Tonight, though, I’m not in the mood. I also promised myself I wasn’t gonna give anyone mixed signals. I’m good at keeping people at arm’s length. Billie Wallace is no exception.
I give her a quick pat on the back before untangling myself from her grasp. “I always come to the rodeo.”
Billie’s eyes shine with a mischievous glint. “But this time you came to seeme, right? Because you wanna watch me dominate my very first race, and then you’ll take me out afterward for celebratory drinks and dancing and se?—”
“Billie.” I roll my eyes.
Ialsoknow Billie’s had a crush on me for about as long as I can remember. Girl makes no secret of it, clearly. But I try not to rise to the occasion for obvious reasons.
More than that, though, I know Billie well enough to recognize that she’d be interested in a hell of a lot more than a one-night stand. Her free-spiritedness doesn’t fool me; behind all her bravado, Billie is a romantic at heart.
I’m a one-night stand kinda guy. Always have been. I like to keep things simple. Safe.
“Seven-card stud.” Billie’s lips twitch. “That’s what I was going to say. Wyatt’s always down for a round of poker. Bet I could convince you to play.”
My older brother Wyatt runs a not-exactly-legal poker ring out of the basement of our local honky-tonk, the Rattler. Billie’s not wrong about him putting together a game of seven-card stud.
She is wrong to think I’d ever play it with her. Or dance with her, for that matter, evenifshe wins her very first official barrel race.
But we both know that. She’s just busting my chops, as usual.
I slip my hands in my front pockets, running the fingers of my right hand over the familiar shape of my dad’s pocketknife. Every pair of jeans I own bears a visible outline of the knife on the right front pocket—I never leave home without it.
I always feel a little better—more centered—whenever I reach for it.
I glance inside the stadium and see most of my family has already taken their seats.
“You should probably get going, yeah?” I glance at Billie. “Good luck out there.”
She rocks her hips. “You could be my good luck charm, you know.”
It’s all I can do not to groan. This woman is a piece of fucking work.
“You don’t need a good luck charm.”
“But what if I want one?”
“You’re gonna do great.”
“You sound so excited about my prospects.” She’s wearing a shit-eating grin now.
I take another deep breath and look away. “You really should get going.”
“Fine.” I can picture her pouting, sticking out her bottom lip the same way she did when she was a kid. “But if I lose, it’s because you refused to sprinkle me with your special sauce?—”
“Bye, Billie.” I manage a tight smile as I turn and head for the concession stand.
“Bye, Ryder. Love you!”
Like a brother.Same as I loveherlike a sister.
I grab a beer and some popcorn, and then I head down several flights of stairs toward our seats, which are so close to the arena they’re practically on the dirt.
I take my seat beside two miniature cowgirls, their pink and purple boots and matching hats catching my eye.
There’s lots to see at the rodeo tonight, but these two stand out.
The cowgirl closest to me turns her head and smiles. My heart squeezes. She’s a fucking cutie, no two ways about it.
