“Sebastien!” Yvette shrieks, covering her eyes, not impressed by seeing her brother strip.
It’s chaos. Total, choreographed chaos. Cowboy hats flying, shirts coming off, boots stomping on the wooden stage. Christian is front and center, of course, commanding the room like it’s his personal stadium. He lasso-twirls some rope at one point. I don’t even know where he got that from. Nate Lewis moves like this is just another night at Paradise Club, smooth, controlled, sinful. The locals are riveted. Jackson and his brothers lean into the chaos, whooping, spinning, and clapping above their heads.
“What the fuck is going on? I feel like I’m hallucinating.”
“Just go with it. They wanted to make you have the best night,” Charlie tells me, just as Jesse slaps a shot of tequila in front of me and demands I drink it. I throw it back and let go, embracing the crazy as I clap my hands and whistle.
The song builds, the boys hit some kind of half-choreographed, half-feral line moment, shirts now fully off, hats tipped low, jeans slung indecently low at the hips. Cowboys grinding, hips rolling, hands braced against each other’s shoulders. The place goes feral. I’m screaming. Charlie is screaming. Everyone is screaming. When the music crashes to an end, the strippers, our friends, our family, our caterer, hit a final pose, breathing hard, chests heaving.
The cheering is ridiculous.
It goes on forever.
Christian bows with a flourish and grabs the mic again.
“And now,” he pants, “because this is a cowboy bar and we believe in tradition ….” He points at the corner where the mechanical bull sits, silently ominous. “Bull Riding competition.”
The whole room roars again.
“Oh, absolutely not,” Axel mutters.
“Absolutely yes,” Nate says, already moving toward the bull with the look of a man about to ruin lives.
Ten minutes later, there’s a signup list, because of course there is.
“Absolutely not,” I say when someone waves the clipboard near my face.
“It’s your bachelor party.” Charlie laughs. “You have to ride.”
“You ride,” I tell him.
“Oh, I will, later on tonight.” he smirks as he leans in and kisses me. “But I’ll ride the bull too.”
Nate goes first. He doesn’t just ride the mechanical bull. He seduces it. The way he moves, hips rolling, body loose, onehand in the air, hat tipped back, makes at least three people fan themselves.
“That’s my man,” Camryn screams out.
The room is silent for three seconds when he his bucked off and then absolutely detonates.
Next up is a reluctant Axel, who lasts approximately four seconds before the bull throws him sideways, his pride in tatters.
“Fucking bulls,” he declares, lying there.
Christian laughs so hard he nearly falls off his stool. “Get up, city boy. We have insurance.”
Tavish gets roped in by the locals, of course. He talks big, declares he grew up on rough Scottish hills and “bulls are nae that scary,” then gets thrown so dramatically the entire place howls. Rowan and Callum cannot breathe from laughing.
Charlie nudges me. “Come on,” he says. “We can do it together. One after the other. Or …” his eyes gleam, “… two on at once.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, then find myself five minutes later climbing onto the bull with him anyway. I wrap my arms around his waist as I sit behind him. The crowd loves it. Someone starts chanting our names. Toby starts a slow clap. Christian wolf-whistles. The operator, who I swear is enjoying this way too much, starts the bull slowly. We manage to stay on for a good while, shifting, leaning. At some point, Charlie’s arm hooks around my neck and pulls me to him as he kisses the hell out of me, which makes the entire bar erupt loudly.
We’re laughing too hard to even try. Eventually, the speed picks up, we lose balance, and we go flying, thankfully into the padded mats, limbs tangled, laughing so hard my stomach hurts.
Charlie rolls onto his back next to me, breathless, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“I love you,” he says quietly, just for me, even though everyone’s around us.
My chest tightens. “Love you too.”
