“Good! It’ll give them someone to learn from.” I huff and disconnect the call. A few minutes later a text comes through.
It’s done. You’re one crazy son of a bitch. A total pain in my ass you know?
Love you too, dad.
Asshole.
??
I allow Seb in as minimally as I can. We rarely interact in person outside of a few charity dinners and big time events. After I clean off Ghost’s saddle and harness, I lock myself in my part of the trailer, tearing off my shirt and jumping out of my jeans, collapsing on my bed. Rubbing the scruff on my skin, I can’t help but hope I left some marks on Hannah. Pulling out my phone, I look at that beautifully wild picture of her, set it as my home screen background, then roll over on my side to sleep, her taste still lingering on my tongue.
hannah
I almost jumpedinto his arms.What is the matter with me?I’ve never wanted affection and comfort as badly as I want his. My phone has everything on it, all my texts from my parents, all our pictures. I’d be devastated if it had been lost. I cradle my head in my palms. Sliding to the floor, I let my legs stretch out in front of me, my boots still dusty from the walk out of the arena. “So fucking stupid,” I chastise myself. Am I really that desperate for a man's touch that the moment he closes in on my space, my mind goes blank? If I went to a bar right now and another man tried to eat me out in public, would I let him? Fuck no. But Dean? I’d basically undressed and hopped on the barrel myself.Is it really so bad to indulge a bit, just while on the road?The answer rings loud and clear in my mind. Yes. One hundred percent yes. I haven’t even kissed the man, and I already wanted to run across the parking lot and jump into his bed. Like he said earlier when his lips grazed my skin,one ain’t ever enough.Part of me worries that if I let my walls down around him, I’ll be too far gone in those storm cloud eyes to ever put it back up. But a man like him could never settle down. He’s too wild, tooconsumed with the path before him. Not that I even wanted to settle down, but maybe one day. It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to picture a life not on the road, the idea of a home, a man who craved me just as badly as I did him. But the threat of heartbreak, of having something and watching it get torn out of my hands again, hurts almost as badly as the idea of falling in love.
Standing quickly, I run my hands through my hair and swing my door open. The march across the lot to his trailer doesn’t take as long as I thought, and thankfully so. Each step seemed to pull at the logic I’d so recklessly put together a moment ago. Before I know it, I’m standing outside his trailer, hand raised ready to knock. All his lights are off, no TV or sounds from inside. How had this man fallen asleep so quickly? We’d just been together no more than twenty minutes ago.Walk away, this is stupid!my mind screams at me. But the devil on my shoulder reaches out and puts my knuckles against his door. It felt good to be wanted by him. It had been so long since someone looked out for me, held me, made me feel like I was more than the scores on a screen. I have insulated myself from everyone in an attempt to safeguard my feelings, but in reality, I’ve pulled myself so far away from the people around me that I’m drifting, alone in a sea of endless possibilities. It’s fucking lonely. Loneliness makes me do it. Loneliness makes me pull my hand back and let it fall gently against the tin door.
How long do I stand here? The more I wait, the dumber I feel, waiting outside his door like a fucking buckle bunny. I’ve knocked three times now, each one just a little louder until I finally decided that he really is asleep, and this is the universe telling me that I made the wrong choice. I only make it a handful of steps before I hear the hinges of his door squeak, the sound amplified by the empty lot. Internally I cringe, then turn on my heel and stalk back towards him. He leans casually against thedoor frame, one long toned arm grasping the top, making his bicep bulge. He runs a wide hand over his stomach, eyeing my approach with a grin.
“Back for more, darlin’?” I nearly trip on a rock as I get closer to him. Hell, he is a fucking God. The only thing covering his inked skin are tight, black boxer briefs, I have to force my eyes to stay on his face and not on the cords of muscles that line his thighs, leading up to what I’m sure is a very proportionate cock.Fuck it!I let my eyes drink him in as I stand before him, taking inventory of the man I’m about to proposition. On the top of one thigh is a huge buffalo head, stars marking a constellation across the face, on the other is a bull head, the horns disappearing under the band of his briefs. I make a show of looking him up and down, something he finds amusing, given by the way he crosses his arms and ankles, tipping his chin at me with a raise of his eyebrows. Clearing my throat, I cross my arms over my chest, dropping them quickly when I realize I’ve only propped my boobs up higher.
