9. McKenna
McKenna
T he announcer’s voice blared through the loudspeaker, the sound barely audible over the wound-up crowd and the bulls waiting their turn in the pens.
The metal stands were uncomfortable at best, and I’d discreetly shifted probably a hundred times in the last twenty minutes trying to find some semblance of reprieve.
There was a reason I didn’t attend events like this often, but Brynne had asked, and Austin had said no, so of course I agreed to come.
“Regretting your decision?” Austin asked, leaning into me so I could hear him over the noise.
“No,” I answered stubbornly, straightening my back and holding my chin high.
Brynne was on the other side of me, Booker and Austin caging us in from both sides.
Henley had opted not to join us tonight—something about hanging out with Aubree.
Honestly, good riddance to him. It would have only given me the chance to catch him off guard in public and enact my vengeance because yes, I was petty and held grudges.
There was no forgive and forget bullshit in my mind.
Despite Austin’s gaze still on the crowd around us, he added, “This is still a bad idea.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lighten up.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his thighs. “Put your mouth on my cock and maybe I will.”
I frowned. “So vulgar. You really want a whole crowd to see how fast you come? I mean, it’s your reputation, not mine.”
He reached over to pinch my jean-clad thigh, but I pretended not to feel it.
“You want to see how long I can last, just ask, kitten. I’ll gladly drag you behind the stands right now if that’s what you need to quit acting up.”
My mouth nearly popped open with a pleading yes before I thought better of it. “Don’t tease me with a good time, cowboy. I may be forced to push your buttons a little more to make you go through with all these empty threats.”
He scoffed. We both knew they weren’t empty. He’d proven that twice now.
But still, I was stubborn.
He glanced around me at Booker, then abruptly stood and mumbled, “I’m going to get a beer. Don’t leave this fucking bench.”
I glared at his back as he descended the steps, not once looking back in my direction. The asshole hadn’t even offered to grab me a drink.
All this talk of him ravishing me, plus the mention of alcohol, had me pinching my legs together .
I turned to Brynne, tucking my hands in my camo sweatshirt to ward off the cold. “Come with me to the bathroom?”
Before she even replied, Booker was pushing to a stand. “I’ll come with.”
“Um, hell no you aren’t.” I threw a hand out at the crowd around us. “Do you see how packed these stands are? We’ll lose our spot if we all leave, and I can’t hold it until Asshole comes back.”
Booker pinned me with his broody gaze, eyes narrowed.
Brynne looked up at him sympathetically, grabbing his hand to lower him back to the bench. “We’ll be right back. It’s okay.”
His nostrils flared, the only indication that he was allowing this.
I grabbed Brynne’s hand and we popped up from our seats, inching our way to the stairs to head down to the bottom.
The smell of freshly popped popcorn wafted up to us the lower we got, and when we reached the dirt, the familiar scent of beer hit me.
I wanted to get myself a little souvenir or food or drink while we were down here simply to rub it in that I’d left the bench while Austin was gone, but one glance at the long lines and I thought better of it.
Brynne and I weaved through the crowd of people until we made it to the run-down restrooms. Surprisingly, there was no line for the stalls, but there were plenty of women crowding the sinks to get a better look in the mirrors while they touched up their makeup.
Glancing at Brynne before we parted, I said, “Meet me outside after?”
She nodded and disappeared into the first stall while I peeked into the next three before finally finding a clean one at the end.
The muggy sourness of the room had me scrunching my nose as I took care of business. Despite thinking I was going as fast as I could, the women that were chatting away all seemed to clear out at once, wasting no time at all as the bathroom went completely silent.
The gratingly loud man’s voice on the speaker outside announced something I could barely make out, and the crowd cheered.
I could only assume the event was starting, and we were missing it.
Bright side? Maybe the lines for the concessions wouldn’t be as long if people were rushing back to their seats to watch the bull riding event.
A toilet flushed and another stall closed, but I didn’t want to speak up for fear it wasn’t only Brynne in here.
I fixed my jeans while someone washed their hands, and then I was seemingly alone.
Turning around, I eyed the glossy substance on the handle and opted to use my boot to flush the toilet.
It jiggled, but nothing happened. I tried three times before I set my foot back on the ground with a huff.
Starting to repeat the movements, I paused when slow, heavy footsteps entered the bathroom.
Maybe it was the paranoia, or maybe I was quite literally losing my mind, but I froze, foot hovering midair, as I tried to guess if whoever was walking into this restroom was a really slow, heavy-footed woman or a determined man looking for someone.
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped breathing until I had to force a deep inhale through my nose, doing my best to quiet the sound .
Stop freaking out. Whoever it is, they aren’t looking for you.
But then a stall door slammed into the wall, and I flinched.
Whoever the fuck they were, they meant business, and I wanted no part in it, whether they were looking for me or not. Based on recent events, though, my mind wouldn’t stop jumping to the worst-case scenario.
My eyes searched the stall, but I was in the last one in the corner, so it wasn’t like I could hop on over to the next. Another door flying open told me they were checking each one, and they’d inevitably get to the one I was in.
Looking up, I found a window—albeit an incredibly small one—and gauged whether I could fit through the opening before the mystery person reached my door. Locked or not, that loose bolt wasn’t going to hold if they really wanted in here.
With no other options, I carefully set the sole of my boot on the rim of the toilet, bracing both hands on the walls on either side of me.
So carefully, with sweat dripping down the back of my neck and palms growing damp, I pulled my other foot up.
Meanwhile, the man—I was now confident that wasn’t a woman walking around in here like Bigfoot himself—slammed open two more stalls.
Fuck. Mine was next.
I quickly grabbed the rusty latch, shoving with as much strength as I could muster, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge.
I tugged on it, thinking maybe I was pushing the wrong way, but when that didn’t work, I nearly cried.
My heart had never beat so damn hard, and I didn’t even know what the man wanted.
Maybe he thought his wife was hooking up with some rodeo clown and he was on his way to kill the asshole. He probably didn’t even want me.
But with one glance over my shoulder to find black combat boots coming to a stop before my stall door, I decided I didn’t want to find out his real reason for being in here.
Shooting my attention back to the window, my eyes searched frantically for any sign of it being locked. Rust covered most of the latch, but with an awkward angle of my neck, I found a pin lodged inside of it. I quickly slid it out and shoved the handle again, and it budged.
I could nearly squeal with relief, but I wasn’t out of the doghouse yet.
I turned it, setting a palm on the foggy glass, and pushed.
The window swung open, and I didn’t hesitate as the stall door shook with the man’s efforts of opening it.
With both hands braced on the sill, I practically launched myself through the window.
Right as the stall burst open. And then my shoulder slammed into the hard dirt.
The only problem was, I wasn’t free yet.
Not as I looked over my shoulder and found two large hands grasping the sill.