June immediately perks up, clapping her hands together. “Carter’s next!”
She’s bouncing in her seat now, excited and eager, and I can’t stop staring at the way her breasts move with each bounce. The top is thin, doing very little to hide anything, and I’m fairly certain I can see the outline of her nipples through the fabric.
Christ. I need to get a grip.
“Kai.” She’s staring at me now, eyebrow raised. “Don’t look at me. Carter’s right there.”
Right. Carter. My best friend. The reason we’re here.
I force my attention to the arena, where Carter is settling into the chute, positioning himself on the back of a massive bronc. Even from here, I notice the tension in the horse, the way it’s already fighting against the confined space, eager to explode.
Saddle bronc is one of the classic rodeo events, and Carter has been dominating it for years. The goal is simple in theory, brutal in execution: stay on the horse for eight seconds while it does everything in its power to throw you off. The rider holds on to a thick braided rein attached to the horse’s halter, keeping one hand in the air at all times. Touch the horse with your free hand, and you’re disqualified. Get thrown before the buzzer, and you get nothing.
Points are awarded based on the rider’s form, the horse’s performance, and the overall difficulty of the ride. Judges look for smooth, controlled spurring, a strong grip, and the ability to match the horse’s rhythm without fighting it. The best ridersmake it look effortless, and the horse’s power works with them rather than against them.
It sounds manageable when you describe it. It’s not. The horses used in saddle bronc are specifically bred and trained to buck, and they’re incredibly good at it.
Carter makes it look effortless. That’s his gift. He’s one of the most naturally talented riders I’ve ever seen, with an instinct for movement and balance that borders on supernatural. Where other cowboys fight against the horse, Carter seems to flow with it, anticipating every buck and twist before it happens. He reads the animal beneath him with uncanny precision, shifting his weight and adjusting his position in real time.
It’s beautiful, in a violent sort of way. Poetry written in dust and adrenaline, just his thing.
June is on her feet now, blowing him a kiss from the stands. Carter’s head turns toward us, that familiar grin spreading across his face. I give him a nod:You got this.
The gate swings open.
The horse explodes out of the chute, all strength and fury. Its back legs kick high, launching Carter’s body upward, then its front end drops and twists, trying to throw him sideways. The motion is violent, jarring.
Carter doesn’t even flinch.
He rides with his free arm high, his body moving in perfect counterpoint to the horse’s bucking. Back and forward, up and down, a brutal rhythm that he makes look almost graceful. His form is textbook, spurs marking forward and back with each buck, his center of gravity low and stable.
“He’s a fucking show-off,” I mutter, but there’s pride in my voice. The bastard really is something else.
Beside me, June is gushing. Melting. Her eyes are locked on Carter, and I feel a flash of something that might be jealousy if I were a different kind of man. Instead, it’s just heat. Arousal. Theknowledge that she looks at all of us that way, that we all get to experience her awe and her passion and her complete, undivided attention.
The buzzer sounds. Eight seconds.
Carter lets go and tumbles off, landing on his feet and immediately moving away from the still-bucking horse. Pickup riders move in to help the bronc, while Carter jogs to the arena fence, climbing up to wave at the roaring crowd.
But his eyes find us first. Find June, who’s cheering and clapping and whistling through her fingers so loudly that the people around us are staring.
Carter blows her a kiss, and she pretends to catch it, pressing her palm to her heart.
I lean in close to her ear again. “You wait until I’m on Brutus. Much more dangerous than that.”
She glances at me, concern flickering across her features. She kisses me quickly.
We settle back into our seats, her hand finding mine and squeezing tight.
Fuck me, she’s beautiful. “You have to be careful on Brutus.” Even worried, even scared for me, she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
“I will,” I promise.
But June is restless now, shifting in her seat, glancing around the arena.
“I want to grab a drink,” she says. “Come with me?”
“Absolutely.”
