Page 12 of Eight Seconds to Fly

Yeah it did, especially in this sport. It was not a matter of if, but of when.

I took another step back until I was almost touching Frankie. “Are we good or is this going to be a thing?”

Dylan looked like he wanted to say something, but he nodded. “I got no problem with you riding.”

I looked at Branch. My childhood frenemy. “It’s dangerous, Tessa May.”

The words echoed some of the last I’d ever heard from him. I nodded. “I know, Branch. I didn’t get to this point on my good looks. I’ve ridden some rank bulls. Gotten thrown, stomped. I’ve broken bones and paid my dues in blood. I know it's dangerous, but I don’t want to do anything else.”

He was silent for a long time, his blue eyes chasing the planes of my face. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. I don’t owe you anything,” he said, more to himself than to me. Beau rolled his eyes like his best friend was an idiot. He wasn’t wrong though. Branch Watson didn’t owe me a damn thing, and if I had my way, he never would.

I nodded. “Good. Can we go back in there now? I have a ride to prep for.” Branch’s jaw tensed again, but he gave me a sharp look and spun on his heel, yanking open the door and striding out like I was the one being dismissed. Beau walked out after him, talking to him in a low voice that I couldn’t hear.

Dylan paused. “Can I have a moment, Tessa?”

I hesitated, but nodded. I looked up at Frankie. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Frankie stared down Dylan on his way out the door. We were going to have to chat about the whole stare-down thing he had going on today. Still, when my friend closed the door, he trapped me in the room with Dylan.

Dylan ran a tattooed hand up over the back of his short hair. “I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t like Beau said. I never called you a buckle bunny. That night, Tessa, I couldn’t forget it.” My heart thudded against my chest.

I couldn’t either. Dylan was half the reason I had such a dry spell right now. No one seemed to measure up. I couldn’t tell him that though. Instead, I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Dylan was nodding, walking toward me. I resisted the urge to run into his arms and wrap my body around his. “Really. I tried to track you down, but no one could tell me about anyone named Tessa. I even called fucking Stan Wilfred Junior,” he said derisively, and I got it. No one would voluntarily inflict Junior on themselves. “But he said he didn’t know any Tessa.”

Bet he did, the dickcheese.

“I go by T.M. Moore on the circuit.”

Dylan’s eyebrows rose too. “No shit, you’re T.M.? There wasn’t even a whisper that you were a woman. How does that happen?”

Because I was the industry's dirty little secret. If I didn’t advertise that I was a woman, they didn’t want to advertise it either. Until now.

“Luck I guess?” I said instead. He was well and truly in my space now, and I held my breath. He reached up and traced his knuckles down my cheek. My eyes fluttered closed of their own volition, and I swallowed back a sigh.

This couldn’t happen.

I took a step away, and Dylan let his hand fall. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. We can’t.”

“Is the Brazilian guy more than a friend after all?” He sounded jealous and I frowned.

I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, but then, maybe I was safer using Frankie as a patsy? I contemplated it for a second, but disregarded the idea. I didn’t want to lie, especially when it could hamper Frankie’s chances. “No, we are just friends, like I said. But I don’t sleep with bull riders, Dylan. It's never a good idea, especially not when we are competing against each other. Especially when I’m the first woman to make it to this level.”

I could blow it all, and as much as I craved Dylan’s touch again, I would not waste this chance on a man.

He sighed. “If you change your mind, I’d love to take you out.” I went to protest again, but he raised a hand. “Offer stands, whether you take it up or not. And even if you don’t, I’ll try and run interference with Branch. Is he the reason you don’t date bull riders?”

Was he? No. He was the reason I didn’t date full stop. But I’d never tell Dylan that. I shook my head. “No. Branch and I go back to when we were kids. We were all raised on neighboring farms. Our Dads were business partners.”

Dylan reared back. “Wait. You’re Nugget? The Nugget?”

When it sounded like that, it sounded ridiculous. “Uh yes? My dad,” I swallowed hard, “he called me his Gold Nugget because of the hair. They shortened it to Nugget and it kind of stuck. For them at least, no one else calls me Nugget anymore.”

Dylan was shaking his head, a small smirk on his face. “Branch’s craziness makes sense now. He’s usually cool as hell, nothing ruffles him. But you swagger in and he’s a mess.” He laughed then, planting a tiny kiss on the corner of my mouth, before straightening and stepping away. “Remember, my offer stands. You can name the time and the place and I’ll be there. Have a good ride tonight,” he said with a wink that threatened to make my panties combust.

“You too,” I said weakly, and then he was gone.

I was left alone in the room to pull my shit together. What a goddamn mess.

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