Chapter 11
eleven
Trouble
I settle into the saddle with a cocky tilt of my hat and a smug grin.
Locking eyes with Sawyer, I toss her a wink.
Riding bulls is etched into my bones, and this little bet won't even make me break a sweat.
Atti, a blonde firecracker working the controls, gives me an evil smirk as her fingers dance over the buttons.
She's Winnie's best friend, and by default, not exactly a member of my fan club. She’s cornered me more than once on my lack of commitment.
"Go easy on me, Atti," I tease, but the glint in her eye tells me she's got other plans.
Snapping to life beneath me, a low rumble turns into a wild, thrashing storm.
My muscles tense, ready for wherever this ride takes me.
But as the bull bucks and spins, I feel Sawyer's sharp accessing gaze. The machine beneath me kicks up a notch, and I can't help but think that maybe I’m enjoying whatever game we’re playing more than I let on.
My thighs grip the sides of the mechanical beast as it hits a faster speed—each twist and buck is a little test, a question I answer with the set of my jaw, the flex of my muscles.
Atti's fingers flirt with the controls, her eyes locked on mine for a split second before she slams down on a button.
The bull leaps into overdrive, jerking and spinning, trying its best to unseat me.
Out of the corner of my eye, Sawyer's eyes narrow, her expression all coiled energy and untamed spirit, and it's enough to make me hold on just that little bit longer. But you can’t fight gravity forever. The second I feel the timing hit, I let go—rolling off as smooth as I can, cocky grin and all.
The guys are front and center, heckling like it’s their job. “That was embarrassing!” one yells. The whole table cracks up. “I could’ve done that blindfolded!” Charming adds, slow-clapping like a jackass.
Sawyer's presence cuts through it all, though, when she steps forward, those piercing blue eyes drilling into mine, her voice a mix of honey and aged whiskey.
"That was all you got?" she asks with a smirk that says she's already cashed the check from her victory. "This is going to be easy."
"Easy?" I drawl. I give her a wink that could spark wildfires. "Bull rider here, baby. Wouldn't be so sure of yourself."
"Watch and learn," she tosses over her shoulder. It's cute—the way she thinks she's got this in the bag. Adorable, really.
I step aside, granting her center stage, watching as every eye in the room is on her. She trails off, leaving behind the faintest trace of her perfume—some blend of vanilla and wildflowers. The kind of scent you could bottle up, put a pretty bow on, and auction off to the highest bidder.
The mechanical bull waits, and Sawyer—acting like some warrior queen, all spitfire and sparkling boots—approaches it with a confidence that doesn’t surprise me one bit.
She flashes a grin, all defiant behind those baby-blue eyes, and swings onto the bull like she owns the damn thing. The crowd hushes, anticipation crackling as she sits.
"What was that?" Rogue nudges my arm, his voice low and heavy with suspicion.
"Nothing," I shrug, my gaze still tracking Sawyer as she holds on tight, pure sass and unnecessary courage. "Just a little contest."
Rogue's eyes drill into me as he takes a long pull from his beer. The drink doesn't soften the edge in his voice when he leans in. "Little contest, huh? Looks to me like you just lost on purpose," he drawls, the corners of his mouth twitch with a knowing smirk.
"No idea what you're talking about," I lie, and he knows it.
But before he can press further, the bull roars to life beneath Sawyer, and all eyes are drawn back to her.
I watch her, the way her body reacts to the bull, how she holds on tight.
There’s a grace in the way she moves—light, effortless—but underneath, there’s some kinda grit there.
A determination that says she’s here to prove me wrong. And damn, maybe I want her to.
She's straddling the machine, her blonde waves contrast against her tan skin, and I can’t help but notice how her perky tits bounce with each dip.
Rogue leans in close. "I know what it looks like when you get bucked off," he says, still not dropping it. "You didn’t even try to make that look real.”
"Shut up, now." I side-eye him before my focus shifts back to the main event. "Got a show to watch."
The mechanical bull bucks, but she’s got a grip on it. My heart keeps pace as I focus on her every move. Those damn cowgirl boots are hugging her legs in all the right ways—ways I have never appreciated until now.
Atti's still at the controls, and it's clear as crystal she's playing favorites tonight.
The bull moves with a gentle roll, nothing like the mechanical rage she set loose on me.
But Sawyer, she rides like she's born to, makes it look like some sexy ass show.
The guys around me erupt into cheers, while the men on the opposite side whistle loud enough to wake the fucking dead.
I cross my arms over my chest. Atti, behind the panel, watches Sawyer light up the room.
With a flick of her wrist, she hits a button, and the bull eases into a slow, drawn-out spin.
The move draws the gaze of every soul in this damn place.
And just like that, she's doubled my time—hell, she’s shattered it.
I’m caught between admiring her and irritation. Sawyer doesn’t just have the crowd on her side—she's got all the men in here drooling and standin’ up straight.
"Careful now," Danger's voice is low as he slides in beside me. "One like that will give you a run for your money."
I tilt my head toward him, half-grin on my face. "Knox’s sister, remember," I say, probably more as a reminder for me than him.
My eyes still follow her every move, tracing the arch of her back as she shifts to match the rhythm of the ride. My fingers tap an impatient beat on my thigh.
