Page 71 of A Fighting Chance

Do you know how much more you stand to gain?

I grip her tighter and she returns the gesture, fueling my hope. I lose myself to my thoughts for just a few moments while the song binds us, while the song tells us what will happen if someone doesn’t say something.

But can I do that? Do I have the right?

Sometimes I can see it. I can see the words tumbling from my open and pleading mouth. I can see a smile spread across her lips right before she hugs my neck and tells me she will stay with me.

Then I snap back here, back to her half-packed bags, to her inevitable leaving. And the words catch. I can’t force them out.

The song starts to change again, the pace picking back up, and I decide to change gears.

“Another drink?” I ask.

She nods, and I grab her hand to lead her back to the bar.

This time, I order two shots of tequila and her sweet drink. I hand her one of the shots and take the other. I give her a lime next and take one for myself.

She’s staring at me, amusement playing across her face. “Cheers?” she says, raising her shot to me.

I clink mine to hers and then we both lick salt from the back of our hands before downing the gold liquid. We’re biting limes and looking at each other when I raise my eyebrow and nod in the direction of the bull.

Lyla looks back over her shoulder and then to me again. “Oh my god, you’re serious?”

“I’d never joke around when it comes to watching you ride something,” I say, making every attempt to suppress my smirk. When I fail, she smacks me in the arm.

“I’m wearing a dress,” she protests.

“Are you wearing panties?” I ask.

Her eyes bug just a little. “Of course.”

“Then you’re good,” I say. “Come on.” I drag her by the hand toward the short line. And by short, I mean there’s one person in front of her.

The bull attendant hands her a clipboard with a waiver attached and then looks her up and down. I don’t like it.

“You’re going to ride in that?” he asks.

Lyla looks down at herself and then at me.

My glare is fixed on the barely-of-drinking-age guy getting excited over her figure. “We’re both riding,” I tell him, pulling the clipboard from his hand.

“What?” Lyla looks up at me in confusion and I scribble my name on a form.

“I’ll sit behind you since you’re worried about your dress,” I say, attempting to clear any possessive tone from my voice.

“Oh boy,” she says with humor, then jumps up and down in place.

I pull my boots off, placing them on the floor next to the booth, and she follows suit.

We watch the girl currently riding the bull, jerking back and forth. I place my hand on the small of Lyla’s back. I want to touch her all the time; I can’t help myself.

We watch as the girl gets flung to the inflatable mat at the far side of the ring. Then, she exits.

“Okay, you guys ready?” the same clipboard guy asks.

We nod, and I push Lyla toward the entrance. “Don’t worry,” I whisper to her. “I got you.”

Her shoulders relax just a little at my reassurance and we bounce our way over to the bull.

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