Page 15 of Eight Seconds to Ride

“There’s always tomorrow night,” I mutter before I finish the rest of my beer and raise off the chair to get another.

“New guy’s delusional, I see,” Shooter chirps as I give him my back and walk away.

There’s a handful of people I don’t know surrounding the beer coolers. People from other nearby campsites, I’m sure. They aren’t anybody I recognize from competing today, so they’re probably people who came to watch the rodeo.

Reaching into one of the coolers, I grab a Bud Light, brushing off the excess ice. Someone comes up beside me, and when I turn my head, I’m met with a glossy pair of brown eyes and a crooked grin. “You’re Sterling, right?”

I smile back. “I am, and you are?”

“Michael,” he supplies. “You were great tonight.”

The memory of me saying those exact words to Shooter a few months ago is not lost on me. I fight the urge to look over at him right now. Instead, I keep my gaze trained on Michael.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Nodding my chin toward the cooler, I ask, “You want something to drink?”

Michael bites down on his bottom lip before nodding. “Sure, I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

I hand him a can before opening my own and taking a sip. He follows suit.

“So, you from around here?” I ask.

“About an hour east,” he offers. “You’re in Texas?”

Shaking my head, I reply, “Not anymore. I’m living up in Wyoming now. Copper Lake.”

A few people walk up, trying to get around us to the cooler, so I gesture over to the side as I meet Michael’s gaze. “Wanna go over there so we aren’t in everyone’s way?”

He chuckles. “Sure.” Pulling out a pack of smokes from his back pocket, plucking a cigarette out and placing it between his teeth, he offers the pack to me in a silent question.

“Nah, I’m good. I don’t smoke, but thanks.”

Glancing around the area, it’s filled out a lot more than it was a little while ago. My eyes find Daisy, where she’s standing next to a pickup truck with some guy I don’t recognize. She’s batting her eyelashes as she looks up at him. We talked quite a bit today. She’s a cool girl.

Making friends as an adult, especially in an industry as intense as this one, can be challenging. I can’t even count on one hand the number of friends who have come and gone over the years, whether it be they moved away, or they just couldn’t handle other people’s success. Competing can really show people’s true colors. We all want to win, but most of us also are still happy for our friends when they succeed.

So, it’s been refreshing having a few people be so welcoming to me.

Dragging my gaze back to Michael, he’s closer than he was before. The scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing wafts around me, and I notice the way he’s checking me out. He’s cute, I guess. He’s got a scruffy face and dark brown hair. A little shorter than me, but he fills out the short-sleeve white t-shirt he’s wearing.

Without my permission, my mind immediately compares him to Shooter. They’re nothing alike, yet I can’t help but do it anyway. Hooking up with Shooter back in December was a foolish move. To this day, I still can’t figure out what the hell I was thinking at the time. Not only am Inotthe type of guy who hooks up with people out at bars—or in general… inexperienced is a real understatement here—but I also knew I’d have to see him in the rodeo world.

I shouldn’t have done it…and I shouldn’t want to do it again. But I do.God,I do. It was thrilling and hot and way outside of my comfort zone, and despite Shooter being who he is, and as cocky and full of himself as he is, he wasn’t selfish or an asshole in that bathroom. Not that I have any experience on what bathroom hookups should look like, I’ve heard stories from my friends about how selfish some men can be, only caring about their own pleasure.

Then when he licked my cum off my hand…Lord.

Annnnnd, now I’m popping a boner next to this guy, thinking about someone else. Cool. Go me.

Clearing my throat, I return my focus to Michael. “Are you going to the rodeo tomorrow night too?”

“No, I’m only in town tonight. Leave to go back home in the morning.” He steps a little closer. “But hopefully, tonight can be memorable.”

My pulse races at his insinuation, but before I can formulate some sort of response, someone steps up beside me. Glancingover, I’m surprised to see Shooter standing there, eyes narrow and pointed directly at Michael.

“You should get the fuck out of here, man,” Shooter sneers. “Buckle bunny isn’t a good look on you.”

My jaw drops at his comment, but I quickly school myself, peering over at a stunned-looking Michael.

“I don’t know what—”

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