Chapter 6 #2
Beau Junior gives a little throb of approval. ‘I’ll just bet you do.’
The hallway is thumping with people and noise—I know that. I was just there. But now I feel like I’m anywhere else, sucked into some strange kinda black hole with Bailey, so it’s just her, me and a whole lotta heat.
‘You’re a natural on a bull.’
I know it. I’ve heard it before, and it’s something I’ve felt inside me from the minute I first got on the back of one. I was born to ride. But hearing it from Bailey still does funny things to my insides. Still makes me feel something I hadn’t expected.
‘I bet you say that to all the guys.’ I keep it light, because that’s what I do. Especially when I feel. In fact, the more I feel, the more I cover it with something frothy. Flirting, joking, grinning.
‘Just the ones I’ve seen tossed around a bull-riding arena.’
‘He didn’t toss me too bad.’
‘I heard he threw some guy into the walls last year.’
‘Who you been talkin’ to?’ I ask, liking the thought of Bailey out there shooting the breeze with people in the crowd.
‘I heard it from someone,’ she replies, her throat moving again. Someone jostles behind me and I don’t miss the chance to shift out of their way. Only, I don’t move sideways—away from Bailey—but closer, positioning my body so our knees brush and sparks burst from her to me and back again.
‘It’s crowded tonight,’ I explain, without moving away.
‘Yeah.’ Her lips are soft and pink, parted just enough to show her white teeth. She glances sideways, a little divot forming between her brows. I silently pray she doesn’t ask me to move.
‘You’re not doing the press event?’
It reminds me of how she came into the room last night, then left. It reminds me that I haven’t seen her alone since our bar meal on Thursday.
‘Nah. Some other guys are in the hot seat this time.’
‘Don’t act like you don’t love it,’ she says, a hint of something in her voice. Mockery? Sarcasm?
‘It’s part of the job.’
She rolls her eyes, but shifts her body a little, slightly away from the wall, so our knees that were brushing are closer now, properly connected.
And sparking so much heat it’s like an inferno is taking hold.
I could move my leg just a little, to be between hers.
I could drop my hand and it would tease the side of her body, brushing over her hip.
I could … but I don’t. She’s told me she’s off limits and until she tells me otherwise, I’m going to respect that.
Of course. Even when I can tell that not touching each other properly is putting us both in a form of hell.
‘So, what are you doing now?’ she asks, and I swear it takes every ounce of my willpower not to suggest that we could both be doing the same thing—each other—if that’s what she wants.
Except the way I am with women is always light and temporary.
It’s how I roll, how I’ll probably always roll.
I’ve seen what Cole and Beth have; I know that for them that kind of happily ever after is just the right fit.
In fact, I don’t know if they could have fought it.
But I’ve always been clear with every girl I’ve dated that riding is my first and only love.
Sex is just for kicks. But with Bailey, apparently her whole career is at stake, so the best thing I can do is put her, and this, out of my head.
‘Heading to a bar with some of the guys on the tour.’ I let the statement hang between us, try to see if there’s anything like disappointment on her face, but she just nods slowly, her wide-set eyes fluttering closed, hiding whatever she’s thinking from me.
‘Do you wanna come?’ I could kick myself for offering, but apparently, with Bailey, knowing what I should do and what I actually do are two very different things.
‘Oh.’ She lifts a hand to the fine gold necklace she wears and runs her fingers over it. ‘Would that be weird?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, is it something you do—as in, just the riders?’
‘Don’t you want to get to know what life on the tour’s like?’
‘Well, yeah … but I’m media. Won’t some of them resent me being there?’
I let out a throaty laugh. ‘Do you care?’
She grimaces and her hand drops away from the necklace.
‘I thought you were a hard-hitting journalist, here to cover a story.’
‘You’re the story,’ she points out. ‘And I don’t need to go to a bar to talk to you.’
Damn straight. We could get to know each other a lot better in private. But danger sirens blare, so I don’t say what I’m thinking. Don’t issue the invitation that’s on the tip of my tongue. I told her I was available, and I meant it.
