Roping a Rodeo Rival

1. Warren

Seven Years Earlier

“And that’s a no score for young Warren Burke, but give this cowboy a round of applause, folks. That’s a tough break on what was sure to be a championship weekend.”

The announcer could have left that part out. As if I didn’t know, I just lost a shot for all the money at the biggest rodeo of my life. All the glory and an award to make my dad proud was right fucking there. Tie-down roping champion was mine to lose, and I did.

After my best rodeo year ever, one bad run was all it took.

The buckle vanished, and I lost.

Again.

To Dane fucking Walker.

The cocky prick who never misses a chance to drop a reminder that he beat me. Apparently, he’s never heard of the phrase ‘sore winner.’

“Sorry about your luck.” The asshole in question breaks through my thoughts with his insincere line. His lips quirk into his signature smirk, which I’m sure he thinks is charming because of his cute dimples and ocean-blue eyes.

Whatever.

“Fuck off, Walker. You got lucky.”

He didn’t. He’s a talented roper, but I’ll never say that to his face. His ego is big enough for both of us.

“Did I, though?” He steps closer. “From what I see, no luck was involved. Only skill.”

Gritting my teeth, I push past him out of the gathering area behind the chutes. Dane likes to hold his buckle up, making sure the lights hits it and I have to look too. It sparkles like his damn charming smile every time he wins. Both things I don’t need to see right now.

“Its pretty, isn’t it?” he asks as he walks behind me.

“I almost don’t want to wear it.” When I don’t answer, he leans in closer.

“Maybe I’ll wear it next year when I beat you again, Burke.

One for the trophy shelf and one for show, you know?

” He taps at his full lips, and the lights in the parking lot make the sweat along his top lip shine.

If I lean in a little closer, I bet I’d smell more than just the rodeo dirt and horses’ scent we all carry.

A guy like Dane probably wears one of those drugstore cologne sprays that smells like a douchebag in aerosol.

“Although I already have, what? Three buckles at home? How many times have I beaten you, Burke? I forget.”

I’ve never wanted to fight someone as much as I want to punch Dane Walker right now. It was hard enough posing for my second-place cheque and pretending to congratulate him in the photos.

“Pretty sure you can’t count that high, and that’s why you’re asking.”

His grin falters slightly. Score one for me. Now who’s stupid?

“I’m still going to beat you, Burke. Doesn’t matter if a buckle is involved. I’ll always…beat…you.” He draws out each word while his lips still smirk and those fucking dimples pop as his most redeeming quality. Why did the universe make such an asshole so attractive?

My temper flares—maybe because I’m mad at him for his taunts or maybe I’m pissed he’s been so blessed in the looks department—and my arm shoots out, shoving him in the chest so hard he hits the metal fencing of the parking lot, hard. I don’t miss the grimace of pain he tries to hide, either.

Good.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance with me one-on-one.” I hiss. His eyes widen, and my too-slow brain finally catches up with how my words must sound. “Not like that, you asshole.”

Dane laughs, and his gaze shifts over my shoulder. “Daddy is coming to break up the fight, Burke.”

My hand drops from his chest immediately, and I turn to find my adopted dad, the rodeo legend, Hunter Burke, striding my way with a very stern look on his face.

“Later, Burke. Enjoy being second place. I hope Daddy Dearest isn’t too disappointed in you.”

Dane slips away, and I face my dad with a forced smile. My dad’s gaze stays on Dane as he walks away for a beat before giving me his full attention.

“What was that about, Warren?”

“Nothing. He was just being an asshole, as usual.”

My dad has this uncanny ability to see through all my bullshit. It has to be a parental thing, but he’s the only one who can read me with an accuracy that is honestly disturbing. It’s like he’s in my brain sometimes.

Dad raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like nothing. Looked like you were itching to fight.”

“No, sir. I know I can’t do that.”

“Warren,” Dad says softly. “I’m Dad. Not sir, okay? We’ve been over this. You’re my son, and I’m proud of what you’ve done so far. You’re a champion roper, even if that buckle isn’t yours.”

“The buckle goes to the champion, Dad. I lost and I hate it.”

I sound like a petulant child, but I really wanted to win. Yes, for myself, but also for my dad. He’s a damn legend. I walk by his trophy case every day, and I want nothing more than to be just like him.

“Then I guess we keep practicing and you beat him next year.” He drapes his arm around my shoulder and guides me back towards our truck, where he’s already loaded my horse while I did the obligatory photo ops and interviews. “Don’t let him get to you. Show him next year he’s not the king.”

