Chapter 18 #2
But he didn’t know my secrets. He didn’t know the pieces of me I kept hidden under lock and key. When he did—and eventually, he would—he’d never look at me the same way again.
I caught him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye when I stifled a groan of satisfaction, wiping the last bit of sauce off my bowl.
“Good?” he asked, with a smug grin.
I nodded, taking the last sip of my beer. “Who knew the dirty bull rider could be domesticated?”
He threw back his head with a laugh. “I don’t do it for everyone. Coffee and lunch? Phew. Might as well get a key.”
“Ew,” I shot back, wrinkling my nose for effect. “I would never live here.”
Liar.
Admitting that to myself was bad enough—I’d never let him see it.
“You were in a relationship until recently?” he casually asked, changing the subject.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the empty bowl in front of me.
I didn’t need to tell him the whole story. He didn’t need to know about the engagement, the accident, or the way it unraveled everything I thought my life would be. It wasn’t something I could explain—not yet.
“We dated for a long time. It started back in college when my parents passed away. But . . . yeah, it didn’t work out.”
That was all I could give him. There was too much left to untangle, too much I hadn’t even figured out for myself.
“What about you?” I deflected.
I slid off the stool and carried my dish to the sink, turning on the water like it was the most natural thing in the world to be cleaning up in his kitchen. Somehow, it didn’t feel strange—just . . . easy.
“Nah. I don’t date.”
I narrowed my eyes at him over my shoulder. A booming laugh filled the room as he got off the chair too and came to stand next to me.
He looked down at me, his brown eyes darkening. “We already established we’re just friends and what we did before was fucking, Cowgirl. If you need help figuring out what fuck—”
I elbowed him in the side. “Shut up. I know what we did. I was there.”
“Yeah you were.” He kept hold of his bowl, looking away from me. “Screaming my name—”
“Beaudreau.” I chastised him, my tone sharp enough to make him pause.
But the grin he fought to hide said he was far from sorry.
He shrugged, his features fading into something softer as he rinsed his bowl. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just my lifestyle doesn’t exactly let me date. I’m gone Thursday through Sunday every single week, traveling for events. There’s not a lot of time to make anything work.”
I glanced at him, catching the flicker of honesty in his expression.
“Dalton and I usually go out after the events—bars, restaurants, whatever. It’s not like those are places to meet someone serious. Dating someone while being a professional bull rider is hard. Most guys don’t bother trying.”
I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms. “Why? Because it’s too much work?”
He shook his head, a low chuckle escaping. “Because you’re never home. Because the job’s dangerous as hell. And because most people don’t get it—why we do what we do.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an undercurrent of something heavier, something unspoken. I didn’t press, but it was easy to see how his world didn’t leave much room for anyone else. It made sense, even if it didn’t make it any less sad.
“I saw plenty of girls at the event who ‘got’ it.”
He hummed as he set the plate on the drying rack. “Nah. Most girls just want to hook up with a bull rider so they can say they did. It’s fun for a night, but when it comes down to the distance, the travel, and the time away? Nobody actually wants to deal with that long term.”
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “You work all year round, right?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “During the summer, after the world championship, we shift into team season. It’s more structured, like being on a professional team. We have a coach, training schedules, the whole deal. It’s a different kind of pressure, but still nonstop.”
“Sounds exhausting,” I said, watching the way his shoulders rolled back.
“It’s the life,” he said simply, but something in his tone shifted. His shoulders seemed to sag slightly as he turned to look away, his gaze landing somewhere in the distance. He shook his head and then glanced back at me, his face unreadable. “Want me to drive you back?”
I nodded, unsure of what to say, and followed him out to his truck.
Beau quietly drove the short distance back to my little guesthouse, the hum of the truck filling the silence. As we rolled to a stop, he pointed toward the sky, the clouds thick and dark, a storm clearly brewing.
“I’ll drive you tonight. Looks like a storm’s coming, and the road to Roger’s can get flooded.”
I shook my head. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”
The corner of his mouth lifted into that damn smile. “I know you are, baby, but let me be a gentleman and drive you.”
I sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide the laugh bubbling up. “Fine,” I said, hopping out of the truck.
As I walked toward the house, the wet ground sucked at my sneakers. It had rained earlier, and the mud seemed alive, determined to take me down.
I stepped forward, only to feel the earth grip my foot with an iron hold. It wasn’t just mud—it was like the ground had grown hands, wrapping around the legs of Beau’s oversized sweats. I yanked hard, but as my foot came free, the pants didn’t budge.
My momentum carried me forward, and suddenly, I was on the ground, pantsless, with only my ass hanging out for the world—and Beau—to see.
“Oh, this is embarrassing,” I muttered, too mortified to even check the damage yet.
From behind me, I heard his low chuckle. “Well, Cowgirl, if you wanted to give me a show, all you had to do was ask.”
I turned just enough to glare at him, my face burning. “Not a word.”
“Not even a little one?” He teased, leaning casually against the truck, arms crossed, as if this was the highlight of his day.
I stomped up the steps, ignoring the squelch of mud between my toes, and slammed the door behind me.
Inside, I didn’t rush to wash my hands. Instead, I flopped onto the couch, letting out a long breath.
As ridiculous as it all was, I couldn’t stop the small, silly smile that crept across my face.
The absurdity of the morning, the freedom of leaving those stupid pants in the mud—it all felt strangely liberating.
Emotion swelled inside me until I could do only one thing. I let myself laugh.