Page 20 of Rodeo Rivals
It was a bad idea. McKayla knew that, but that wasn’t new. Every time she ran into Wyatt, it was ill-advised. Not to mention, she’d already had several cocktails. Shots on top of that would have her feeling no pain and ripe for horrible decisions. Okay. Wyatt wasn’tthat badof a choice. If memory served her correctly, her last poor life decision with him went rather well, but it definitely wasn’t wise.
History was definitely repeating itself, but was that such a bad thing?
Yes! It absolutely was.
He was her competitor. She’d keep seeing him on the circuit. Getting too cozy with him would not only spark rumors—wait, is it a rumor if it’s true? A question for another day. Either way, if it got out that she shacked up with him, they’d call her a buckle bunny. Somehow, they’d attribute her success to him. Regardless of how much work she’d done before she knew him.
The cold hard truth of being a woman in a male-dominated spectrum was that she had to be virginal. Ugh. Who wanted that? As an adult, she should be able to indulge just like anyone else without her reputation being threatened.
She had to walk a damn fine line. Frankly, it was exhausting. Right now, she didn’t want to think about her image. This wasn’t about the rodeo. Having a good time was her top priority. This was pre-rodeo festivities. She wasn’t bronc riding McKayla until she put that saddle on the next horse.
Lying to herself wouldn’t change things, but at this point, she wasn’t up for fighting the patriarchy. That would be tomorrow-McKayla’s problem. Tonight, she had a tall drink of water beside her who knew how to ring her bell.
What more could a woman ask for?
Wyatt
Wyatt hadn’t planned this at all. He’d actually intended toavoidMcKayla. Their last interaction had gone so poorly, he doubted she’d want to talk to him. Then he saw Seth and the look on her face.
The two of them were going to get into it. If he didn’t intervene, they’d make the papers. They were far too high-profile on the rodeo circuit right now to have any sort of negative press. The top of the leaderboard gets into a shouting match with the only woman competing against him. Yeah, that would go over like a fart in church.
He did what he had to do—out of obligation to the sport and his friends. While he couldn’t really say that he and McKayla were more than acquaintances, they were friends in progress. Yeah. That sounded good.
“So, what are you going to do with your big third-place check?” he asked as the bartender poured their tequila shots. They’d graduated from whiskey a few shots ago.
She smirked. “You and I both know it wasn’t that large.”
He shrugged. “It was bigger than mine.”
The tiny cups filled with amber liquid arrived. Limes were balanced on the rims, and a salt shaker came with it.
She reached for the salt and sprinkled some on the fleshy part of her hand between her thumb and forefinger. “Do you say that to all the ladies?”
Shaking his head, he laughed as he clinked her glass with his. Together, they threw their heads back and drank the firewater.
The alcohol burned, and he twitched slightly as it went down. Meeting her eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. In the intermittentlights of the fairgrounds, with her hair loose, the different shades of brown, from soft honey to deep chestnut, in the thick waves were clearly visible. She was absolutely stunning with a hint of dewy sweat on her skin. In the humidity of the Texas heat, she practically glowed.
She shook slightly in a full-body tremble before she slammed her empty mini-cup down. “Honestly?” she began. “I’m probably going to get a new mattress for the camper. It’s due for an upgrade.”
As a litany of innuendos ran through his mind, he somehow kept them to himself. The lime he stuffed between his lips helped. As he sucked on it, he racked his brain for a nonsexual retort. He had to have something.
“What brand do you have?” she asked.
“You wanna find out?” He couldn’t help himself. It was the tequila talking.
16
McKayla
McKayla walked right into that one. The same way she strolled right to his truck, up the stairs, and through the door of his Lance truck camper. He definitely had a fancier model than she did. It had a slide-out. Which meant she couldn’t stretch her arms on either side and touch both outer walls, like she could in her own. Though she wouldn’t say it was spacious.
Efficient like hers. The small kitchenette had a sink, oven, stovetop with three burners, a few cabinets. Beside that was a door to what she assumed to be the bathroom, a booth style table, and his bed tucked in the back with a step up to it.
Honestly, the layout was identical to her own. With minor differences in color and, obviously, décor. He opted for the over-the-top western theme. In the few nooks and crannies he had, there were rusted horseshoes, a tiny cactus, and tricolor cowhide pillows.
As he closed the door behind her, she shifted her focus toward the bed. It was twice the thickness of her own. The bedding only made it that much fluffier and tempting. How the hell did he get it in there?
She turned, trying to sort out logistics, only to bump right into the wall of flesh that was Wyatt’s chest.
