Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“You’re a rock star.”
“In this world, yeah. I am. And that’s not my ego talking. I’m flying out the morning before ride day, I’ll be at the show, and then I’m flying right back home. You are my focus.”
“No.” I shake my head and shift on the couch so I’m facing him. “That bull needs to be your focus so that for the rest of the time, all but eight seconds of the week, we can be your focus. I just need you to stay safe. I don’t give a fuck about the women, and I can be without you for a couple of days while you do what you love. I’m not insecure, and I’m not a clingy, whiny brat. I’m proud of you. I can hold down the fort here while you kick ass out there. So you focus on staying alive and healthy and whole, and I’ll be here when you get home.”
He frames my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks, his eyes so intense it almost steals my breath away. “I fucking love you.”
I grin at him now. “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BRADY
“I’m riding Man Hater,” I say into the microphone and push away as the audience cheers. The music is so fucking loud, it pounds through my body, but I don’t hear the words. I’m focused, head down, pacing outside of the chute area.
I want to start the season right, with a win and a high score, and Man Hater is the highest-standing bull right now. He’s going to help me get that score.
Finally, it’s time to start. The bull is already in the chute, ready to go, and I go about my usual routine, looking him over in a split second, making sure the ropes and grips are where I want them. Holding onto the railing, I set my foot on his back, letting him know I’m here before I settle onto him, get my grip set, and tell my man to tighten the rope.
Finally, I nod, and they open the chute, and this son of a bitch takes off, bucking and throwing himself around like a fucking devil.
But I hold on, finding his rhythm, clinging to him until I hear the buzzer, and then I let go and fall, scrambling out of his way as Man Hater continues to buck and throw a fit.
I wave at the audience, who are going out of their minds, and then I take off my hat and gloves, ready to give interviews as we wait for my final score.
It’s all a blur. It always is. I hope I sound somewhat coherent as I answer questions, but the adrenaline is rushing through me so fast I’m almost euphoric.
Ninety-seven point seven.
Not my best score, but with it being the first ride of the season, I’ll take it. I have room to improve, but I’m also the highest-scoring rider of the night, and that feels fucking good.
Finally, after another hour of interviews and talking with friends that I haven’t seen in a few months, I check my phone and see that I have a text from Ryan.
“I’m coming through Cheyenne to pick you up in my plane. I’ll be waiting at the airport.”
I don’t have to wait for tomorrow morning’s flight, and that sends relief through me. Because as exhilarating as the past thirty-six hours have been, I’m ready to go home to my girls.
I take a quick shower before I gather my things, and ignore the come-ons from the bunnies as I walk through the arena and find the ride Ryan has waiting for me to take me to the small, local airport.
When I climb the stairs onto the plane, I find my brother sitting in a seat, staring down at his laptop. He takes off his glasses and grins up at me.
“How’d it go?”
“It’ll get better, but I had the highest score. Rode Man Hater.”
“That bull is a mean bastard,” he says, shaking his head.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“And how do you feel?”
The door of the plane closes, and the flight crew prepares for takeoff, so I sit across the aisle from my brother and fasten my seatbelt.
“Like I got tossed around by a pissed-off bull.” I chuckle and sit back in the seat for a second, letting my system settle. “You didn’t have to pick me up.”
“You shouldn’t have gone commercial,” he counters. “If I’m home, you can take the plane. You’ll get out and back faster, and I’m paying this crew whether I use them or not.”
“You are?”
He nods, and I shrug.
“Hell, I’ll take you up on that, then. This fucker is fancy.”
The flight attendant asks me if I’d like something to drink.
“Do you have ibuprofen? And some whiskey. Maybe a bottle of water.”
“Of course, sir,” he says with a nod and turns to fetch it.