Chapter 1
Trey
Fort Worth, Texas
January
I’m running down the sidewalk of a suburban neighborhood barefoot, in nothing but my boxers and cowboy hat.
Knox is going to kill me.
I sent him my location as soon as I woke up this morning. Turns out what woke me up was a boyfriend—one I didn’t know existed—coming home to Lacey.
Or was it Macey?
My phone rings. “Where. The fuck. Are. You?” I wheeze between panting breaths. Unless I’m being chased by a bull, running isn’t really my thing.
“I’m looking at your location, but you’re moving. Are you running?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m running! Turns out she has a boyfriend, and he is not a small man.”
Knox bursts into laughter. “Oh, this is too good. Maybe I’ll drive a little slower, see if he catches your home-wrecking ass.”
Ass. I’m in a life-or-death situation here and he’s cracking jokes.
“Don’t you dare! I didn’t know! Where the hell are you?”
He’s laughing so hard I can barely understand him. “Turn around, dumbass.”
I look behind me and sure enough, there he is, creeping down the street at a snail’s pace.
Wait—is he taking a video?!
Oh, I’ll make him regret this.
I hang up. Moments later, I throw the truck door open, and toss my boots, jeans, and shirt into the cab before climbing in. “You’ll pay for that.” I shoot him a glare.
He stops laughing long enough to fire back, “Tough talk coming from a man in nothing but his underwear. Plus, you’re thirty minutes late, so you’ll be paying for the next two tanks of fuel.”
“Whatever. I’ve been kicking your ass, anyway, old man. Just drive before he sees us.”
Knox is my traveling partner. We’ve both ridden bulls professionally since we were eighteen and have traveled together for years. I glance around, looking for the mammoth of a man. Our black truck and Capri truck camper stand out in the quiet neighborhood.
We’re west of Fort Worth where I won their Extreme Bulls last night. I just wanted to celebrate.
Sue me.
I don’t make a habit of sleeping with other men’s women; on the contrary, I try to avoid it at all costs. I had no idea she had a boyfriend. She never mentioned it and there weren’t any photos in the house during the brief moment I looked around the place.
“Better get your britches on,” Knox teases. “Only one hour to Dallas.”
I scowled at him but guided my left foot into my pants leg all the same.
Knox is anxious about being late because we’re picking up his girlfriend, Kacey, and her best friend at the airport.
Her best friend Jessie—the same Jessie I have shamefully flirted with since I met last year, even though she won’t give me the time of day.
I see the way she looks at me though; she, like most women, isn’t immune to my charm and boyish good looks.
No matter what I try, she won’t give in. Which is unlike most women.
Maybe this will be the weekend she finally caves.
I knew I’d like Jessie before I ever met her.
I saw a photo of her with Knox and Kacey on Knox’s phone and I just knew.
That woman is different, a challenge. I’ve never met a challenge I didn’t like.
When my parents told me I shouldn’t ride bulls, I only got on more bulls.
When everyone said I’d never make a living rodeoing, I only rode more bulls and made more money.
So, when we finally met in Estes Park last year, and I saw the fire in Jessie’s eyes, it was game on.
I quickly learned she doesn’t take shit from anyone and I’m pretty sure she terrifies most grown men.
Not me, though, I like feisty women. When Knox and Kacey left us alone for an hour, it was a blurry blend of fighting and flirting.
I knew after five minutes with her I wouldn’t win this challenge in a night, and that’s okay, sometimes the chase is just as fun.
When Knox got hurt last fall, Jessie stepped up and took control. She made sure everyone was taken care of, that we ate, drank, and slept. Anything Knox, Kacey, or I needed, Jessie was there without fail.
Hell, I might not have gone to the arena and rode the next night if it wasn’t for the verbal kick in the ass she gave me.
And I was grateful for it—I wouldn’t have made the National Finals without the money I won that night.
I developed a new respect for her in that hospital, but I still want to rip her jeans off her and see if she fucks as good as she fights—respectfully, of course.
I slap the inside of my thighs and rock my hips back and forth, staying warm.
I breathe in the familiar scent of rosin, livestock, and sweat.
The arena is packed with a cheering crowd, all waiting on the next 8-second ride.
Dust stirs up from the chute where my bull is pawing, amped up and ready to go.
“You got this. Don’t be a pussy.” Knox slaps me on the back of my helmet.
“I am what I eat.” I smirk.
He shakes his head, but he’s fighting a smile. “Just focus.”
“Oh, come on, I’ve been waiting to use that one for years.”
I’m up next, so I climb into the chute and set my rope. Once I’ve taken my wrap and the bull is looking forward, I nod and the gate swings open.
The bull bursts from the chute, kicking hard as he slings his head and moves to the right.
I set my hips to my rope and throw my free arm over my head.
I can feel my hips sliding to the inside, into the well, as he makes his next round.
The way he’s slinging his head, horns flying, I’m not about to fall into his trap and get the shit hooked out of me.
I break at the hips and look toward his left shoulder as I wait on him for a split second before shuffling my hips back into the middle.
