26. Lyla #2
I turn to look over at the now-empty mechanical bull, the cute little blonde girl wearing a sundress and flimsy sandals getting up off the padded mats and dusting herself off. She hardly lasted ten seconds. “I think you guys are up.”
Beck follows Austin over to the bull, Austin raising his arms in the air to elicit a loud cheer from everyone in the bar. Sutton and Skye and I watch from our table, all of us holding back groans and eye rolls at the show they’re putting on.
When Austin gets on, he looks like a natural, one hand on the saddle horn and one hand in the air.
It starts slow but gains speed, quickly accelerating and increasing the jerky motion.
The cheering gets louder as Austin nears Beck’s previous time, and then his own, surpassing it with ease and earning himself a new personal best.
He jumps off at that point, throwing a fist in the air. “Yee fuckin’ haw!”
I cover my face and pretend I don’t know him, that I’m not related to him, as he approaches the woman who had gotten bucked off before him.
He leans in close, and she looks like she’s about to melt at his proximity.
I think she’s almost a puddle on the floor boards as he takes his hat off and places it on her head.
I know that move. That’s the move that tells everyone in the bar that she’s his for the night. I wonder if Beck also participates in the bit.
Beck is ready on the bull now, and the ride starts. His arms flex and tense as he hangs on, and the memory of those arms picking me up with ease, throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me to the shower last night makes a wet heat surge between my thighs.
My eyes are glued to his strong thighs, gripping the machine as it writhes beneath him, his hips rocking back and forth with the machine. I’m consumed with the thought of those hips sinking down between my legs and rocking just. Like. That.
The bar whoops and hollers as he beats his previous time. Everyone is transfixed by him as he passes Austin’s old record.
And then he gets thrown, landing on the mats with a thud. The crowd collectively groans, but it morphs into another cheer as he stands, looking victorious.
When they return to the table, they both have a sheen of sweat on them, Beck’s dark hair sticking slightly to his forehead from under his hat.
He never gave it to anyone, I think, my insides unclenching.
Beck had a bit of a reputation with the ladies in high school, used to love the saying ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy.’ He could pick up any girl he wanted with that move.
Jealousy licks up my neck just thinking about it, because now I want to be the only one wearing it.
“Are you boys pleased with yourselves?” Sutton asks. “Defending a record no one cares to challenge you on?”
My mouth drops. “You’re joking. They’ve never been challenged?”
Sutton and Skye both shake their heads.
“Not seriously,” Skye answers.
I turn and eye the machine in the corner. “It can’t be that hard.”
Sutton shrugs. “A little core muscle and above average balance and you’d be fine.”
“It takes more skill than just core muscle and balance,” Beck argues.
I arch my eyebrow at him, chug the last few sips of my beer, and then stand, placing my hands firmly on the table.
“We’ll see about that,” I say.
I spin on my heel and march up to the man operating the bull.
He shakes his head when he sees me, giving me a once over.
Okay, I’m not exactly dressed to be riding a bull.
I came dressed for girls night, so I’m wearing my favourite skin tight skinny jeans, a pair of black strappy heels, and a black satin camisole, no bra.
It’s a nip slip waiting to happen. Or a broken ankle, either of the two scenarios are possibilities.
But I’m locked in, and my years of yoga practice are about to pay off. I climb onto the bull after the operator makes me remove my heels–too much of a liability I guess.
And then it starts. At first, it’s easy, a slow rocking motion I can move with, letting my hips roll beneath me.
Soon though, it intensifies, and I clench the muscles of my inner thighs to give me stability, and tighten my core, keeping things locked but loose.
I focus on my breath, the way I do when I’m trying to hold a challenging yoga pose.
Inhale, exhale.
There’s hardly a sound from the crowd while I ride, because I’m fucking killing it.
When I pass Beck’s current record, the roof just about lifts off the building.
My arms are burning, core shaking, and I know I’ll never beat Austin’s time, so I let myself get thrown, landing breathless on the ground.
Sutton and Skye are there to pick me up, each offering me a hand.
“That was fucking awesome,” Sutton says.
“Yeah, holy shit, Ly,” Skye agrees.
The girls are as smug as I am when we get back to the table. Austin has a shit eating grin on his face.
“I think you just got bested by my little sister, Beck,” he jeers.
Beck gives me a resigned nod, and reaches out to shake my hand. When I take it, my hand is small in his, the roughness of his fingers against mine sending a jolt through me. The memory of his calloused thumb brushing across the bud of my nipple flashes through my mind.
“I stand corrected,” he says, his voice low. “That is an impressive core you have.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I can’t help the grin that forms on my lips.
Beck pushes past me, his hand gently nudging me to the side. “I should be going.”
“Aww, sore loser!” Skye chides. Sutton joins in her teasing, but Beck simply tips his hat and heads for the door. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, wondering what got into Beck that he decided to leave early.
“Don’t pay him any attention,” Sutton says with a laugh. “He just needs to go lick his wounds.”
While I’m sure Beck took a bit of a hit to his pride just now, there is nothing about him that screams fragile ego. There’s more to him than meets the eye, and I have the sudden need to go after him, make sure there isn’t anything else that he’s holding inside.