20. Everything’s Bigger in Texas
20
EVERYTHING’S BIGGER IN TEXAS
DAKOTA
P atterson sure knows how to work out a woman.
After a week of planking and more lunges than I’ve done in a lifetime, my muscles need a yearlong soak in an Epsom salt bath. I’m tempted to down a bottle of pain killers if it wouldn’t wreck my kidneys.
The bigger bull riders have private massage therapists, weekly acupuncture appointments, and chiropractors on speed dial, but I’m not to that level yet.
I’m still treading in the minors, which is fine. My thighs are getting thicker. I can keep treading water.
But I need a break, so after Patterson’s workout from hell, I grab a blueberry scone from the Granite Falls Bakery, and now Lana and I are tending to Windmill Meadow Ranch’s fields with Tuna-Toons frolicking through the rows.
Wyatt’s family and their ranch managers do most of the heavy lifting, but I like to help out where I can. It’s satisfying, helping things grow.
The scorching Texas sun blazes down, barely filtered by my straw hat, as I send a sharp whistle slicing through the air with my fingers.
“Luna! Hobble your ass back here, girlie! There are rattles out in those fields, and I don’t want you getting a snake bite!”
Her recall is amazing, so she wobbles her way through rows upon rows of orange zinnias, Texas sage, and violet coneflowers. I release a breath when she reaches my side. The nearest emergency vet is over an hour away, so if she got bit by a snake, she’d be a goner, and I’d be destroyed by the loss of my furriest friend.
Lana sprays a patch of sunflowers with a garden hose. In her typical fashion, she got dressed up in a white sundress and floppy hat on the not-so-off-chance she meets some rancher in the fields. I’m still in my workout clothes, but now I’m tempted to change to match her vibe.
“So, how’ve things been since your little romp in the Hill Country creek with the hockey world’s heartthrob?”she asks.
That had been… a shock.
Everywhere our bodies touched, it felt like a current of energy fizzled through my veins, charring me from the inside, and it surprised the hell out of me.
I didn’t like the feeling one bit.
I’ve been with a lot of men, and it’s never felt like I’m being electrocuted. Sex is supposed to be something a person can easily sink into—something luscious and languid.
It’s not supposed to jerk a body back to life.
“It wasn’t a romp,” I counter, spraying the flower rows. “We were only swimming.”
“That’s a shame,” she adds. “I was really crossing my fingers that you two would end up knocking boots. I think you should, for the record.”
“I can’t go there with him, Lana. I’ve known him for years. We’d ruin over a decade of friendship.”
But even as I say it, my mind drifts back to the creek and how close our bodies had been. How close we’d been to what seemed like a kiss, and I’m shocked at how much I’m still thinking about that moment .
“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?” she asks.
“We have lackluster, terrible sex and completely fuck up our friendship, and then we’d be cursed to awkwardly run into each other at the grocery store, and I’d have to live a perpetual life of cringeworthy encounters.”
“I forgot you’re such a pessimist. I shouldn’t have asked you to come up with a worst-case scenario.” She sighs. “I still say go for it. Fuck him and see if there’s chemistry. If there is, great, you’ll have a fun summer fling. If there’s not, then you can go back to being friends.”
“ You need to get this idea of us out of your head.” I playfully splash her with hose water. “I’m too intense for him, and Vi deserves someone sweet and loving for a mom. Not a bull rider with an overthinking complex who will probably end up dead in the next ten years. I’m not cut out for motherhood, no matter how much I want kids.”
“Okay, that spiraled fast. Stop talking about you dying. It’s depressing.” She blinks, and her lash extensions make it look like a fluffy caterpillar is landing on her sharp cheekbone. “And babe, you can be sweet and salty, kind and demanding, a bull rider and a mom. You can be whatever the fuck you want, so stop overthinking everything. You need to learn how to under-think.”
“Thanks, let me just learn to breathe underwater first.”
It’s impossible for me not to overthink every possible situation. I’ve got my life mapped out, and backup plans for my backup plans.
“Can we talk about something else?” I ask, not wanting to dwell on my worries. Living in Wyatt’s sunshine world is better. “I’ve got the Sisterdale rodeo coming up next week, and I need a distraction ’cause if I think too hard about all those shitty things, I’m just gonna spiral.”
