Page 180 of Can't Always Get What You Want

The night blurs in that warm, fuzzy way where things are starting to look a little blurry but feel good. Buzzed. It’s beenages since I’ve had too much to drink, in the past it’s because I’ve felt out of place. Tonight, it’s because we’re celebrating.

I am part of the fray.

Nova has ridden the bull twice—twice!—while I gather up my courage. I know the bastard wielding the controls is going to purposely try to throw me off,waitingto humiliate me in front of the crowd.

Goddamn she looks sexy in that short skirt and cowboy boots…

I want to push her against the wall, run my hand up her ass, and fuck her from behind.

She’s glowing. Tipsy.

Wild.

Free.

I’ve never seen her like this.

And I’ve never wanted her more.

She hops down from the platform with a bounce in her boots and jogs toward me, hair bouncing, smile wide. “You’re up, cowboy.”

I glance behind me like maybe she’s talking to someone else.

She grabs my hand and yanks. “Don’t make me beg. Or worse—dare you in front of everyone.”

“I think you already did,” I mutter.

Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt as she rises up on her toes to whisper in my ear. “I’ll make it worth your while, if you catch my drift...”

She runs her hand along the waistband of my jeans. Over the belt buckle. Down my zipper. Cups my balls in her palm and squeezes.

I swallow hard. “Fine.”

Her wicked grin is full of delight. “Don’t last too long—you’re gonna need that energy later.”

Then she turns, sashaying back toward the railing, hips swaying.

When I throw my arms up, the crowd cheers. When I climbthe platform like I’m marching toward my own death, they cheer louder. The guy at the controls grins—grins—like he’s about to fire up a medieval torture device.

Which, technically, he is.

Poppy screams something I can’t hear, though I suspect is inappropriate.

I swing a leg over the bull like I’ve done this a hundred times.

Reader: I have not.

I sit tall. Adjust the cowboy hat I was given as a party favor. Give a nod to the guy at the controls like,Yeah, buddy, I’m ready.

“Let’s go!”

Big mistake.

Huge.

The bull starts slow—just a little wiggle. A taunt to give me a confident feeling. I try to match the rhythm, one hand gripping the rope like an actual cowboy, the other flailing in the air the way I see them in the movies.

I’ve got this.

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