Then it happens—a twist too quick, then a buck too sharp. Sawyer is airborne before she hits the padded mats with a bounce. I don’t miss her squeal of delight. It’s pure excitement. Because she won and she knows it, beat the cowboy at his own game.
The crowd explodes into hoots, hollers, and enough testosterone to power a damn tractor pull.
Every guy in the bar practically trips over himself to help her down.
She flips her hair like she knows she was the main act tonight, skippin’ over with a smirk that’s got “told you so” written all over it.
“Starting to regret underestimating me?”
“Regret’s not really my style,” I say, meeting her eyes.
“Yeah?” She grins. “Guess losing is more your thing.”
"I’ll give you that, sweetheart," I say, leaning into her space just enough to breathe her in again. I rest my arm above her head on a wooden post. "Guess you won fair and square. Go ahead and tell me exactly what it is you're about to make me do."
Her lips curve. It’s not quite a smile, but it says she has something up her sleeve. "Oh, no," she shakes her head, all sass and secrets. “I'm saving your dare for another day. Some things are worth keeping until the right moment."
And damn if that doesn't intrigue me. What the hell is she planning to make me do? With Sawyer, there's no telling. But one thing's for sure: I know I won’t back down from a dare.
A gentle breeze flutters down from the ceiling fans above, playing with the edges of her hair as if it can't resist touching her. Her back presses against the railing of the bull ring, and I lean in.
"Let me get this straight, you’re saving it?"
"I can do what I want with my dare."
"Can you now?" My brow quirks up, trying to understand this play of hers.
"Absolutely," she says with a hair flip.
"Fair enough," I smirk, flickin’ my cheek with my tongue. My gaze drops, nice and slow, taking its sweet time dragging down those legs of hers—toned, sunkissed, and made just to mess with a man’s head—until it lands on those damn boots.
"And you saving those boots too? Or is this a one-night-only type of thing?"
She tips her head back, showing me those ocean eyes beneath her lashes. "Well," she starts, putting a hand on her hip. "My ex hated cowgirl boots, so I think I'll keep wearing them."
Sounds like some asshole clearly unworthy of her if he couldn't appreciate the sight—but from what I’ve gathered, he didn’t treat her right either.
"Sounds like a damn fool." The words slip out, but I don't regret it.
"Excuse me?"
All eyes are on us, the whole damn bar straining to catch the exchange between Sawyer and me. But I don’t give them the show they’re dying for. I lean in, close enough for only her to hear.
“You in those boots? Let’s just say I ain’t been right since you walked in. Whatever your ex missed, baby, the rest of us see loud and clear.”
I tilt my chin toward the guys nearby, still buzzing from her little bull-riding stunt. Before she can fire back, a slurred voice cuts through the moment.
“You’re the prettiest thing we’ve seen in this bar all night.”
Sawyer offers a small, uneven smile. Her shoulders tense, and she takes a barely noticeable step back, as if distance could make the moment less uncomfortable.
I stiffen, jaw locking. The drunk who's been gawking at her all evening is pressin’ up on her, and I’m this close to showing him what happens when you disrespect a woman in front of me. Then Knox steps up, his voice low, rough with warnin’.
"Pal, you're about to have a pretty, new shiner on that eye of yours if you don't turn back around and walk back to where you came from."
"Hey man, I was just trying to get to know her," he protests, hands raised in a gesture that's part surrender, part plea.
Rogue and Danger materialize at my sides like shadows—silent, watchful, ready. The man clocks it instantly. His eyes cut to me, then to them, tracking the shift as we close in.
I lift the edge of my shirt, slow and deliberate—just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the steel tucked into my waistband. Not a threat. A fucking promise.
His eyes go wide.
He knows now.
You don’t walk away from men like us. You might crawl, if you’re lucky.
"Alright, alright, forget it then," he mumbles, then stumbles backward, finally retreating back to where he came from.
Knox puffs up, yelling after him, “That’s what I thought. Y’all don’t wanna test me when it comes to my sister.”
He doesn’t even realize it wasn’t his words that made the guy bail—it was the quiet threat we made with a single gesture.
There's something in the way he says ”my sister” though—possessive, protective—that sobers me up real quick.
For a moment, I almost forgot that the girl with the fiery spirit and cowgirl boots was off-limits.
The girl who had everyone's attention tonight was Knox's sister—my best friend's very off-limits sister.
"Knox," Sawyer hisses, "that guy seemed harmless. Back in the city, I've taken down bigger men with my nearly-empty Prada bag."
Knox, though, isn't having any of it.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Don't tell me that," he finally says. The lines around his eyes tighten just enough to show his concern. "Matter of fact, I'm takin’ you home."
"Not yet," Sawyer argues. "I need another drink. You're welcome to wait for me until I'm done." She doesn't wait for a response, just pivots on the heel of those cowgirl boots and strides away.
Knox watches her go. "I swear to God," he lets out a breath. "If any asshole in this town tries to pull anything—"
My hand clamps down on his shoulder, cutting him short. "We got your back," I assure him. "We won't let anything happen to her."
Knox's hand lands on my back, giving me a solid pat. "Glad you got my back, brother.”
He turns away and makes his way back to his table where a half-finished drink waits.
"You heard that right, Trouble?" Rogue says, giving me a knowing look. "He means you, too, when he says don't pull anything."
"I fucking know.”
The smile he gives me—it's a taunt.
"Yeah, sure you do.”