Page 13 of Eight Seconds to Ride

“What’s going on?” I interject as Cope looks like his head’s about to explode.

“Nothing,” Sterling responds at the same time Cope says, “He’s planning on sleeping in his truck the entire season. Tell him how fucking stupid that is.”

They both look at me, and I snort out a laugh. “I mean, if he wants to fuck up his chances because of stiff-ass muscles, who am I to stop him?”

Cope rolls his eyes before turning his attention back on Sterling, and says something that makes me choke on my owntongue. “Bullshit. Don’t listen to him. You’re going to ride with us. There’s plenty of room in the truck and in the camper.”

“What?!” we both hiss at the same time.

Sterling balks at Cope before muttering, “No. That’s not necessary, man. It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not. You’re not going to fuck up your first year on the circuit doing something stupid. You’re riding with us. End of discussion.”

“Dude, let him do what he wants.” My eyes clash with Cope’s, hoping like hell he takes this shit back. “If he wants to be a dumbass and make it even easier for me to kick his pretty little ass, then so be it.”

“Don’t be such a dick, Shooter.”Of course.Cope is like a stern, disappointed father sometimes. “If you kick his ass, it’s going to be fairly. Not because he’s at a disadvantage, but because he’s not getting proper rest on the road. Since fucking when are you such a poor sport?”

Annoyance simmers inside me as he chastises me in front of Sterling. I grind down on my molars but say nothing.

“Aw, wait, you think my ass is pretty?” Sterling drawls, a smirk splitting his face. “I’m flattered. And on second thought, I’dloveto ride with y’all.” I swear to God, he sneers at me after he says it.

“Damn right you will,” Cope says, looking way too pleased with himself right now.

Fuck this.“I’m going to take a leak inside before we take off.”

I want to wring Cope’s neck. What the fuck is he thinking? It is not our fucking problem that the new guy didn’t plan properly for this. Why must I suffer because of it?Hoursof driving in the car with him.Fuck!

After I wash my hands, I head back outside, and we all pile into the truck and hit the road. I’m thanking the rodeo gods that we decided to take my truck this year instead of Cope’s,since mine is an extended cab and his isn’t. Like hell would I be driving eight fucking hours with Sterling sitting in the middle of us, squished in like a can of sardines.

The few times I glance in the rearview mirror at him, he’s not even paying any attention to me, either looking out the window or fucking around on his phone. I’m all too aware of his presence, though, like a blaring horn inside my mind. I crank the stereo, trying to keep the conversation to a minimum, and thankfully, Cope doesn’t try to press on that. We only stop a couple of times to use the restroom and load up on snacks, making good time at the campsite.

Colt, Boone, and a couple of the barrel racers, including my sister, are meeting us here. We all usually split the cost. I often wonder if other rodeo towns are as closeknit as ours. I know there are a few other towns, like ours, that house a lot of rodeo members, whereas in some others, there are only one or two. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine being the only rodeo cowboy in my town. The support that comes with all of us living in the same place helps tremendously. We’re all family, and for the most part, have grown up together. Rodeoing takes a lot of work, a lot of effort, and not many people understand the hustle, but they do. Having like-minded people surrounding you goes a long way in our industry.

We’re the first ones here, but it doesn’t take long for the others to trickle in. Unloading the grill from the back of my truck, I get it running before tossing some burgers and hot dogs on while some of the other guys work on getting the fire pit going.

My eyes lift from the grill, scanning the area, eventually landing on Sterling as if there’s some magnetic pull between us that I can’t break. He’s got a beer in his hand, and he’s leaning against the bed of Boone’s truck, talking to him and Clem, one of the barrel racers. One of them must say something funnybecause he throws his head back and laughs, his throat pulled taut, Adam’s apple protruding against the flesh.

I force my gaze back to the meat I’m cooking, irritation rolling through me like a violent wave crashing at the shore. It’s pissing me off how quickly Sterling went from the hot new guy in town who I kind of, most definitely, would want to hook up with again to this chip on my shoulder I can’t shake. It’s like the moment my father voiced Sterling’s excellence to me, he became an enemy. Someone I need to beat. Sure, I always want to win, and I’m never, like, overly thrilled about my competition, but it’s never as vehemently as this.

Once the burgers and hot dogs are finished, we all fix our plates, taking a seat around the fire as we eat and have a few too many beers while we talk and laugh, music a low thrum beating beneath all the chatter. Eventually, most of the crew heads off to bed, leaving only a small handful of us around the slowly dying fire. Sterling is one of them.

He’s directly across from me, flames illuminating his features. I bring the beer bottle up to my mouth, downing a few swallows as his honey-colored eyes find and hold mine. Tongue poking out, he wets his lips, a small smirk playing around the corner of his mouth. Thoughts of that same tongue, those same lips on my dick, has arousal swirling low in my gut, and I hate myself for it.

Fuck, I need to get laid as soon as possible. That’ll end this unwanted lust I feel for him, and I can wholly focus on kicking his ass in the arena instead of pounding into his ass in private. Thankfully, getting laid, especially on the road, has never been an issue for me.

7

Sterling Addams

It’s the first rodeo of the season.My first pro rodeo.Nerves simmer below the surface, a vibrational hum coursing through my bloodstream. I knew I’d be nervous, so I nursed my beers much more than everyone else last night. I wanted to be sure to be on my A-game today. Despite how anxious I am, though, it’s easily overpowered by the excitement. The anticipation. The thrill of being here, of having made it.

The bed in the camper was surprisingly comfortable. I wasn’t expecting that. Sleeping feet away from Shooter, however, was… interesting. Every time he rolled over, sighed in his sleep, every noise he made, I caught it, hyperaware of his every move. It made falling asleep a bitch, but thankfully, once I was able to, I slept great.

The weather is nice today. Perfect for the rodeo. It’s sunny and warm, but not too warm. A cool breeze just strong enough to keep you comfortable, but not enough to kick up dust around us. People are slowly starting to trickle in, and my excitement grows by the minute. After the opening, bronc riding is first.

There are several of us bareback riders here today, but I’m number four in the line-up. Shooter is number five. Knowing he’s more than likely going to be watching me makes me feel equal parts nervous and exhilarated. He’s so sure I don’t have what it takes, and I can’t wait to prove him wrong. I’m not naïve enough to pretend I have nearly as much practice and experience as he does, but I’m also not dense enough to deny the hard-earned talent Idopossess.

I’m good—great, even—and Shooter’s about to come face to face with that knowledge.

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