Page 6 of Eight Seconds to Ride

“That must be the Addams kid,” he mumbles, and when I glance over at him, he’s wearing a deep scowl. “What is this? A western romance novel? Put a fucking shirt on.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. “Maybe he’s hot. He definitely looks hot.”

Whit turns his scowl on me. “It’s a little unprofessional, don’t you think, to work with your clothes off? Who does this Fabio motherfucker think he is?”

That really does it. Holding on to my abdomen, I bark out a laugh as Whit parks next to Conrad’s truck, still grumbling under his breath. “Oh, fuck, Whit. I forgot how funny you can be sometimes.”

He scoffs at me. “Think you can pull yourself together long enough to get out of my truck, or should you wait in here?”

“Oh, relax.” Unbuckling my seatbelt, I slide out of the truck, meeting him around the back to help grab his supplies.

“Do y’all need any help?” the guy asks as I hear him approaching from around the side of Conrad’s truck.

Leaning in, I say in Whit’s ear, quiet enough for only him, “Hear that? Fabio wants to help us.”

Whit glowers at me. I laugh, turning to come face to face with the man in question. “Nah, we’re goo—” The sentence dies on my tongue as I get a look at him. His face falls as my lips tip into a grin. “You.”

Honey-colored eyes hold my gaze for a moment, some emotion swimming in them I can’t quite place, before he glances over my shoulder.

Whit steps around me, extending his hand toward my NFR celebratory bathroom hookup. “Hi, I’m Whit, the vet. You must be Sterling.” For someone who was so huffy and grumbly a few minutes ago, Whit sure hides it well. There isn’t a single ounce of that annoyance in his tone anymore as he shakes his hand before adding, “This is Shooter.”

Sterling drags his gaze to me, looking like he’s not sure whether he wants to pretend we’ve never met or not. Too bad I don’t give him the chance to decide before huffing out a laugh and saying, “Oh, we’ve met.”

I kindly leave out the part where my dick has already been fantastically acquainted with his tonsils.

Unabashedly dragging my gaze from his face, all the way down his body, my tongue dips out, wetting my bottom lip as I take in his tall, lean form. His sweaty chest glistens under the beam of the sun, and his sweats are sitting sinfully low on his hips. Filthy images of him on his knees, hard dick jutting out, flit through my mind, causing my own cock to give an appreciative twitch behind my pants.

Whit looks between us, his brows furrowed. “You have? When?”

My eyes trail back up, a snigger nearly coming out when I watch the color drain from Sterling’s face as he waits to see what part of the story I share. Part of me wants to let it all air out. Make the day more interesting. But another part of me wants to keep it to myself. Watch him squirm a little. Weighing my options, in the end, I go with the latter.

“We met at the finals in Vegas this last time.”

Before he can say anything back, Conrad rounds the corner, expression hard and serious, looking from me to Whit. “Hey. Didn’t know you were here already.”

Whit clears his throat. “We just got here.”

Conrad glances at me. “Hey, Shooter.”

He’s got this sexy dad-bod thing going for him. And he’s tall as hell. If he wasn’t nearly old enough to be my actual dad, I’d totally be into it. And, you know, if he wasn’t my friend’s ex-husband.

I tip my chin at him. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“I see you’ve met Sterling.”

Dragging my eyes over to the man in question, I smirk. “Sure have.”

Conrad nods. “He’ll be training down at Powder Ridge starting Monday. Think you can help show him around? I’ll be heading down there with him Monday, but after that.”

It hits me… Colt’s words coming back to me. Arching a brow, I say, “You’re the new bronc rider.”

Sterling squares his shoulders. “Yes, I am.”

Running my tongue along my bottom lip, I scrub a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to laugh. What a small fucking world. Conrad’s looking at me expectantly, so I nod in response to his question.Sure, I’ll show him around. Show him right where I’m going to kick his ass.

With that settled, Conrad shows us to the injured horse. It doesn’t take long for Whit to check him out and determine it is, in fact, just a sprain. He wraps it up, giving Conrad instructions to have the horse take it easy for a few days, and to call if it seems to be getting worse. By the time we’re done and climbing in the truck to leave, Sterling is nowhere to be found.

We decide to hit the bar right in town, grabbing a pitcher of beer and a pizza for us to share. Taking a seat in one of the booths in the back, I pour us each a glass, sliding his across the table before taking a long sip of mine while thinking over this new discovery.

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