Page 34 of Bull Riders Don't Swoon

“So…on a scale of one to ten, how do I kiss?” My voice isn’t as calm as I hoped, and I swallow the lump that’d returned.

Griff cracks a small smile. “Eleven.”

“Nice.” My mouth can’t work because I’m staring at Griff in a whole new way. And I want to kiss him again. “Um…Do you —”

“Can we just get out of here? Please?”

“Whatever you need, Griff.”

Without another word, he weaves his way through the bar while I follow him.

My best friend just kissed me…and I liked it. I liked it a whole damn lot.

Kissing Griff was not on my list of things to do on this trip.

eleven

Griff

Outside the bar, the night is still clear and warm, but I suck in a breath like I just dove in the deep end and I’m only now resurfacing for air.

I don’t know if I’m walking in the right direction, but Jamieson walks by my side, so it must be right. I’m not sure what I’m more rattled about. The fact I kissed him or that he kissed me back. What the fuck do we do now?

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” Jamieson rumbles beside me and I guess that answers my question. Although I could say no, I don’t want to talk, this conversation has been a long time coming. “I’m sorry.”

“For what exactly?” Jamie’s hand on my arm has me finally stopping my feet from moving forward, and I puff out a breath while keeping my gaze on the sidewalk. “Are you sorry you kissed me or sorry that I kissed you back?”

“I’m sorry I made things complicated.”

Risking a glance, I lift my gaze to his handsome face. The face paint is still there, his bisexual flag still bright and un-smudged, and for a moment I wonder how make-up can do that. How do we wash it off?

Jamieson’s face still smiles as he waits for me to answer. Like he’s not at all freaked out about it while I’m a horrible mess, wondering if I just fucked up the best friendship I’ve ever had. Hell, the only one I’ve really had.

Oh, god.

“Hey, hey…Griff. Take a breath.” Jamieson is at my side and somehow my ass is on the sidewalk with him next to me. “I think you’re having a panic attack, Griff. Or hyperventilating or something. You looked like you were about to faint.”

“God, I’m so sorry.”

Jamie’s hand on the back of my neck forces my head down to my knees while his voice soothes me like a scared animal. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve got you. Just don’t pass out because I don’t think I can lift you into the Uber tonight. You’re a big dude, and my arms still hurt from slinging hay bales.”

That makes me smile, and the fog and tightness in my chest retreat some. He doesn’t sound like he’s even affected by what happened, which again…helps me breathe, but we need to talk about it. This is too big for me to stuff away like all the other feelings I’ve not dealt with my whole life, and likely might be the one thing that finally cracks me open.

“Our ride is almost here. Why don’t we go back to the ranch and talk about it over blueberry muffins?”

Jamieson’s stomach growls as a car pulls up to the curb, and he stands and offers me his hand.

“I don’t know where you put everything you eat.”

He opens the car door for me, and I slide into the back seat while Jamieson settles in next to me. He tells the driver where we’re going, and I lean back, listening to their easy conversation.

Jamieson has always been like this. He can talk to strangers so easily and always has something to say. He’s always polite and likeable. Even now, the Uber driver chats away and comments on the Pride activities and gives us tips on how to get the face paint off.

After Jamie pays and we’re walking up the stairs to our loft, the panic grips me again, and the shakes set in. What if I just fucked everything up?

“Griff…sit down, please.”

He grips my elbow and leads me to the couch, where I all but collapse against it. Bags rustle in the kitchen, and water runs before the couch dips next to me, and Jamieson settles by my side.

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