Page 9 of Untamed

A bull on the PBR tour.

Let it go. Just let it the fuck go. But I can’t.

His words of,“Fuck you, ya dumb cunt,”rush through me and I see red.

Guys who treat women badly, I don’t stand for that fucking bullshit. Reckless destructive anger gnaws at me. The kind that forms over years and surfaces in the blink of an eye. I have a lot of it. A pain stabs at my temples, an indication I’ve been clenching my jaw for too long.

My eyes lock on the douche staring at me. Who the fuck is this fucking asshole?

“Don’t pay him any mind,” Kade says, handing me a beer. I refuse it, holding up the bottle in my hand.

I want to listen to him, but I glance at the girl again, my stare drawn to her for reasons I don’t understand. My eyes drift back to her, but keep moving, as if I’m trying not to stare. She blushes wildly.

Look away. Fuck her. Let her deal with her own shit. Stop it. You don’t need to get involved in their mess, or with a woman. You have enough baggage back home.And I do.

I don’t know if it’s her sass or the fact that she’s acting like she doesn’t recognize me. Hell, there’s a good chance she doesn’t. And I like that too. The fewer people who know I’m back, the better.

But this girl, fiery “tell it like it is” blonde, she catches my attention with the way she’s moving through the crowd, completely oblivious to the ones who can’t look away from her beauty. And that includes me. Our eyes collide again, a zing of connection fires between us.

It’s when she does notice me and the way she gives me those simple glances and the subtle way she shifts her thighs each time she sees me . . . that gets my attention. I’m well aware of the effect I have on women. It’s not cocky—it’s just the way it is. Maybe it’s the blue eyes and dark hair or the sculpted body, but it’s like a magnet for anything with a vagina. I usually didn’t have to do anything if I was interested, other than look their way. I let them come to me and I was in.

Maybe it’s the curve of her waist or the way it peeks out from under her fringed black top or the gypsy style she has, completely unlike every other girl surrounding her wearing skin-tight jeans and bikini tops. With feather braids in her long blonde hair, she’s different, the kind of girl who dances with a song only she knows and speaks with the rhythm in her heart. I try not to think of the warmth of her pussy, but sadly, I’m failing miserably.

Something else draws me to her. It’s when she’s sitting on the edge of the tailgate with her friend, her legs slightly spread as she passes a bottle of Jim Beam back and forth between her friend. She slides down off the tailgate when Little Big Town’s “Girl Crush” comes on. I’m not sure, but I think the song bothers her for some reason and she kicks the stereo it’s flowing from.

“What the fuck, Maesyn?” a guy to our left shouts. The same guy who hit her shoulder earlier. The same guy I nearly throttled for touching her and I have no idea why. I never react like that, but I did for her. “Why’d you do that?”

Twisting my head, I look over at Joel Peterson. I don’t know him, but I want to send my fist through his face for raising his voice at her. At least I know her name now.

Maesyn walks up to the guy and grabs the front of his flannel, yanking him forward. “I hate that fucking song. That’s why, Joel.”

Glaring, the guy hovers over her short frame. “Why? It’s a good song.”

“It’s about a guy cheating on a girl with another. How cananyonelike it?”

She has a damn good point.

Joel rolls his eyes. “It’sjusta song.”

Maesyn shakes her head and pushes him back against the side of the truck he’s next to and I struggle to hear her next words. “You know I hate that song.”

He smirks, but you can tell he doesn’t like being pushed. Straightening his posture, his shoulders tense and I step forward too, knowing where this is going. “It’s just a song,” he snaps, eyes on mine when he sees me approaching, but his words aren’t meant for me.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with your shit anymore, Joel.” Maesyn turns to walk away, only to have the asshole grab her by her arm, wrapping his fingers harshly around her bicep. Even in the night, I notice her tanned skin whiten where he’s gripping her.

Yep. He’s pissed me off now.

Joel leans in, whispering, “You don’t get to decide when we’re done. I do.”

Setting my bottle down on the tailgate of my truck, I make my way over to them.

Without looking at me, Maesyn rips her arm from his hand only to have him grab her again, this time by the front of her shirt that’s tied up above her bellybutton revealing a few inches of her perfectly flat stomach. “I mean it. We’re not done. You owe me and you know it.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” she spits back at him, shoving him away from her.

Before he reacts to the shove, because something tells me he’s going to, I sidestep my cousin, who tries to stop me and approach them.

“I think it’s in your best interest to let her go,” I warn, positioning myself between them. I don’t shout, but my voice is firm. My dad always told me there’s no need to raise your voice if you’re saying what you mean. Yelling only means you’re desperate and you need to yell to back your weak words. Or the person you’re talking to doesn’t give a fuck and is trying to piss you off. There’s that.

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