Page 50 of Eight Second Hearts

He flashes that dimpled grin at me. “Perhaps we should have started by putting a towel down, yeah?”

My weak chuckle is more like a puff of amused air, which only makes his grin widen. “I’d suggest a shower,” he says. “But you don’t look like you can stand up quite yet.”

Once he cleans me up, he situates me on the bed and covers me up with the sheet. He tugs the comforter off since it’s a mess and steals the one from Tripp’s bed to drape over me. I’m surrounded by warmth, my body still throbbing from the thorough fucking, when the door beeps and opens. I immediately tug the blankets up over my head, trying to hide, as if that’ll somehow hide the evidence of what we’d just done.

The mattress bounces as someone jumps onto the bed and tugs the covers down from my face. Beau grins at me, his eyesbright with mischief as he glances over to where Ram is tugging on a pair of sweatpants.

Beau giggles. “How was it?” he asks me. “Did he fuck you right or do I need to finish the job?” Ram scowls at him, and I flush at the clear indicator that there’s no hiding what we’d done. Tripp stands at the table with Bilbo on a leash, his eyes flicking over to me, clearly interested in whatever my answer may be.

“She’s been well fucked,” Ram growls at him.

“Don’t be mad, Rammie,” Beau laughs. “It’s just a question. We both know your masculinity isn’t in question.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “But seriously, if you didn’t get to finish, I’m happy to oblige.”

Despite my embarrassment, despite the fact I’m naked beneath these sheets and too damn weak to take a shower, I laugh.

Leave it to the clown to lighten the weight on my shoulders.

Chapter 29

Indie

It’s the final day ofLa Fiesta De Los Vasquezwhich means not only do the final pots get awarded, but they’ll also award the best overall cowboy. I’m of the opinion that Tripp will win that award because of his scores, but that one day he scored lower may be against him. Alternatively, Ram could also win it since he’s the leading cowboy in the bareback bronc competition. There are a few other cowboys and a cowgirl in the running as well. The cowgirl, Jensen Blair, is an award-winning barrel racer and equally deserves to win the Best Overall title. Apparently, she’d broken records this week. I can’t help but take photos of her during her last run, noting how badass she looks.

It's no wonder she’s in the running for the top title. The woman, and her horse, Maple Stirrup, have a few world titles under their belt already.

I’m not going to lie. I’m buzzing with a high I’ve never felt before. My body still aches with the reminder of how thoroughly Ram had fucked me. I’d had to take my pain pills the last few days, a fact for which Ram had apologized, but I’d reassured him it’s worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

I really hope we can do it again.

He’d kissed me before we’d parted, words whispered in my ear that had made my toes curl, with a promise that his ride today would be in my honor. Which somehow makes his win sweeter to me when he claims the pot with one point higher than his rivals.

Beau had also kissed me, right after Ram, making it clear he has no intention of letting his friend have all the fun. With a wink, he’d run off onto the dirt to work his magic.

Tripp and I had stared at each other after, unspoken words hanging in the air. He didn’t kiss me, but he’d chucked me on the chin as he’d gone to prepare for his own ride. Which somehow felt more intimate from the man who I’d thought hated me. Something tells me that Tripp Savage won’t break as easily as the other two, that whatever demons dance in his eyes aren’t so easily conquered. Tripp Savage walks through life like he doesn’t belong there, and still somehow oozes confidence everywhere he goes. I don’t understand it, but I’ve never been more curious about a man than I am about him.

The press box feels claustrophobic today, so I find myself wandering the stands rather than staying in there. A few people look at me with animosity, mostly fans with blue handprints on their clothing, which makes me wonder just how many people recorded the moment Beau dragged me into the arena. A few of them gush when they see me and act a bit starstruck. Those ones make me more uncomfortable than the animosity from the other women.

When a vendor comes around touting some Beau Rogers merch, I end up buying one of the candles in amusement. It’s a prayer candle, like the kind you’d see in a store with Jesus or the Virgin Mary on it. Only this one has Beau on it, in all his hot pink glory, one hand in the saint symbol, the other flicking me off. Saint Beau apparently likes the thought of being worshipped, I think, as I study it. The words underneath his image state,“Blessed be the clowns” and I consider the purchase money well spent. If only because it’s so very chaotic like Beau is. It’ll make me laugh every time I see it.

At the end of the rodeo, the announcer comes on one last time to announce Jensen Blair as the best overall cowgirl. The audience cheers for her as she accepts the award with a practiced smile and then cheers louder when she hangs the sash they give her on Maple Stirrup’s neck. A woman and her horse share an unbreakable bond apparently.

“Hey, little outsider,” Beau says brightly as I meet up with them after the announcements. “What do you say we hit the carnival one last time?”

“Don’t we have to head to the next location?” I ask.

“Nebraska can wait,” Ram says, his eyes crinkling. “We have a bit of leisure time.”

So that’s how we end up in the carnival, each of us wearing unlimited ride bracelets that Ram paid for with his prize money. I don’t think I’ve ever just enjoyed a carnival, so hopping on small rickety rides with Beau and Ram feels like I get to be a kid again. Tripp mostly watches rather than getting on the rides, which is more than I expect from the grumpy cowboy, but every now and then, he follows us onto the ride.

Like the fun house we all go into. Ram laughs and runs ahead, Tripp following behind him with a stealth I didn’t realize he had. Beau sticks behind me but gives me enough space to fall or stay balanced myself. I do pretty well across the shaking walkway, but the spinning tunnel nearly takes me out so thoroughly that I can’ t help but laugh as I lose my balance and stumble. A man reaches in and offers me a hand and I take it gratefully, letting him help me step from the tunnel.

“Thanks,” I tell him, and figure that’s that.

When I try to release his hand, he holds fast, forcing me to stop. I furrow my brows and look up at him, tugging at my hand.

“Most ladies would thank me by giving me a kiss,” he purrs, clearly used to charming women. I’ve never seen him before, so he’s not from the circuit. When I tug at my hand again, he doesn’t let go.

“Most men wouldn’t have to help a woman from a tunnel to get a kiss,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I suggest you let my hand go.”

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