“I came over here to ask something of you.” My voice is steadier than I feel on the inside. My heart is a riot, ready to break free and run away from this insane idea. When he doesn’t answer, I roll my eyes. “This thing between us.” I wave a hand between us before I continue. “It’s?—”
“Not a fucking mistake,” he growls at the same time I say, “Complicated.” His eyes show no emotion, but he motions for me to keep going.
“Not a mistake.” I exhale. “I’ve decided that I want to…”Shit, I didn’t think this through. He steps down from his trailer, bare feet walking across the jagged rocks scattered on the ground between us, like the sharp edges cutting into his soles couldn’t stop him from reaching me. Rough fingers cup my chin up and tilt it up to meet his eyes.
“Not a mistake,” he repeats, each word spoken with such emphasis it makes my breath catch. “Finish your sentence, Hannah. What do you want?”
Swallowing hard, I meet his gaze, firming my own. “I want to keep doing whatever this is.” I watch as something like pride flashes across his face. “I want to stop walking away from you feeling like I’ve just blown my life up. I don’t know what it is about you but I’m…” Slowly, I close my eyes, willing my heart to slow down. “I’m weak around you. And that fucking terrifies me.” The last words come out on a whisper. It’s an admission I never thought I’d speak to anyone. Although he speaks no words, I feel the shift in his body, the way his thumb runs across my skin in gentle strokes. I peek up at him from under my eyelashes, taken aback by how close he is to me. Involuntarily, my body leans towards him, begging me to taste him. The heat from his body so close to mine seeps through my cracks, shattering my self control. I lean up and brush my lips across his. His entire body goes stone cold. I literally watch as his muscles contract between us. His grip on my chin tightens and he leans down, resting his forehead against mine. Reaching out to him, I run a finger down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach. I’ve never felt so bold, never given up my power so easily, but damn do I want to. “So I want to propose a deal.”
“Hannah.” Those dark lashes drift over his eyes. His voice ghosts over my cheeks and my stomach sinks. Like I’ve been doused in cold water, I pull my hand back and tuck it behind my back.Fuck!
“No, don’t.” I take a step back, trying to put space between us, hoping that the distance will clear the fog in my brain that Dean Wilder seems to cast over me whenever we’re near each other. “That wasn’t a mistake.” I point back towards the arena. “But this is.” The moment I say those words and turn to leave, he’s back on me, his strong arms dragging my back against his chest.
“It isn’t.” His breath is hot against my neck, sending a rush of chills over my arms. “Ask me again.”
Minutes pass as I’m held in his arms, trying to put my words together. “I want us to explore this. No strings attached. Clearly we continue to come together, despite my best efforts.” I mumble the last part, but he still hears me.
His arm tightening around me as he leans in. “I’m not a good man. Not near enough to ever deserve you.” His words stir emotion inside of me, but I push it down. “If you want to see what my darkness is really like, I’ll let you. When you’re done with me, there won’t be a part of you that isn’t ruined by me.” His words should send me sprinting back, but a thrill runs through me instead. “Don’t ever call yourself weak again.” His hands cup my breasts, sliding over my sensitive nipples. Need rushes straight to my core. Leaning in closer, he whispers against the shell of my ear. “There is nothing weak about the way I fuck.” I can feel him grow against my ass, and I shiver at the contact. Even with the layers of clothes between us, I think he’d break me in two. And I can’t wait. “You’ve got a deal, darlin’.” His arms slide off me, leaving me wanting more. With a sharp slap to my ass, he turns and walks right back into his trailer like he didn’t just flip my world upside down.
My dreams are plagued by images of how he fucks, hard and fast. His trailer is gone by the time I wake up. Which honestly, is a bit of a relief, I don’t know what came over me last night, but I’m grateful I don’t have to see him today. About two hours into my four hour drive, I pull over at a gas station off the freeway to grab lunch. While my truck fills, I step into the store and walk through the aisles, grabbing random bags of things off the shelves. Passing the cooler by the register, I grab a sandwich and lay my haul on the counter. The teenager behind the counter scans each item without looking at me, making me shift on my feet uncomfortably.
