Page 33 of Eight Seconds

With a few more desperate thrusts, Wilder groans his completion, and I fall onto his chest. We’re sweaty and spent, but he wraps his arms around me, and I’ve never felt more satisfied in my life. His lips find my forehead, pressing the most tender kisses there, and his fingers trace up and down my back. Inside me, Wilder begins to soften, and he gives a grunt as he readjusts us to slip from me. I should be embarrassed or concerned when our combined arousal begins to drip from me, but I choose to snuggle deeper into the arms of the man I love.

“I love you,” I breathe against his neck, kissing his still rapid pulse.

“God, Charlotte,” Wilder replies, fingers now toying with the ends of my hair in a way that feels more intimate than what we just did. His voice is warm and deep, and it makes me squirm when his chest rumbles underneath mine. “I love you so much I’d let it ruin me.”

“No one’s ruining anyone,” I say. “I’m yours, and you’re mine.”

19

CHARLOTTE

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA — EARLY DECEMBER

“You look like Vegas has been kicking your ass, and you haven’t even competed yet.” Travis leans against the gate to the stall I just finished getting Rooney ready in beside Wilder. He looks gorgeous, with thick black ribbons in his mane and wrapping his tail braid. Wilder also wears black to match us, but my shirt has vibrant, Kelly green flowers embroidered along the shoulders and down the buttons. “That green matches the color of your skin.”

“No wonder you can’t keep a girl for longer than a night,” I fire back, taking a deep breath. My stomach has been upset for a few days, the nausea coming and going. Wilder has been concerned, but when I reminded him how he felt during his first finals rodeo, he just cracked open another ginger ale and rubbed my feet. The nerves are something else, though they’re manageable. Even if I’ve never experienced them badly enough to puke every day for almost a week, I know they’ll pass as soon as I finish racing.

Wilder laughs and shoves his best friend’s shoulder. Travis immediately retaliates, and the two of them devolve into childish play-fighting. Hats are knocked onto the dusty floor as headlocks get deployed, and I roll my eyes at their ridiculous display. I pull Rooney’s bit, bringing his head down to my level.

“You’re the only thing with a dick around here who has any sense. And that makes me love you,” I whisper-shout. Wilder pulls up fast, Travis’ last shove knocking him into the stall door and forcing a curse from his lips.

“Fuck.” He rubs at the spot on his ass where he hit the door, scooping up his hat and brushing off the dirt before looking at me. “I know you didn’t just tell that horse you love him more than me.”

“Lord, save me from stupid, silly boys,” I say, but I can’t help the laughter that bubbles up when Rooney nuzzles against my neck and Wilder gently wraps me up from the other side. His happiness bleeds through his touch.

Despite how sick I’ve been since arriving in town, I was able to celebrate with him when he won the bronc riding event last night. The shiny silver buckle is almost comically large where it sits at his waist, but I’m so proud of him that I would never dream of telling him to take it off. Even if it’s supposed to be more ornamental than practical.

“Ignoring this asshole, you do look a little peaked.” Wilder’s words are full of concern, and he presses the back of his hand against my cheek and forehead. I give him a tight smile, the latest wave of nausea having passed during the boys’ friendly scuffle.

“I’m good.” I latch onto his wrist, pressing a quick kiss to his palm. He doesn’t look convinced, so I give him what I can to reassure him. “I’ll go to the medical tent as soon as this is through, okay? But nothing is going to stop me from racing.”

Wilder nods and steps back to let me finish getting ready. Travis clasps him on the shoulder, giving me a kind smile. “Nerves are a real bitch, Charlotte. But it could also just be Vegas. All that recirculated air and questionable food,” he offers, to me or Wilder, I’m not sure, but I appreciate his support. “As long as you feel like you can ride, a twitchy stomach ain’t shit to be concerned over.”

“I think you’re right,” I acknowledge. The scrambled eggs I attempted to eat this morning at the hotel did smell so strongly that I had to set them across the table from me. “I’m more than ready to ride. This is everything I’ve worked for.”

“You’re going to kick ass, baby.” Wilder beams at me. “We’ll have matching belt buckles by the end of the night.”

“Don’t jinx me!”

“It’s not bad luck to tell the truth,” Wilder replies, ever the confident cowboy.

“Well, if—and it’s a bigif—that turns out to be true, I’mnotwearing it.”

I give him a pointed look. Travis does his best to stifle his laugh while Wilder looks affronted.

The three of us walk Rooney to the staging area. They’ll have to leave me here and make their way to a spot in the stands to watch the competition. With each step, I sink deeper into a calm mental space: visualizing the layout of the barrels, flexing my hands with the grips I’ll need, and counting the seconds each turn will take.

I barely notice the hustle and bustle here, but Wilder takes my elbow to gently bring me back to where we are. His face is full of pride, excitement, and joy when he looks at me. The swooping sensation in my stomach has nothing to do with the illness or nerves I’ve been fighting; it’s connected straight to the love I feel for this man. The way he looks at me fills my heart with a kind of warmth I’ve never felt before. It makes me feel cherished and capable. Two sensations I haven’t had much experience with from other people.

“You’ve got this,” Wilder says to me, pulling me in close to a hug I’ll have a hard time walking away from. He’s solid and strong against me, and I believe him. “Rooney’s in the best shape he’s ever been. You’ve been working your ass off. No one has been able to come close to your scores this season. Even my girl Vesper couldn’t touch them. Just know, I’ll be the loudest one in the crowd, but don’t you dare lift your head to look.”

“I’m sure you’ll be positively embarrassing,” I mumble into his chest. It shakes under me as he laughs. I like the way he gives me the perfect amount of distraction and reassurance, and I lean into the offering.

“It’s a shame you won’t see the glitter sign I made, then,” Wilder continues, making me think of the night I met him when signs holding his name populated the crowd. He draws back enough to give me a boyish smile as he holds up a hand to illustrate what the sign looks like.“Ride fast. Stryke true. Charlotte’s as lucky as a horseshoe.”

“I’m so glad you decided to ride murder horses for a living.” I wrinkle my nose at the terrible rhyme and play on my last name. Wilder’s laugh booms loud enough to draw a few looks. Travis comes into view over Wilder’s shoulder, having stepped away to give us a moment.

“We better get out to our seats. Have a great race, Charlotte.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze, then looks at Wilder expectantly.

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