Page 1 of From the Ashes
Chapter 1
Phoenix
Our eyes meet for the fifth or sixth time over the flames of a bonfire so big, if either of us were sitting, we wouldn’t be able to see the other. He’s been stealing glances at me for the last hour. Every time it happens, my heart rate ticks a little faster, and I’m unsure if it’s because I want to punch him or fuck him.
Probably both.
Losing to him tonight means Ihaveto win tomorrow in order to hold on to the World Champion title in bareback bronc riding for the third year in a row…which was supposed to be easy until Walker-fucking-DeVille entered the circuit. Nonetheless, I’m still the reigning champion even after losing to the rookie tonight.
Two perks of having that title are hanging off my left arm and have been trying their best to get me to leave the celebration in favor of what they promise to bean unforgettable night. But thanks to the pair of dark eyes that keep finding mine through the flames, it alreadyis.
I don’t mind a roll in the hay with a buckle bunny every now and then, but the first time Walker snagged my gaze, I knew what I wanted tonight. The first problem, however, is that his snarl matches mine, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he only wants to fight me.But if he’s a good fighter, it could be as good as fucking him,I remind myself.
The bigger problem is I’m careful to keep my bisexuality under wraps where my job is concerned, and I’d be handing a hell of a lot of ammunition to my biggest rival. Especially because the chances that he swings the same way I do, are slim to none.
Of course, the professional rodeo circuit wouldn’t kick me out or tell me I can’t compete, but I’d be a fool to think it wouldn’t taint my career.
Sure, I could switch to the International Gay Rodeo Association (IGRA). They welcome riders with any and every orientation, but I simply don’t want to. My skills as a bronc rider have absolutely nothing to do with who I like to fuck. And while I appreciate the inclusiveness of the IGRA and what they stand for, as a competitor, I want the focus to be on my ride, not my sexual preferences. I don’t want to enter the ring as abisexual cowboy.I just want to be thebestcowboy.
Normally, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea of hooking up with a guy on the road. Quarters are close in the camper my team travels in, and privacy is non-existent. I’ve been caught with my pants down more than once, but when it’s with a busty brunette whose tits are bouncing in the moonlight, the guy I share a bunk with just laughs and cracks open another beer before heading back out. If he were to walk in on me going to town on a guy? Well, that might make traveling, showering, and sleeping next to each other six months out of the year a little awkward, even though my bunkmate is definitelynotmy type.
But the more I stare through the glow of those flames, the more I’m certain Walker could be. I lean over to hear what the girls are saying, realizing I’ve been mentally absent from their conversation for too long. It’s a couple minutes before I can disengage again, and when I look back across the flames, Walker isn’t there.
I scan the area for his lean frame and find him with his back to me, walking toward the dark rows of vehicles. I can just make out the sweat-slicked curls sticking out from underneath his cowboy hat as he retreats, and they decide my next move for me.
Untangling my arm fromMindy? Mandy? Morgan?and her friend, I follow Walker, not yet ready to let these butterflies off the hook. He’s been alone all night, dismissing the advances of the numerous women trying to flirt with him. With his hat low and his head down, hisfuck offvibes are strong despite his win.
Like I said, just my type.
It’s probably the bronc rider in me, but I love a challenge, especially when it comes to taming a brooding beast.
I fall into step beside him and casually ask, “Where’re you off to so early? Party’s barely gotten started.” That’s a lie, of course. That fire’s been going for at least two hours, but cowboys and cowgirls party hard, and it’ll be burning for another four or five. “I thought you’d at least come say hi. Maybe let me congratulate you on your win,” I taunt, smirking to myself abouthowI’d like to congratulate him.
He turns at the sound of my voice, and his eyes go wide as his lips part in shock.
Fuckingperfect lips.
Goddamn, I’ve never seen lips like that on a guy, but now that I have, I know with certainty, I’ll picture them for a long time to come when my hand’s wrapped around my dick.
Walker’s all lean muscle and about an inch shorter than me,but he’s fucking beautiful. The fading firelight makes the smattering of freckles pop on his clean-shaven cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
More than just having “gaydar”—which is a ridiculous term by the way—I know bi/gay guys flirt just like straight guys. The signs are all the same. Glances, smiles, light touches, excuses to interact. If they’re reciprocated, it means the other party is interested, just like flirting with a woman. So, I shoot my shot because I’m buzzing heavily, and this moody fucker doesn’t seem like the type to blab his business everywhere.
He raises his beer to those full, soft lips and I see him try to hide his wince. Can’t fault him there; Busch Light isn’t for everybody, and I know for a fact he only turned eighteen recently. He had to get special permission to enter the adult circuit. Since he’ll be eighteen during the championship rodeo, they approved it, pissing me off and making my season a lot more challenging.
Walker stares at the can for a second before raising it again and finishes it in three swallows. His features twist in disgust the entire time.
If I were a lesser man, I might be concerned his reaction is because of me and not the beer, but thank God I’m gifted in the confidence category. So, I just stand my ground and wait him out.
“Helluva ride tonight,” he finally says. Although, it sounds like his words come out against his will. “Looks like we both have our work cut out for us tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Riding is just one of mymanytalents,” I flirt and give him a wink. When he stays silent, I press on. “I’ve got something better in my truck…if you’re interested,” I tell him, nodding toward his beer can.
It’s an invitation for more than just liquor, and he knows it.But just like offering to buy your potential partner for the night a drink at the bar, it’s the signal he’s hopefully looking for in this coy game we’re playing. His gaze was heated across that bonfire…and my ego tells me it wasn’t due to the flames.
Walker swallows hard. His clenched jaw and flared nostrils tell me he’s either about to punch me in the face or drop to his knees and suck my dick right here in this dirt field.
After the longest second of my life—which is saying something since I ride bucking horses for a living—he nods and follows me to my truck.
