Kip: Of course I’m not fired. That asshole is stuck with me.
Summer: How is your shoulder? Are you taping it? Do you want me to come tape it?
Rhett: Fine. Don’t come back here. It smells like sweaty balls.
Summer: Thank you for the vivid description. I was reading about pulsed electromagnetic field therapy for rotator cuff injuries. Maybe we should try it? There’s a physiotherapist in the city who does it.
Rhett: I was kind of just hoping you’d give me more massages? But topless this time.
Summer: I’ll do that if you go to the appointment I scheduled for next week.
Rhett: Daily massages. Where you ride my dick while rubbing my shoulder. Then I’ll go.
Summer: Is your shoulder that bad?
Rhett: No, Princess. Your pussy is just that good.
Watching Rhett tonight has me wanting to hurl my fifteen-dollar arena beer all over the people in front of me. Emmett went first and had a great ride, something I know Rhett saw because he was sitting up on top of the gate with Theo watching.
I saw the flash of competition in his eye. He spent all night with his dick inside of me and still looks like he could kill the guy.
There’s this tiny part of me that wishes he’d just hop off that fence and retire on the spot. I want him safe. I want him to win too though. I want that for him.
But I also want him for myself.
It’s fucking confusing. I’ve never worried about another person this way, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve spent my entire life worrying about everyone around me.
Theo hops down onto his bull now, giving Rhett a bit of an unhinged grin as he does. I watch Rhett talk to him as Theo rubs at his bull rope, nodding—listening. There’s an intensity about their conversation right now that I haven’t noticed before.
Usually, things are lighthearted and friendly between them, but tonight there’s a definite mentor feel to their interaction. It’s heartwarming and nerve-wracking all at once.
The bull slams itself against the metal sides of the chute, and where I noticed Rhett back off in similar situations, Theo grins, drops his chin, and nods.
The gate flies, and so does the bull, like a bat out of hell. Theo looks like a younger, smaller Rhett, spurs riding up every time the bull bears down. He rides like his life depends on it. And based on how riled his bull is and how many times it switches directions, I would say his life actually does depend on it.
I barely know Theo, but I hold my breath all the same. On my nights spent sitting in the stands, I’ve seen other guys get head butted and stepped on. I’ve seen them leave strapped down on a stretcher.
In a lot of ways, it’s hard to watch, in others . . . I can’t tear my eyes away.
So, when Theo jumps off and tosses his hat in the air, I shoot up and cheer. The bull lopes out of the ring, chasing the clown, and Theo soaks up the cheers of the crowd. He scores himself a 90, which pushes him to the top of the standings for this weekend.
When I look back over at the fence, Rhett is sitting there, grinning ear to ear. So damn proud, chest puffed out, pride spilling off him.
He also looks fucking delicious. Dark and mysterious with his hat pulled down low on his face, charcoal shirt under his bull riding vest, and those simple warm brown chaps.
So. Good.
When he hops down to go stretch and warm up, my momentary calm dissolves and the nerves creep in.
I hate the feeling. I hate that I’m having it. I’ve come to terms with death in a lot of ways. Knowing that your time could come at any moment at such a young age does weird things to you. Somehow, the thought of me dying is easier to swallow than the thought of having to sit here in the stands while something might happen to Rhett.
I don’t want to be this girl, telling him not to take risks because my heart can’t take it. So, I push it down, like he told me he does.
I take a few big swigs of beer and let myself eavesdrop on the surrounding conversations. And when it’s Rhett’s turn, I take bigger gulps.
I watch him every moment, absently aware that it could be the last. It’s like time slows down. I see his cocky smile, the way his cheeks fold beside his mouth when he gives it. I can almost feel the raspiness of his beard on my neck just by watching him.
He pulls at the bull rope, looking hypnotized, and I try to slip into that too.
And then he does something he’s never done. He peeks up at me from beneath the brim of his hat, like he knew exactly where I was sitting.
He winks at me.
And then he nods, and the gates fly open.
“You were so close.”
The rippling of water sounds as Rhett swipes a facecloth over my back. This shitty hotel bathtub is too small for the two of us, but we’re packed into it anyway. He told me if I’m going to continue to force him to take Epsom salt baths that I have to come in with him.