Alanna plucks a sunflower from the garden. “Okay, we can move on to my romantic life. Have you seen the bartender at The General? He’s the one with the beard-mullet combo who always wears those cut-off denim shorts and looks like a caveman.”
“Have you seen him? Normally your type is suits and boots,” I say. “And that’s Wyatt’s cousin. Willie.”
“Oh, good to know. I’m trying to figure out if there’s a marble jawline under all that hair. What do you think? I’m taking bets, and I’d say it’s looking good if he’s Wyatt’s cousin, considering his jawline could chip a nail.”
“Really?” I quirk my head, considering. Wyatt’s jawline is pretty square. “You might be right.”
We make our bets as the shadowy sun slants across the rainbow of flowers, and Lana talks about Willie (not Nelson) for the next thirty minutes.
She can chat it up with anyone, but I call her a firefly because she lights up in social settings but needs to hole up for at least a week of alone time to recover. I like my alone time too, but I also like the spotlight, so it’s an even split.
We hug our goodbyes, and she drives off in her Porsche. I meander back through the vibrant flowers in the heat of the setting sun.
I nuzzle Luna’s head, taking the walk back slower to match her three-legged pace. “You good, Tuna Roll?”
She looks up at me, tongue lolling.
Yeah, she’s good.
Luna is one of the brightest parts of my life. There’s no other being on this planet I can whisper all my deepest darkest secrets to, and always get a slobbery, judgment-free kiss in return. Sometimes I look at my girl, and I get this urge to squeeze her until her ribs crack because I love her so much.
When we reach the red barn, I gently creak open the door. Luna finds her indented spot on the leather couch, and I poke my head into Wyatt’s bedroom. I spot Vienna, asleep with the baby monitor camera pointed down.
A grin steals across my face. There’s nothing better than coming home to her, and I’m always looking forward to coming back after training and playing peek-a-boo. We’re also working on new words. We’ve finally got Dee-Dee down, so now I’m teaching her how to say Tuna. It’s coming out like toha, but she’ll get there.
I glance up, noticing the ceiling fan is off, so I turn it on for her in case she wakes up and wants to look at it spinning. That girl loves her ceiling fans.
Wyatt’s not there, so I quietly shut the door and glance around our rustic living room. The space is a hurricane of toys, and I never thought I’d love coming home to a mess every day, but I do.
He’s got the monitor app on his phone, so he must be watching Vi from somewhere. He takes that thing everywhere. He even showers with his phone since he’s got access to the app.
Sticky with summer heat, I grab my towel and head to the outdoor shower—my own little sanctuary that offers a sprawling view of the endless fields. There’s nothing better than a shower under the sunset or stars, and it’s one of my favorite ways to unwind.
I step out onto the back porch and head toward the wooden stall, only to grind to a halt as the sound of running water reaches my ears. Through the slatted wood, I catch glimpses of Wyatt. Water cascading over his sculpted back. Droplets glistening on his tan skin.
He’s naked.
So naked.
I shouldn’t be looking. No, I really shouldn’t be looking.
I especially shouldn’t be looking at the curves of his muscles leading to the firm, smooth contours of his lower back. He might not have dimples on his face, but he’s got dimples above his round ass, and that body is hard enough to carve a statue out of it. Michelangelo should’ve named that statue Wyatt, not David.
His hair is wet from the shower, curling at the nape of his neck. He tilts his chin up to the stream of water and shakes his head so a few droplets sparkle off his skin, and I get a full-on view of what’s dangling between his legs.
My chin drops.
I guess everything really is bigger in Texas.
Suddenly, he turns around and looks up.
Our eyes meet, and surprise brightens his features. I expect him to lurch for a towel to cover himself up, but he doesn’t. He stares at me, and I stare back, and then, to my absolute shock, my oldest friend starts getting hard in my periphery the longer I focus on his naked body. If I thought he was big before, it’s nothing compared to now.
I don’t even know how that fits inside someone’s body, and I’m never going to be able to unsee this. Now, every time I eat banana pancakes with him, my brain is going to be shouting REMEMBER THE SHOWER INCIDENT! at me , which is going to be exceptionally distracting as I drizzle maple syrup.
I’m not a blusher, but right now, my face might be flaming.
“Sorry, I’ll, um, let you finish,” I stammer out, soaking up one last glance at his hardening cock. “Showering, I mean.”