“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like there’s some huge cavern of time between us. Does my age bother you?”
A soft huff of laughter leaves her. “No. Does mine?” Her question spoken soft enough, I wonder if she’s concerned about my answer.
“River, look at me.” Those beautiful shining fields of green find mine again. “I don’t care if you’re fifty. I like you.”
A flush creeps up her cheeks, so faint I can pretend I imagined it. “Yeah, I like you too, cowboy.”
Chapter 8
River
Notetoself:don’tfall asleep on the couch with a hot bull rider, and not set an alarm.
It’s a miracle those beastly dogs woke up from our post-lunch nap. Bronc eager to give me more kisses while my body draped over half of Gray’s.
“You never got your hand checked.” The words slip free as I watch Gray flex his hand just after parking in the Boulder Ranch lot.
“It’s fine.”
“Don’t bullshit me. It’s not.”
“River.” His head drops, a sigh shuddering free. “I’m going to ride tonight.”
There’s something so heartbreaking in his tone. Preparation for someone to tell him not to, keeping him wound tight. An automated response from countless occasions of standing up for himself.
Placing my hand over his, our eyes meet. “I know. Just—” An exasperated sigh leaves me. “Come to the med room so I can give you a shot. At least you won’t feel it then.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank me after you come see me at the hospital Monday for your hand and that busted jaw, too.” A soft push delivered to his shoulder, making the corners of both our mouths quirk high.
“You’re so bossy.”
“No. I’m not.” The retort empty of any true bite. It’s not the first time I’ve been told such. Only Gray makes it endearing, while all the others have made it a flaw.
We don’t say anything more as we exit the truck. We move side by side, riders and rodeo workers alike moving about around us. We’d already witnessed the crowd entering the arena as we pulled up. Their line of traffic made us both late for our report times.
“Hey, Grayson! Ready for tonight?” another bull rider calls his way.
“Aren’t I always?”
The guy only chuckles in response, pulling his gear from the bed of his truck before disappearing in the opposite direction.
A handful more of similar interactions slow our path to our destination. As much as Gray might feel like he lives in his brother’s shadow, he’s a star in his own right. Not a single one of those people mentioned Tate. An occurrence that must seem more miracle than normal when the tension leaves my cowboy’s body with each departure.
The barn that houses the med room is nearly empty when we enter. The air-conditioned space sending my body into a fit of shivers. I always keep a fleece pullover in my car, but it’s still at the bar since we didn’t wake up in time to go get it.
The weight of Gray’s arm settling around my shoulders riles my insides. Memories of his tongue and hands all over my body last night, making my core ache. The inability to press my thighs tighter together while walking only intensifying the fluttering below.
“You want me to get you a jacket?”
“No, I’ll be fine. On the table.”
“River.” That added bass to his voice makes my insides tingle. Every muscle of my core unforgivingly clenching as if he were moving inside me again.
