“You bet your sweet ass I did.” Lucy smirks, and my stomach clenches. I’ve done my share of thrill seeking—skydiving, bungee jumping, rock climbing—but I draw the line at getting trampled by a fifteen-hundred-pound animal, because I don’t have a fucking death wish. “They’ve got a mechanical bull in the back. Why do you think it’s called Buck Wild?”
This. Fucking. Woman.
I force out my breath. That seems…less likely to be fatal.
“You know the deal. I’m doing it, so you are too. Unless…” The word hangs in the air, meaning crystal clear.
The woman is relentless, but so am I when it comes to getting what I want.
“Nice try, Luce, but I’m not quitting.”
I follow her to a back room where a massive black-and-white bull with two fierce-looking horns is housed inside a red, inflatable ring. There’s already a crowd of onlookers gathered around to watch anyone dumb enough to venture into the ring.
Lucy marches up to the guy manning the controls and informs him we’d like to ride.
They chat briefly, and he hands her two clipboards, one of which she promptly hands off to me.
“What’s this?”
“Waivers. You need to read and sign at the bottom.” She pauses, giving me a narrowed-eyed stare. “And don’t even think about claiming a medical condition. I’m the one who emailed your paperwork for the team skydiving event, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Damn. She knows me too well.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I scan the form, looking for red flags. High blood pressure. Neck or back conditions. Christ. If I don’t have them now, I will by the end of the night. “I’m looking forward to trying it out. I’ll bet I can stay on twice as long as you.”
My arms and legs are longer and, as she noted earlier, I’m pretty athletic despite my shitty dance moves.
She snorts. “Big words for a guy who nearly fainted at the mention of bull riding.”
I have to give her credit. She’s pulling out all the stops tonight in her efforts to turn up the pressure and pull out the win.
Too bad it won’t work.
It’s a last-ditch effort. As long as I survive the bull, I’ve got this thing in the bag.
I scribble my signature on the form, and Lucy does the same.
“Do you want to go first, or should I?” she asks with saccharine sweetness.
I gesture to the ring. “Ladies first.”
If nothing else, it’ll give me a chance to observe and maybe figure out what the hell I’m doing before I get in there and get myself killed.
We turn in our waivers, and after a brief overview of the proper technique and positioning, she saunters into the ring, smiling widely at the gathered crowd.
Lucy’s never been the sort to seek the spotlight, but she sure as hell appears at ease. I don’t know if posting all those social media reels and pics boosted her confidence or what, but I’m here for it.
I pull out my phone and begin recording as she waltzes up to the bull. She plants her hands in its gritty black fur and slings one leg over its back, climbing on. Once she’s positioned in the center of the saddle, she grabs the leather strap with her left hand, raising the right in the air to balance herself. The muscles in her thighs and calves flex as she grips the bull, preparing to ride.
The ride operator gives her a thumbs-up, but there’s no other warning.
No buzzer.
No countdown.
Just the sudden jarring of the bull as its head goes low, attempting to throw her off right over its damn horns.
Jesus. What if someone gets gored?
