Page 71 of Knot Your Problem, Cowboy
The gate clangs open, and the first bronc rider bursts into the arena like a cannonball with legs. The horse bucks wildly, twisting and snapping its body like it’s trying to launch the cowboy into the stratosphere. The crowd erupts around us, and I jolt in my seat, pressed tighter between two very solid cowboys.
Walker leans in, voice low against my ear. “Eight seconds. That’s all they need to stay on and not be disqualified. Only one hand is allowed to hold the rope. The other can’t touch the horse or themselves.”
“That sounds kind of doable,” I murmur, but I’m already watching with rapt attention.
“Wait and see,” Cash says beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine with every shift. I glance over. He’s watching the ring, but I don’t miss the little smirk tugging at his mouth.
The buzzer sounds just as the crowd shouts, “Eight!” and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “That was intense.”
Walker grins. “That was a good one. Sometimes they don’t even last three seconds.”
I tear my eyes from the arena to findboth men still close, Walker’s arm still draped behind the back of my seat and Cash’s knee resting firmly against mine. It should feel claustrophobic, but somehow it doesn’t. Somehow it feels as though they’re anchoring me like the three of us make up a closed circuit that hums when we’re together.
We watch several more events—riding, barrel racing, roping—with the crowd whooping and cheering as riders fly through patterns or cling to chaos. I’m halfway through my beer, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and attention, when a shadow falls over us.
I glance up to see a blonde. Barbie-shaped. Walking like she owns the floor under her boots. Her eyes lock on Cash.
Jeans so tight I’m surprised she’s breathing, and a top that’s doing less work than my napkins. She leans over me like I’m not even here, letting her perfume, something aggressively floral, invade my space as she plants a hand on Cash’s shoulder.
“Cash,” she purrs. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”
“Brittany,” he states politely, his smile thinner now. He doesn’t move any closer. Doesn’t even blink. But he doesn’t back away either.
Meanwhile, Walker’s fingers tap once against the back of my shoulder.
My jaw’s already tight, my skin flushed, and I can practically feel the irritation fizzing beneath my ribs likeshaken soda. Not jealous. Just… highly observant. Of everything. Like the way Brittany is practically climbing over me to get to Cash and blocking my view of the arena.
I shift slightly in my seat, resisting the urge to elbow her away, or at least hand her a map labeledPersonal Space, Learn It.
She doesn’t take the hint, because of course she doesn’t. Instead, she leans in even closer, kneeling between us to get to him, whispering something against Cash’s ear while her hand trails slowly down his arm like she’s auditioning for a soap opera. Whatever she says earns a polite nod from him, but that’s it.
“That’s Brittany Carson,” Walker murmurs against my ear, sounding way too entertained. “She’s had a one-track mind about Cash since he moved into town. Real determined type. Like a dog with a bone.”
“Persistent,” I mutter, working hard to keep my voice even. My now-empty beer cup creaks in protest from how tightly I’m gripping it.
“Easy there, killer,” Walker says, nudging my side. “No one’s stealing your man.”
“He’s not my man,” I whisper and gain myself a sneer from Brittany. I already dislike her.
“Sure. So you’re just strangling your beverage because hydration’s a serious business?”
I glance down. My knuckles are white against the cup. Damn it. “Shut up.”
He grins, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Just sayin’,it’s kinda hot. You getting all fire-eyed and bitey like that.”
“I’m perfectly calm.”
“Sure you are,” he says, voice dipping low as he leans in again, breath warm against the shell of my ear. “And if I looked under that little dress, wouldcalmbe the word I’d find?”
I nearly choke on my beer. “Walker.”
“You have no idea how hard it is not to stare at your legs.” His voice is a rough whisper, meant for me and only me. “Or to imagine what they’d feel like wrapped around me.”
The heat in his voice makes me reckless. Bold. Dangerous, even. And I want to make him squirm as much as I am.
“Probably doesn’t help that I forgot to put on underwear.”