“Trey, you need to calm yourself. Quit getting excited and slipping into the well.” Knox’s words echo in my mind as we spin around and around. I feel myself relax as I find the bull’s timing and start matching him move for move.
At six seconds, I feel comfortable enough to lift my outside leg and start spurring to earn myself a few extra points. When the whistle blows, I look up and point toward the section of the stands where I know Jessie is sitting, then I go to pull my tail, but I start sliding to the inside—again.
Son of a bitch.
With no other choice, I grab my tail as fast as I can and kick my hips, jumping right into the well, committing to the wreck my showboating has gotten me into.
Thankfully, the bull fighters step in to draw the bull in the other direction at the same moment my boots hit the dirt.
I walk back to the bucking chutes, waving my arms to hype up the crowd.
“How about 86.5 points to put him in second place!” the announcer bellows and the crowd cheers.
Geez, only 86.5?
They were a little hard on me tonight, but I’m sure my showboating after the whistle cost me a point or two. The judges hate that shit. But, fuck it. I thought it was awesome.
I should be excited about the ride, my winnings, and rise in the world standings. But I’m still wondering, is this what will win Jessie over?
It did not win Jessie over.
She hasn’t said two words to me since we left the arena and came to this bar. Not even a simple “Good ride.” All I got was a quiet “thanks” when I opened the truck door for her. And it’s not like she’s subdued; she’s been plenty chatty with Knox and Kacey.
I need to change tactics, bring out the big guns. Kacey told me Jessie likes to dance, and I happen to be a fantastic swing dancer.
I wait a few minutes until the perfect song comes on before I set my beer down and round the table to her.
She’s a total smokeshow tonight. With her dark auburn waves flowing down her back, almost so long they touch her perfectly-fitted dark wash jeans.
Jessie is petite, but she has curves in all the right places.
She’s wearing boots and another one of those damn corset tops like she wore in Estes Park last year.
I swear she only wears them to test my willpower and determine whether I’ll glance down at her cleavage or not.
I wordlessly hold out my hand and watch her hazel eyes move from my hand to my blue ones.
“What?”
“Dance with me.” It’s not a question.
Silence is her only answer as she crosses her arms.
Oh, the corset is so a test.
I don’t look down.
I don’t know what it is about this woman that draws me in like a moth to a flame, but here I am, walking directly into the fire.
I give her my best crooked smile and say a little too loud, “Jessie Hawkins, will you please do me the honor of gracing the dance floor with your unending beauty, irresistible charm, and effortless—”
“Okay, fine. Just shut up.” She slaps her hand into mine. “You’re embarrassing.”
I hear a snort from across the table. Knox, no doubt. He’s the brother I never had and knows me well. He knows I’ve been obsessed with Jessie since the moment I saw her. He tells me—too often—it’ll never happen, but I don’t appreciate his negativity and choose to ignore him.
I lead Jessie to the floor, spin her into me and start two-stepping.
I waited for a medium-tempo song, enough that we could swing dance but also have a conversation.
I’m still in my cowboy hat, starched jeans, and long sleeve navy blue riding shirt—the picture of a cowboy.
But the moment her hand settles on my shoulder, a jolt of heat sears straight through the fabric like it’s not even there.
She moves with me like we’ve done this a thousand times, every step seamless. Her body molds to mine in a way that feels dangerously right. Like she was designed to fit into my arms.
“Did you see me point at you before I got off my bull?” I ask her.
“I’m not going to act like I know everything about bull riding, but I saw you showing off, then about get yourself in a wreck.”
“Psh—no. I knew those bull fighters would step in. My timing was impeccable.”
“Spell ‘impeccable.’”
I spin her out, swinging her behind my back before stepping around and pulling her back into me. “Listen, Hawkins. I’m a bull rider, not an English teacher.”
She raises a brow at me.
“As I was saying, I pointed up at you. I think you might be my good luck charm.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls, don’t you, stud?” she counters cheekily.
Then, the song ends. Before I know it, she winks and saunters back to our table. She’s toying with me . . . and it’s fucking killing me. I might have officially met my match. But damn, she looks good strutting away.
“So?” Kacey tilts her head, assessing Jessie as we approach.
“I stand by my statement,” is her only reply.
“What statement?” I ask.
“You’re a fuckboy,” Jessie quips, looking me dead in the eyes before grabbing her beer, taking a long pull.
I prop my elbow on the table and lean toward her. “Forget what kind of man you think I am. What kind of man do you need me to be?”
She snorts a laugh, but there’s a spark in her eye. “Wow. Smooth. Does that line ever work for you?”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
She swallows the last of her beer. “Maybe if you would’ve won tonight. Second isn’t a good look.” With that, she turns and walks away.
But my ego isn’t easily bruised. Before she’s out of earshot, I call out, “Mmm, keep talking like that, and I might fall in love with you.” Bringing my fist to my mouth, I bite down on my index finger as I watch her glance over her shoulder and give me a smirk.
“There is something fundamentally wrong with you,” Knox says next to me.
“Mind your business, old man. I know what I’m doing.” I don’t take my eyes off Jessie as she works her way through the crowd to the bar.
“He has no idea what he’s doing,” Kacey whispers to Knox.
And she might be right.