14. Phoenix
Phoenix
T o everyone else, it’s a cowboy doing his ritual, his signature moves after a win. Nothing out of the ordinary. Hell, several people in the crowd do it with him.
But to me, it feels like a love letter, a slap to the face, and a kick to the balls all at the same time. His eyes haven’t found mine since the announcer said my name, but this routine of his does plenty of talking for him.
I’m transported to that night in the barn and I can almost feel his heartbeat in the pads of my fingertips as I pressed them over the organ in his chest. Part of me is thrilled about him immortalizing that night, but a much stronger portion is pissed as hell that he’s sharing it with not only these people, but his fans all across the fucking country.
That was our night. Our secret.
Cassie’s lips are back at my ear. “That mean something to you?”
“What?” I ask stupidly .
Instead of answering, she looks at my chest where my hand is placed against my own heart. Fuck.
“Oh, uh, no.”
Her lips curve in a sad smile. “So, that’s a yes.”
I shoot her a warning glare. “Let it go, Cass.”
She holds her hands up in mock innocence. “I don’t think I’m the one holding on to it, Phoe.”
Before either of us can say anything else, Hudson says, “Hey, you guys up for some poker? It’s still early.”
I desperately want to be left alone with my thoughts, but all that will accomplish is to either piss me off, make me sad, or cause me to drink.
Maybe all three. So, reluctantly, I agree.
At least this group will distract me and keep me entertained.
Besides, Cassie loves poker and this week is supposed to be about her dammit.
“Yeah, sure,” I agree.
“I’m riding with Phoenix,” Cassie declares.
I can’t be alone with her right now. Can’t handle the interrogation even though she means well.
“Cass, do you mind riding with your brother? I need to check on the horses before I leave.”
Poker is always played at my house because I have a table permanently set up with everyone’s chips.
The guys call it my “man cave” even though it’s in the dining room on the main floor of my old farmhouse, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.
I love hosting my friends and that they all know where the hide-a-key is.
Them getting to the house before me doesn’t matter because they’ll turn on the lights, grab some beers, and deal the cards.
Cassie studies me, seeing my excuse for what it is: a reason to be alone so I can find Walker.
“Yeah, sure. No problem,” she says finally. “See you at your place.”
I tell everyone I’ll be along shortly and they should get started without me, and then I walk as fast as I dare toward the stalls out back. It’s as good a place as any to start looking since I have no idea which camper is his.
But the stalls are empty. I check on a couple of my horses that are in here and turn to go, not wanting to be creepy and just wander around the campsites—especially because I’ll get recognized in this crowd and I’m in no headspace to interact with fans right now.
Disappointed, I start heading for my truck in the lot when I hear someone call Walker’s name.
“Walker!”
He doesn’t turn.
“Yo, DeVille! You fucking dick, don’t ignore me.”
“What do you want, Jackson?” Walker replies, sounding tired instead of elated over his win.
From the shadows, I watch as Jackson White approaches Walker, still in his own riding uniform, a red solo cup already in his hands.
“Well, I was going to congratulate you on your ride, but now I’m thinking I won’t since your attitude’s as big as your ego.”
Walker doesn’t rise to the bait, and I feel my chest swell with pride.
“Okay then, have a good night.” Walker keeps heading in the direction of the campers when Jackson reaches out and catches his shoulder.
I tense immediately.
I do not like his hand on my cowboy.
Fuck. Not my cowboy. I just don’t like Jackson White, that’s all it is.
But then Jackson curls his fingers into Walker’s shirt and leans in close enough to taste his sweat. Before I know what the actual fuck I’m doing, I’m stepping out from my hiding spot to stand directly behind Jackson.
“As much as I’m sure your shit talk is appreciated, your time’s probably better spent with your coach figuring out how to win tomorrow,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. Jackson turns his head and his eyes widen in surprise. Good.
“Oh, shit. Phoenix Harding.” He holds out a hand that I take begrudgingly. “I didn’t think you came out to the rodeo anymore.”
“I don’t,” I tell him.
“And yet, here you are,” the cocky bastard muses, dropping Walker’s shirt.
“Yet, here I am,” I repeat after him.
“Well, it’s cool to meet you, but if you don’t mind, I’m settling a score with DeVille.”
“The scores already came in. You lost. Why don’t you take that drink back to your camper and review your deductions.” It’s probably not smart to taunt him, but this dude is too close and he’s pissed that he lost, which makes him unpredictable.
He throws his cup to the ground and grabs ahold of Walker again. “How about you call off your fucking watchdog and handle this like a man? Hm?”
