Page 33 of Destry

I studied him skeptically. “You don’t lose.”

His smirk widened. “Not often.”

I rolled my eyes at his arrogance.

We walked past a funnel cake stand and Destry slowed down, glancing towards the powdered sugar-covered stacks of fried dough. “Hungry?”

I crossed my arms. “You’re deflecting?”

He grinned. “Is it working?”

I sighed, shaking my head. “No but I want one.”

He laughed under his breath, reaching into his pocket for cash before handing it to the vendor. A minute later, he was holding a hot, freshly fried funnel cake, tearing off a piece and holding it out to me.

I stared at it.

He lifted a brow. “You gonna take it or you want me to feed you?”

My stomach flipped, but I kept my face neutral. His grin deepened and before I could react, he reached forward, gently pressing the piece of funnel cake against my lips.

I narrowed my eyes, but I took the damn bite, refusing to let him know my heart had just done a whole-ass flip in my chest. Destry chuckled, satisfied, then tore off another piece for himself.

We kept walking and eating and after a moment, I glanced over at him. “So what now?”

He wiped powdered sugar from his fingers onto his jeans. “What do you mean?”

“You lost. You didn’t make the next round. What now?”

Destry took his time answering, finishing the last bite and licked sugar off his thumb way too slowly. I knew what the strokes of his tongue felt like.

“For now I have time on my hands. Figured I’d spend it with you then I’ll start preparing for the next rodeo. I can still qualify for Vegas in December. It’s just going to take some good fucking rides to get my points up.”

My chest tightened, but I tried to play it off. “I might not have time.”

He grinned. “You have time, Rebel, and if you don’t, you’ll make time.”

He reached for my hand and laced his fingers through mine and my stomach dipped again. He didn’t say anything else because he didn’t have to. I would definitely make time. He kept me close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The longer we walked the fairgrounds, the more eyes and whispers took over, most of them were aimed at Destry. Their golden boy had lost today, something nobody expected. Instead of hiding out he walked around looking completely unbothered, holding my hand like he didn’t give a damn who was watching.

People stared. Some were curious, some smug, others just plain nosy. I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t qualify or because I was the one beside him. Probably both. I just kept walking, ignoring the weight of all those looks. We made it a few more steps before someone finally stopped him.

“Callahan,” a voice called from the side.

Destry turned, keeping his grip firm on my hand as he faced the older cowboy standing near a booth. The man was shaking his head, looking somewhere between amused and annoyed.

He crossed his arms. “You doin’ wild card or what?”

Destry squared his shoulders. “No.”

The man raised a brow, seeming surprised. “You serious?”

“Dead serious,” Destry said easily, like they were talking about what kind of beer he was drinking, not his entire season.

The cowboy frowned. “Damn. Thought for sure you would fight your way back in.”

Destry just tipped his hat. “Not this time.”

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