So, when we finally met in Estes Park last year, and I saw the fire in Jessie’s eyes, it was game on. I quickly learned she doesn’t take shit from anyone and I’m pretty sure she terrifies most grown men. Not me, though, I like feisty women. When Knox and Kacey left us alone for an hour, it was a blurry blend of fighting and flirting. I knew after five minutes with her I wouldn’t win this challenge in a night, and that’s okay, sometimes the chase is just as fun.
When Knox got hurt last fall, Jessie stepped up and took control. She made sure everyone was taken care of, that we ate,drank, and slept. Anything Knox, Kacey, or I needed, Jessie was there without fail.
Hell, I might not have gone to the arena and rode the next night if it wasn’t for the verbal kick in the ass she gave me. And I was grateful for it—I wouldn’t have made the National Finals without the money I won that night. I developed a new respect for her in that hospital, but I still want to rip her jeans off her and see if she fucks as good as she fights—respectfully, of course.
I slap the inside of my thighs and rock my hips back and forth, staying warm. I breathe in the familiar scent of rosin, livestock, and sweat. The arena is packed with a cheering crowd, all waiting on the next 8-second ride. Dust stirs up from the chute where my bull is pawing, amped up and ready to go.
“You got this. Don’t be a pussy.” Knox slaps me on the back of my helmet.
“I am what I eat.” I smirk.
He shakes his head, but he’s fighting a smile. “Just focus.”
“Oh, come on, I’ve been waiting to use that one foryears.”
I’m up next, so I climb into the chute and set my rope. Once I’ve taken my wrap and the bull is looking forward, I nod and the gate swings open.
The bull bursts from the chute, kicking hard as he slings his head and moves to the right. I set my hips to my rope and throw my free arm over my head. I can feel my hips sliding to the inside, into the well, as he makes his next round. The way he’s slinging his head, horns flying, I’m not about to fall into his trap and get the shit hooked out of me. I break at the hips and looktoward his left shoulder as I wait on him for a split second before shuffling my hips back into the middle.
“Trey, you need to calm yourself. Quit getting excited and slipping into the well.”Knox’s words echo in my mind as we spin around and around. I feel myself relax as I find the bull’s timing and start matching him move for move.
At six seconds, I feel comfortable enough to lift my outside leg and start spurring to earn myself a few extra points. When the whistle blows, I look up and point toward the section of the stands where I know Jessie is sitting, then I go to pull my tail, but I start sliding to the inside—again.
Son of a bitch.
With no other choice, I grab my tail as fast as I can and kick my hips, jumping right into the well, committing to the wreck my showboating has gotten me into. Thankfully, the bullfighters step in to draw the bull in the other direction at the same moment my boots hit the dirt. I walk back to the bucking chutes, waving my arms to hype up the crowd.
“How about 86.5 points to put him in second place!” the announcer bellows and the crowd cheers.
Geez, only 86.5?
They were a little hard on me tonight, but I’m sure my showboating after the whistle cost me a point or two. The judges hate that shit. But,fuck it.I thought it was awesome.
I should be excited about the ride, my winnings, and rise in the world standings. But I’m still wondering,Is this what will win Jessie over?
It did not win Jessie over.
She hasn’t said two words to me since we left the arena and came to this bar. Not even a simple “Good ride.” All I got was a quiet, “Thanks,” when I opened the truck door for her. And it’s not like she’s subdued; she’s been plenty chatty with Knox and Kacey.
I need to change tactics, bring out the big guns. Kacey told me Jessie likes to dance and I happen to be afantasticswing dancer.
I wait a few minutes until the perfect song comes on before I set my beer down and round the table to her. She’s a total smoke show tonight. With her dark auburn waves flowing down her back, almost so long they touch her perfectly-fitted dark wash jeans. Jessie is petite, but she has curves in all the right places. She’s wearing boots and another one of those damn corset tops like she wore in Estes Park last year. I swear she only wears them to test my willpower and determine whether I’ll glance down at her cleavage or not.
I wordlessly hold out my hand and watch her hazel eyes move from my hand to my blue ones.
“What?”
“Dance with me.” It’s not a question.
Silence is her only answer as she crosses her arms.
Oh, the corset issoa test.
I don’t look down.
I don’t know what it is about this woman that draws me in like a moth to a flame, but here I am, walking directly into the fire.
I give her my best crooked smile and say a little too loud, “Jessie Hawkins, will you please do me the honor of gracing the dance floor with your unending beauty, irresistible charm, and effortless—”