When Jackson’s spit lands on Walker’s boot, I snap. Using both hands, I grab Jackson by the back of his shirt and throw him to the ground. He’s shorter than me, stockier, but he also put his back to me, which means he didn’t see it coming, and I knock him off balance easily.
“What the fuck, Harding?” Jackson cries from the dirt. “You ever hear of minding your own goddamn business?” Jackson scrambles to his feet, looking back and forth between Walker and I.
“DeVille is my business. Now move the fuck on, Jackson.”
He mumbles under his breath, but he leaves us alone without another glance over his shoulder.
I’m feeling pretty good about it until Walker speaks beside me, and I remember why I was pissed in the first place.
I’m sure he’s tired of being manhandled, but I’ll be damned if Jackson-fucking-White is going to be the last person to put his hands all over Walker tonight.
I grip Walker’s biceps and force him into the shadows I just came from, backing him up against the side of the makeshift barn, hidden from view of passerby.
Breathing hard, I finally release my emotions on him.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing with that ritual?
That moment was ours, ” I growl. “Even if you didn’t have the fucking decency to acknowledge it the next day.
Even if you thought it was a mistake and regretted it, that doesn’t give you the right to make that private moment a public fucking display! ”
Even under the cover of darkness, I can see him staring at my mouth. In my burst of anger, I’d momentarily forgotten how terrible of an idea it is for me to be this close to him. I’m so close, Walker’s exhales become my inhales immediately after leaving his lungs.
“Phoenix, I?—”
Before he can finish his sentence, I rip his cowboy hat off with one hand while my other hand encircles his throat, forcing his head back against the structure behind him, barely controlling my anger, and not yet ready to let him talk.
God, I want to hurt him like he hurt me.
“You what, Walker? Wanted to break me? Cause me more pain? I can’t imagine that no one has commented on the ritual or asked how it started.”
“You weren’t supposed to see it!” he chokes out in a whisper, his breath coasting over my face, making me delirious with desire as he leans forward, pushing his throat into my hand.
I back off, finally letting him get his words out normally.
“And if you ever did, I’d hoped you’d understand it’s meant to be a tribute to that night.
Not a mockery of it. I needed to keep some part of that night with me always.
It’s a reward to myself for winning. The only brief moment when I allow myself to relive?—”
I can’t bear to be this close, have his skin under my hands and not be closer, inside him in some way. How does he still do this to me? Why him?
He cost me everything.
My hand moves from his throat to cup his face, my other hand drops his hat in the dirt before joining its partner to hold him still.
Unable to fight the pull anymore, I throw caution to the wind and finally give in to what my body’s been begging me to do since I ran into him in that bar.
Walker wastes no time pulling me against him, frantically wrapping his arms around me, one around my waist, the other hand clamped onto my back, holding on as if it were the rope that keeps him connected to the bronc.
Our lips collide, tongues lashing and stroking each other as I suck on his lips, wanting him to wear the bruises of this kiss for the remainder of his time here.
Somehow, he tastes even better than I remember.
I’m being pulled under, needing him so badly I’m grinding my hips into him, losing myself entirely in the way I’ve only ever done with him.
He moves his hands to my ass, encouraging my rhythm, and I swear I’m about to come in my fucking pants.
His muscular form is hard beneath my hands, and his sweat smells like dirt and wild animals, and I fucking crave it.
He’s everything I’ve been missing. In this moment, my anger has taken a backseat to my lust and I’m free to just feel.
I wedge my thigh between his legs and moan into his mouth when he starts rubbing his dick along my quads .
“Oh, fuck, yes ,” he whimpers against my lips, just as lost to the moment as I am. “Jesus Christ, I’ve missed you, Phoenix.”
It would be so easy to get lost in him, but soon, he’ll be back on the road and I’ll have to start all over with picking up the pieces again. The thought spikes my anxiety, which allows all my demons to return in full force.
With a groan of agony, I rip my mouth from his. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Kissing him conjures up every ounce of rage and self-loathing I have, while pulling away from him feels like shards of glass are being ground into my stomach.
“Don’t go,” he begs, his hands tightening around my neck and digging into my waist.
The irony is too much. The last time we were together, it was me begging. Begging for him to stay. Begging for it to last just a little longer. Begging for him to give me more.
But he left then, and I have to leave now.
“I never should’ve come here tonight.” I manage to choke the words out as whatever was left of my heart leaves my body at the same time, determined to stay with the cowboy in front of me even as my body retreats.