both give Charlotte our attention. She wears the determined look I’m used to seeing just before she turns Rooney loose in the arena. I rest my hand on my hip, not surprised when she fixes a glare at my best friend. “ I’m your competition. Best eight seconds at an easy difficulty level wins.”
“All right. Who are the judges?” Travis doesn’t miss a beat, jumping into the terms of this new development. He points his finger at me but levels his own demand back to Charlotte. “Lover boy can’t be on the panel.”
“Hey!” I look between them. “I actually know what to look for. And I can be impartial.”
“No, you can’t,” they say in unison, and I can’t help but shrug in agreement. The words sounded false when I offered them.
“We each pick two people in there to judge. In the event of a tie, the operator breaks it,” Charlotte finishes setting up the bet, extending her hand for Travis. He nods, clasping her hand, and I can’t help but shake my head as I follow them into the bar.
* * *
It’s been a couple of hours of drinks and dancing before Charlotte slams back a shot of amber liquid and calls to Travis across the high-top table we’re at.
“Time to put up or shut up.” Her eyes are bright, and her skin is slightly flushed from the alcohol and atmosphere. The jean jacket lays across the back of our tall chairs, and her hair has abandoned all pretense of being contained by a messy braid. The ebony strands float around her shoulders, and I smile as she spins to kiss me. I like the whiskey taste of her lips, but before I can sip too long at them, she breaks and starts strutting to the padded riding ring. Travis stands and we both make to follow her. I grab my friend’s shoulder and turn him to face me.
“I’m not asking you to lose,” I start, infusing my voice with the deepest sincerity I can while conveying my warning. “But if you do anything—and I mean anything —to cause her to get hurt, I don’t care that you’re my best friend. I?—”
“Nothing’s going to happen. It’s just a little fun. We both found our own judges, and the operator has his own bouncer.” He indicates the small booth where a balding man in a too-tight Budweiser shirt sits behind a control panel. My eyes flick to the burly man standing near the door with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. I truly don’t believe Travis would do anything to hurt Charlotte, but I wouldn’t put it past him to make it harder on her just to preserve his ego. “Unlike last time, this is on the up and up.” Travis squeezes my arm in reassurance before leaning in so his words are just between us. “But I still want to fucking win.”
“She’s going to kick your ass.” I push off him, laughing as I chase after my girl.
I find Charlotte near the entrance to the ring, stretching her arms and neck. She looks like she’s getting ready for a boxing match instead of taking a ride on a mechanical bull. As the defending champ in this bet, Travis has insisted he goes first, so I wrap her in my arms and pull her against my chest. She’s warm and soft in all the ways I’ve come to love as she rests back against me, notching her head at my shoulder to turn her face up and gift me a blinding smile.
We turn at the announcement of Travis’ ride, watching him enter the ring and mount the padded pommel that makes up the “bull.” He settles in naturally, hooking his hand into the hold and scooting up close to the handle.
“Use your dominant hand to hold on, baby,” I whisper into Charlotte’s ear. The music kicks up, and the bull starts to move. It takes slow, steady turns as it warms up. I lean down further, dropping more tips for riding as I see them. “When the head dips, move toward it so you don’t fall off the back.” The bull picks up speed. “Keep your upper body loose and use your free arm to counterbalance the turns, but squeeze your thighs as tight as possible.”
“Can I pretend I’m squeezing your head?” Charlotte presses her ass back on me, and I groan at the sensation as well as the visual she provides. I love being between this woman’s thighs. I drop my forehead to her shoulder, biting the inside of my cheek when she rotates her hips against me. The motion stirs my cock, and I reach between us to adjust myself in an attempt to get more comfortable.
“What are you doing to me?” I grumble as an honest-to-God whimper passes between my lips.
“Showing you exactly how I plan to win,” Charlotte says, and I look up to realize she’s moving in time with the motion of the bull. Travis is selling the shit out of his ride, all style and professionalism that has drawn a lot of applause from the gathered crowd. The alarm blares, signifying the end of the eight seconds. The operator gives the bull one more vicious turn, but Travis swings a leg over, letting the force of it throw him off. He lands perfectly on his feet and pumps his fists. I grip Charlotte’s hips, pushing her toward the ring with a swat against her ass.
“Good ride, baby.”
She tosses her hat back at me, which I quickly use to hide my half-hard cock. Her eyes follow my movements, and she winks before passing Travis and walking into the ring. She crosses to the control booth, leaning over to have a word with the operator. The crowd is still cheering when Travis comes to stand beside me at the barrier. We look over to where the judges have raised their scores on napkins. Travis’ pair—a bouncy blonde in tight jeans and her less than enthusiastic boyfriend Travis didn’t realize wouldn’t let her participate without him—hold up a ten and an eight, respectfully. Charlotte’s frat boy duo hold up a nine and an eight to the delight of the patrons.
“Your girl is going to have a tough time beating that,” Travis says, leaning forward on the barrier, pushing his hat back to watch Charlotte climb the bull. The asshole didn’t even lose his hat during his ride.
“I’d never count Charlie out. Especially when she wants to win.”
Charlotte settles on the padded seat. She shakes her head, making the ebony strands catch the light. With false innocence, she gathers the material of her dress with both hands, pulling it up her legs to flash a fair amount of thigh to the crowd. She rotates her hips as if she’s getting familiar with the bull, but it’s also intentionally suggestive. I glance back to the panel of judges, smiling shrewdly when I realize that Charlotte’s pair are chugging their beers with one hand and high-fiving with the other before pointing. There’s a part of me—the possessive, jealous part—that hates how they stare at my girl, but I push it down. This is a keen strategy, and my feelings are soothed when Charlotte looks over her shoulder to blow me a kiss.
A familiar song starts up, the crowd losing their minds for the biggest cliché of the rodeo: “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” and I know in that moment, Charlotte’s going to win.