Page 77 of Eight Seconds to Ride

Ending up at some burger joint in the middle of this tiny town, we all scarf down enough food to feed an army before Sterling, Colt, and my sister ditch us to go play the arcade games that are in the back of the restaurant. Jessie and Clem went outside for some fresh air. Leaving Cope and I the only ones inside at our table.

He takes a drink from his soda, eyeing me over the cup. “You look happy,” he murmurs with a smirk.

“I’m getting there.”

“You done with rodeo?” Cope’s been great about giving me space, even though I know he’s overflowing with questions. I know he’s worried, and I’ve admitted a little bit to him, but not all of it. Maybe when the season’s over, and we’re all back in Copper Lake, I will.

“I may come back next season. Who knows.”

Cope sets his drink down on the table, letting out a deep breath. “Listen, I may not know what’s going on with you fully, but I’m really fucking glad you’re taking the time to figure your shit out. You’ve been angry and detached for a while now. Whatever you decide, I’m here. Always.”

Hearing that chokes me up a little. I wasn’t as good as I thought I was at hiding my shit. Cope’s my best friend, so sure, if anybody would pick up on it, it would be him. I just didn’t think he noticed. Not because he’s a shitty friend or oblivious, but because we all have our own issues.

“Thanks, man,” I croak. “I really appreciate that.”

“So, you and Sterling,” he drawls. I’ve been waiting for this ever since I confessed my feelings for Sterling the night of Cope’s party. “Never saw that coming, but I think you’re good for one another.”

The shit-eating grin on my face is unavoidable. “He makes me happy, man. I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see the daytheShooter Graham settled down, but I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Cope.”

We finish the rest of our fries before everyone comes back. It’s nearing the time I should be hitting the road to head back to Copper Lake, but this nagging feeling of not wanting to go yetkeeps gnawing at me. When we all leave the restaurant, before we pile in the trucks, I pull Sterling aside.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“You can say no,” I tell him. “But what do you think about me tagging along for the rest of the season?”

Honey eyes go wide as a grin tugs on his lips. “Really? You want to?”

“Only if you want me to. My therapy is all online anyway, and there’s nothing really for me at home right now.” Nerves coat my gut as I worry he won’t want me to. Putting myself out there isn’t something I’m great at, and even though our feelings are out in the open now, being vulnerable is still hard for me to lean into. “So, what do you think?”

“I think having you around all the time sounds pretty dang good to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer until we’re nothing more than a breath away from each other. “Stay. I want you to.”

Pressing my lips down on his, I kind of love that all of our friends know now, so I don’t have to hide this anymore. Don’t have to hide how in deep I am. I’ve respected that Sterling wanted to keep it under wraps since it’s his first year pro, but I have no desire to hide anything anymore.

39

Sterling Addams

One Month Later

“What the hell are you doing in there, Addams?” Shooter calls out from his bedroom, where I told him to wait right on the end of the bed ten minutes ago. I snicker to myself, thinking about what’s about to happen, and while I think it’s going to be hot as hell, I also think, from the outside looking in, it’s a little comical. Something you’d see in a cheap porn film.

“Patience, grasshopper,” I holler back, reciting his words to me from several weeks ago.

I hear Shooter scoff before mumbling a“fuck off,”under his breath, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s been about a week since the rodeo season ended and we got home. As fun as the last several months have been, and as thankful as I am for the experience and where it got me, I’m beyond thrilled to be back in a regular bed every night. The camper is great, but man, aftera while, it gets old. I surprisingly—or maybe not so surprisingly—haven’t been at the loft much in the week we’ve been home, instead staying at Shooter’s place. Luckily, he has a really freaking comfortable—and huge—bed.

Which is where we’re at now. We just finished eating dinner—a nice meal Shooter grilled for us—and we had several drinks leading up to right now, so it’s safe to say we both got a little bit of a buzz going on. It’s doing wonders at providing liquid courage for the crap show I’m about to put on for him.

Looking in the mirror, I don’t know whether I want to laugh or call the whole thing off, standing here in nothing more than my cowboy hat, chaps, a jockstrap, and my boots, I look somehow both ridiculous and… sexy at the same time. I don’t know how that’s possible. Regardless of what I think, though, I know Shooter is going to lose his mind.

I grab my phone off the counter, opening Spotify, and pick the song. My phone’s already hooked up to the Bluetooth speaker in his room, so the distinguishable beat toSave a Horse, Ride a Cowboystarts playing. I can hear Shooter laugh, then immediately after, whistle appreciation for what he can probably guess is to come, over the music. Setting the phone back on the counter, I yank open the door, letting him take me in, in all my nearly naked glory, as I lean seductively against the doorjamb.

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