5. Phoenix
Phoenix
T hat’s what the paper in my jeans says.
That lying sonofabitch was a virgin, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to be too mad. After all, he did say I was everything he needed. I still wince, looking back at how rough I was every time after the first, but he kept begging for more.
And here I go again, all up in my fucking head.
Goddammit, I don’t need this on the day I ride for the championship title…against him.
But he was so perfect in every way, and now that I know I’m the only one to have ever had his ass, all I can think about is having it again…and making sure no one else touches what’s mine. I’ve got to convince him to give this a chance.
I fucking want him.
I don’t have time to sort through my feelings before my bunkmate is thrusting a cup of coffee at me, all smiles and knowing looks.
“How was your night? Wasn’t sure I’d see you before your ride,” he says with a smirk.
My ride.
How am I supposed to focus on my ride with the taste of Walker still so fresh in my mind?
“My night was excellent, you nosy bastard. How was yours?” I fire back, taking a sip of coffee. Until this moment, I had considered black coffee to be the nectar of the gods, but now that I know what Walker’s cum tastes like, I’ll have to give coffee a title more befitting of second place.
My teammate laughs. “It was great, thanks to you.”
I arch a brow.
“Well, after you disappeared from the party, leaving Ashley and Mindy disgruntled and horny, I got to swoop in and be the hero. Plus, I had the camper to myself and although I came in fourth yesterday, being on your team still means I get a decent amount of action…so thank you.”
It’s the second time in six hours someone has thanked me, but I’m still stuck on the first one.
“You ready for today?” My teammate is nice, but God, when did he get so fucking chatty, I wonder silently as he continues talking . “You win this and you’ll be the first rider to hold the title three years in a row.”
“No pressure , ” I reply with a laugh, hoping he’s done.
My answer sounds a lot more confident than I feel.
The reality is, riding is second nature to me, but Walker is just as talented. My loss yesterday was due to my bronc not accruing enough points even though my ride was flawless. Just like Walker’s.
But ever since finding that note in my pocket, I’m rattled. I didn’t expect the feeling of possession to be so strong this morning, but it’s the emotion I feel more than any other, and like a dangerous riptide, it’s threatening to pull me under and carry me away.
An hour later, I enter the arena through the back entrance only accessible to riders, and I’m shamelessly scanning every face I pass, looking for Walker.
Today he’s my rival, but a larger part of me acknowledges him as my lover.
People are still clapping me on the back, encouraging me after yesterday’s loss, and several people ask for autographs and selfies.
I oblige because it’s part of the image and my sponsors require it.
I’ve loved watching you ride for years. My traitorous brain immediately conjures up Walker’s words from last night, and a pang of loss hits me so hard I nearly stumble.
This is my happy place, I remind myself.
The place I’m more comfortable than anywhere else. I can’t imagine a life that doesn’t involve the rodeo. What happened with Walker last night was a one-off. As good as it was, it’s over, and I need to focus on holding my title. But I continue my search, just needing to talk to him.
Needing some pathetic reassurance that he doesn’t regret it in the light of day.
Finally, I enter the staging area just behind the bucking shoot.
I’m third in line to ride. Normally by the time I’m in position here, I’m laser-focused on the riders before me.
I’m watching their horses and mentally riding with them, talking myself through how I’d correct certain aspects of their technique.
Not today, though.
Because we’re the top contenders for the title, Walker and I will ride fairly close together, and I’m starting to feel slightly panicked that I can’t find him when my eyes finally land on their target.
He’s already in the shoot. He’s the next rider and if I were in my right mind, I would have looked here first because of course he’s the next rider.
I’ll be the last to enter the ring in our division since I’m still the points leader.
Walker will ride right before me so he’s in the backup shoot already… and clearly, I’m not in my right mind.
His eyes lock onto mine and I wait in vain for some sign of recognition or acknowledgment over what happened last night, but it never comes.
Which makes the desire clearly written on my face so much worse.
I should hate him based on principal alone.
He’s my biggest rival. He’s eighteen. This is his first year on the circuit and he’s already threatening my title. But I don’t hate him…
Even though his stare is blank.
No emotion at all.
He might as well be looking right through me. He isn’t just focused on his ride, he’s actively shutting me out.
And that fucking hurts.
I know I didn’t imagine the despair in his eyes or the way he held on to me last night, clutching me like I was the only thing that could give him air. However, staring into his blank expression now, it’s easy to see I mean nothing to him, competition or not.
I’m instantly transported back to the floor of that basement bathroom. Alone, hurt, and confused. Why is it I always seem to want my partners more than they want me ?
While I’m lost in my thoughts, the rider who was in the ring when I was called to position has finished, which means Walker is up next.
I should be focused on my own bronc which is being herded into the shoot, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Walker DeVille as his gate opens.
His horse puts on a good show, all kicking legs and wild turns, and he’ll earn a score that’ll be hard to beat.
I’m mesmerized as eight seconds slows to eighty seconds. I’m so lost in Walker’s ride the shoot attendants have to practically pull me over the gate to get me on my own bronc.
Suddenly, a sharp crack makes my ears ring.
“ Harding!”
I turn my head in time to realize my coach just smacked me across the face.
“ Jesus , Evan, was that necessary?” I bark over the cheers and applause of the crowd, rubbing my face.
“Yes! I’ve called your name three times and you’re so distracted by DeVille, you couldn’t even mount your fucking horse. Get your head in the game, Phoenix!”
I might have stood a chance at focusing until the word DeVille comes out of my coach’s mouth, and my mind replays images of my cock sliding in and out of his ass as I rode him on that floor last night. It was his first time being taken like that.
Did he somehow know this would mess with me?
Is that why he waited until the end to tell me?
Is that why he told me like he did?
Is that why he lied? I don’t believe for a single second he didn’t know what I meant when I’d asked if he’d done that before.
I’m spiraling, wondering if I’d read everything wrong. Rationality has a way of taking a backseat to fear, especially when my insecurities get involved.
“ Phoenix!” Evan barks again. “They’re waiting! Give the fucking signal before you get disqualified for taking too long to get your ass in the ring!”
Before I’m fully present, my free hand gives the signal and the shoot opens.
I’m holding on for dear life, but I know it’s all wrong.
My hand hold is off. I don’t have a secure hold on the rope and my toes are pointed in, trying to help me gain purchase anywhere I can.
I’m completely unprepared as if this were my first ride ever, and I already know I’ve lost.
So be it. I just want to talk to Walker, find out what the fuck is going on with him, and maybe punch him in the fucking face for getting under my skin like this.
Fucking or fighting, it’s all the same, and I’d probably come from watching blood drip down that sinful bottom lip.
The first buck comes and I manage to hold on...barely. But when the bronc shoots his back legs out a second time, I don’t correct fast enough and I go flying.
I tuck like I’m supposed to and hit the dirt hard. I’ll be sore for a few days, but I don’t think anything’s broken. As I’m rolling to stand up, I hear one of the pickup men yell, “ MOVE !”
I don’t have enough time to figure out which way to go before the bronc’s back hoof connects with my head and everything goes black.