The following year

“Wow. How does it feel to always be second best, Burke?”

Familiar ocean-blue eyes shine as he waits for my answer. Jesus Christ, if I go to jail for sucker punching him, it’ll be worth it.

“You don’t always win, Walker. I’ve beaten you this year.” Only twice, but not never. I’ve never beaten him when it counted for all the bragging rights, but I’m not letting that get to me today.

I’m not always second. Only when it’s a big deal, and if he keeps reminding me, he might lose teeth. It’d be a shame to ruin his sexy smile. Not that I think he’s sexy, but he has a great smile. Objectively, of course. Even those dimples wouldn’t save him if he lost teeth.

“Okay, that’s true, but you never seem to win when the hardware is on the line.

Can’t handle the pressure, I’d say. You choke, Burke.

” He makes a noise like he’s dry coughing, then beams that smile my way.

“That’s what it sounds like when you’re around, and we have a championship on the line. Choking, get it?”

What is this guy’s issue? Spinning, I slam a palm into his chest and press him up against the closest surface. A bucking chute rocks with the movement. Good. That might leave a mark.

“I don’t choke on you, Walker. Shut up.”

This close to Dane’s face, I notice how long his eyelashes are. And thick.

“Sure you don’t want to choke on me, Burke?” Dane says, his voice low, and his thigh nudges my crotch.

I step back, horrified by his implication. “Leave me alone, Walker. Not if you were the last man on earth.”

Dane’s cologne is fucking salty ocean or evergreen boughs. Whatever it is, it’s something far more pleasant than his personality. A mystery I regret solving.

Turning, I walk briskly back to my trailer and tend to my waiting horse. The second-place trophy gets flung on the truck seat with a curse. I wish I knew why he got to me so much and why the fuck I can’t beat him when it matters most.

Since I started rodeo, it’s been my singular goal to win. Just like my dad. There’s no better motivation than walking by my dad’s trophy case every day since I was fifteen. And yet…here I am, 24 years old and still without a championship buckle.

I have the facilities to train. My dad and uncles are all champions in their fields, so I have top-notch coaches. Even my horse Petey is bred for rodeo. I have all the tools that should allow me to succeed, and I can’t.

Because of Dane-fucking-Walker.

I’m still fuming when he drives by me and waves with his stupid, smiling, winning, dimpled face. I flash him my middle finger and immediately check my shoulder for my dad. He’d rip me a new one if I didn’t behave with integrity.

Win graciously and lose graciously. Those are the words he drilled into me, and I usually follow them. Unless it comes to Dane.

“Yo, Warren! Coming to the banquet?”

Free food before the drive home is never a bad idea. Dane never stays, which is a blessing for me, I suppose. He doesn’t know what he’s missing, and I’d like to keep it that way…even if I beat him.

When I beat him.

“I’ll be right there!”

If I can’t beat him in the ring, I’ll just eat his share at the buffet.

Another year later

“You know how sometimes you need to piss so bad, but your belt buckle gets stuck?” Dane smirks at me, and I shake my head as I try to walk past him. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve never had a buckle. Sorry, Burke.”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

My boots can’t move fast enough. I just want to get in my truck and go. Thankfully, both my dads have already left, and we didn’t come in the same vehicle because I really don’t need them telling me how amazing I am without the championship, and that it’s just a buckle.

I love them, but sometimes I just want to steep in my rage at Dane Walker and wonder why the hell I can’t ever beat the guy.

It’s always the two of us and nobody else.

Walker and Burke. Never Burke and Walker, and I let that get under my skin too much.

A lifetime of second place is not something I want to live through. Especially if he’s always the winner.

I brushed off the banquet tonight. I’m not great company and I'm up in my head more than usual. I need a distraction.

After parking where I know my horse trailer and Petey will be safe, I walk the two blocks back and step into a male strip club on the city limits.

I found it once by accident when I wasn’t in the right frame of mind and just needed to decompress.

What better way to take me out of miserable thoughts than to watch sexy, half-naked men on stage?

Probably one of my best ideas, really. Although my therapist would likely disagree.

I hope Trevor is working tonight.

Entering the bar, I find a table near the back and sit alone. After a server brings me a drink, I watch the first act and notice Trevor working through the crowd on the floor. I must have just missed his performance.

When Trevor notices me in the back, his face lights up as he stalks over. His long legs and tight black booty shorts are a spectacular sight.

“Warren! This is a nice surprise.”