‘Suit yourself, Bailey James.’ I pull my hand away and take a step backward to put some space between us.
Her eyes drop to my chest and linger there a second, her lips parted so I physically ache to reach forward and kiss her.
‘But if you change your mind, I’ll be out the front in ten minutes.
’ And because I clearly have the willpower of a three-year-old at a chocolate buffet, I let my eyes fall to her lips and stay there just long enough to imprint them in my mind’s eyes, to torture myself with later …
The Buckin’ Bronco is as busy as usual on a Saturday night, filled with the regular crowd of riders, fans and the kind of groupies who follow the tour from event to event.
A live band is playing covers of country hits, the male singer’s voice filling the gaps in conversation.
A group has formed around the pool table across the room, and the line at the bar is at least four deep.
I somehow register all that, even while ninety per cent of my brain power is on the woman standing to my right.
The fact Bailey decided to come along has had me at sixes and sevens since we left the arena.
She still stands out like a sore thumb, every bit as much as she did back there, but at the same time she doesn’t.
It’s because she looks confident despite her differences, because she seems completely comfortable in her own skin, and therefore in this venue. Or anywhere, I’d bet.
‘Well, cowboy, what’s the deal?’ she asks, looking up at me.
I grin pro forma. ‘We start with a drink and go from there.’
She eyes the bar suspiciously. ‘It’s a little hectic.’
‘There somewhere else you gotta be?’
She shakes her head, but I spy some of the guys from the tour across the room.
‘Come with me,’ I say, nodding toward them.
My fingers twitch, wanting to reach down and touch her back, to draw her closer and pull her through the crowd at my side, but I know that if I give in to temptation, I’ll find it almost impossible to stop touching her.
When we reach the group, I start making introductions.
Bailey holds out her hand and shakes each of theirs, reminding me of when we met at the airport and I wrapped her small, soft fingers in mine.
Even then I felt a spark of awareness, the kind that usually tells me I need to do something about it.
‘I’m buyin’.’ My gaze moves from Bailey to the other guys, confirming they’re all ready for another beer, then pull myself away from her. Bailey’s eyes flick to mine.
‘You good here?’
I feel her hesitation like a pulse, but she nods once. ‘Yeah, of course,’ she says. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Don’t y’all dish any dirt,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘She’s a reporter.’
There’s a loud whoop from one of the riders, but I’ve turned by then and got my head down, making my way through the crowd.
I’m not someone who takes advantage of my success on the tour, and the name I’ve earned.
That’s definitely not me. I’m happy to wait my turn in line, to go about my business.
But somewhere like this I can’t help but be recognised, and I’ve barely been at the bar two minutes before someone comes up to serve me, insists on letting me go even when I try to push other customers in front.
I reluctantly order the drinks then pass around a sheepish smile. It’s met with big grins in return.
‘Hey, handsome. You did good tonight.’
A woman with glossy brown hair and huge blue eyes is smiling up at me. Just her tone is enough to tell me what she’s thinking.
‘Thanks, ma’am.’ I smile back easily.
‘You looked real good too.’
‘Looked?’ I prompt, aware that I’m going through the motions of flirting for the sake of it.
Because it’s expected of me. Because it’s what I usually do.
But in the back of my mind, I’m still thinking about Bailey, wondering if she’s okay, wondering if she’s looking at me.
Being glad as all get-out that she did change her mind and decide to come to the bar with me after all. ‘Past tense?’
The woman’s laugh is low and soft. ‘Oh, present tense too. From what I can tell, anyway.’
The bar guy returns with a tray of beers. I hand over some cash, then glance back to the woman. ‘One of those for me?’
‘It can be,’ I say. After all, what would my dad say if I turned a lady down for a drink?
‘You’re a real gentleman,’ she purrs.
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘Can I help you carry that?’
‘I got it.’ I smile back at her and nod to the group of riders I’m with. With any luck, she’ll attach herself to one of the others and I can go back to staring at Bailey like my life depends on it.