“Shit,” I say when I pull my wallet out to pay. Looking back out at my truck, I can vividly remember laying my card on my seat when I reached inside to grab my keys and lock up before walking into the store. I glance up at the girl who mindlessly scrolls through her phone, oblivious to the fact that I’m debating walking the ten steps outside or grabbing my items and sneaking away. Shaking my head at my internal struggle, I flip through my wallet to find a few folded bills. “That’s odd,” I mutter to myself. As I slide the bills across to the attendant, I tap my fingers against the chipped linoleum counter, trying to remember when I tucked those bills in there. They are folded in half, and I never fold my bills in half. Before I can spiral too far, the girl shoves the receipt and my bag full of food into my hands.
While I eat, I scroll through social media, posting a video from last night on my page and responding to some messages. Wrapping my lips around my straw, I take big gulps of my soda while typing Dean’s name to the search bar. His account pops up on the top. I hesitate for a split second, like he’ll somehow know that I cyber stalked him. I tap his profile and begin to scroll through hundreds of pictures and videos of him riding in rodeos all across the country. Every single photo is of him at one event or another, no women—thankfully—and no family. I read through some of the comments under his latest post, a picture of him grabbing his rope out of the dirt, his hat tipped down low so only his chin is visible.
Oh my GAWD. I’m down bad with this one.
????????????
He can ride me for eight seconds any night.
Tie me up, Daddy.
Laughing at the comments, I try to ignore the pang of jealousy that bounces around my chest. I enter his name in Google and read through an article posted last year. I reread a line that mentions his father a few times, so I search for Brad Wilder, chewing on my thumb as articles and videos fill my feed. A video with the titleCareer Ending Ridecatches my attention, and I click on it. I gasp when the man on the back of a bull is thrown in the air, landing with a sickening thud in the dirt. Memories of my own crash run through my mind. I watch as the bull circles, barreling towards Brad who struggles to get to his feet. The bull charges straight for him, head ramming into his back, sending him flying forward into the chute gate. I tuck my free hand under my leg to keep from chewing my nail clean off and watch as the video pans to an ambulance loading him up and flying out of the arena. I spend the next few minutes reading about what Brad has been up to since that final ride broke his femur and put him into early retirement. This article was written close to fifteen years ago, I would have been six at the time. At the bottom of the piece is a blurry image. I click on it, and it fills my screen. Brad stands with his arm thrown over the shoulders of a woman with bright, honey hair and bright, blue eyes. She’s tucked against him like they were made to fit together. On either side of them are two boys, one standing about six inches taller than the other. Immediately, I know that is Dean, clearly much younger and leaner, but there is no doubt that this is him. His eyes give him away, hair still unruly and long. Everything is the same, except for the open mouth smile stretching wide across his face. It seems so natural to him, something I have a feeling he hasn’t practiced in a long time. I screenshot the image for no other reason than to have physical proof that he is capable of smiling. When I click out of the picture, I read the caption under the photo.Brad Wilder, his wife Jodie, and their two boys, Dean (16) and Owen (13).He’s ten years older than me. Nowonder he knows his way around my body, he's been perfecting his touch for years. My body heats at the idea that a man so experienced would waste his time on me.
As I drive down the highway, I try to work out why I haven’t seen him travel with family. They looked so happy in that photo. His dad even said how proud he was that Dean wanted to ride broncs, and that he loved traveling to watch him ride. I didn’t see any articles about them passing, so that must mean they're still out there, somewhere. What could have happened to make Dean seem like an unapproachable asshole when clearly he used to be part of a loving and supportive family? The idea that anyone wouldn’t want to share their life with the people closest to them puts a sour taste in my mouth. I’d give anything to have one more ride with my parents. I roll my window down and let the hot summer air overpower the air conditioning from my truck, letting the music drown out my thoughts as my tires pull me closer to my next stop.
