Page 58 of Braving the Storm
Not because I want to avoid her, the opposite extreme is true. It’s the fact I know her dirty little secret, and that calls to the side of me I shouldn’t even be considering letting off his chain.
The smug, all-too-pleased-with-himself asshole, who wants nothing more than to throw this girl down and show her everything she’s been missing.
To teach her all the ways her body and goddamn soul can respond under my touch.
Right now, these close confines are feeling like a hellfire punishment sent to torment me. That this girl is right under my feet everywhere I turn, and my brain is so scattered—so fucking hung up on everything that has happened between us so far—that I keep tripping over her.
Physically and metaphorically.
The harder I try, theclumsier I get.
I even managed to walk in on her getting out of the shower this morning because I was too lost in my own mind, replaying what she felt like beneath me… and, well, I didn’t mean to bust in on her, but another opportunity to see her half naked by accident has done absolutely nothing to calm this fucking situation.
Five seconds into making breakfast for us, I’d somehow managed to crush her against the benchtop. Unintentionally, of course, but the asshole inside me wanted to keep her there and reach out for her, and I had to damn well scold myself for continually being drawn into her body.
The entire shit show of a morning has basically involved me apologizing, while Briar tells me it’s nothing to worry about. However, she won’t meet my eyes, and her cheeks have been tinged pink.
It kills me that she won’t look at me.
Even though I know what we did last night was consensual, it still fucking grates that she’s embarrassed or ashamed or whatever the fuck is going through her mind.
She’s a damn gorgeous sight when she falls apart, and holy shit, I was so close to losing all control with her. The fact this girl had me grinding against her ass until I nearly blew in my pants tells me everything I need to know about how well and truly fucked in the head I am.
That girl has got nothing to feel churned up about. I’m the sick bastard who won’t, or can’t, seem to keep my hands off her or my head on straight. I’m the one who snapped after seeing that she had been watching old footage of me. I don’t know how or why, but after being so messed up thinking about her being on a date, then seeing her wearing my coat, then knowing that she’s even moderately interested in something about my life… it fucking killed off any last glimpses of commonsense that might have been floating around.
That moment smashed my already busted moral compass, and now I don’t know what the fuck to do.
I know her scent, her moans, her gasping breaths.
I also know that she’s been keeping a secret, and that spurs something feral to buck around inside my chest.
She felt so damn good in my arms, in my shirt, sleeping beside her is the best I’ve ever slept in my life. I don’t ever think I’ve made it through the night, untroubled and uninterrupted, the way I do with her softness and quiet breathing on the pillow beside mine. After so many years of trying to numb myself with booze or sex or just wiping my body out, none of that ever worked. I’d still be awake or lying with restless limbs or up and pacing around in the darkness of the devil’s hours. All while the rest of the world was deep in dreamland.
Yet, with Briar, I’m tugged into such a deep, restful sleep I don’t even notice her getting up and leaving the bed. I only seem to stir once she’s gone and feel that uncomfortable goddamn sensation inside my chest cavity like someone is trying to grip my heart inside a fist.
So, as we slide into the truck together in order to make our way up the mountain to Devil's Peak Ranch for the day, I crank the stereo and figure it’s going to be a hell of a lot easier on both of us if we don’t have to talk, at all.
The buzzer sounds,and I hurl myself off the back of the snorting, violent beast. Guys rush in, bullfighters, work to distract the animal as I get myself to safety and clear of the arena. Noise, heat, dirt, it all rushes into my senses.
Pulse racing, wrenching my glove off, I’m already certain that might just be a championship-winning ride. Might even hit the nineties club.
As the announcer calls my score, it’s a 92.5.
Electric elation rockets through my blood, igniting my veins, combined with the adrenaline of the ride, I’m left almost numb. Beau is right there, grabbing me, shaking me by the shoulders and he’s yelling inmy face. Music blares and the arena lights dance off his eyes as he pulls me in for a hug and keeps on hollering.
My friend who already had one hell of a ride tonight himself, who could so easily be on top of the world right now, is celebrating right alongside me. My brain can’t process this feeling. Beau could have easily won instead, his total scores came a close second behind mine. Yet it’s my name they’re screaming. It’s my shirt clenched beneath his fist as he crashes our foreheads together, and the delight rolls off him at the sight of my winning points total lit up on the big screen.
I won.
I fucking won.
But I almost don’t hear any of the excitement or joy coming my way.
Amongst it all, woven between the chaos of announcements, media, the presentation, and accolades from the crowd, that familiar pit lurks in my stomach. What does any of it fucking matter when there was no one there? Stôrmand Lane wins another title, and there are thousands of fans whistling and clamoring for my attention, yet no one is in those stands cheering me on. There’s been no sign of my own brother—and I know for a fact he’s in Las Vegas; he’s in this very same city tonight, and can’t be bothered to show up.
The classic All-American rodeo star. Living the dream, without a single family member left alive who gives a shit. What a fucking joke.
As I’m finally released from the mayhem of being crowned a winner, finally freed to head out toward the competitor’s area, I hear my name. A couple of girls hang by the security, and as they call out their congratulations, hungry eyes rake down my body appreciatively. Girls who I’ll never see again after tonight. One of them is blonde, leggy, a typical buckle bunny. Her friend looks much the same. Both flash white smiles and bat their eyelashes in my direction as I draw nearer.
