Page 109 of From the Ashes
“Go get ‘em, Quick Shooter.”
I climb the gate in front of me for a front row seat and wait for Walker to give the signal. As soon as the shoot opens, I switch to coaching mode. His form is flawless, he’s as fluid as water. His rope hand is secure and his free hand is high in the air, helping him balance. He’s driving hard through that left thigh just like I instructed, but I can tell his right thigh isn’t giving up any pressure either, keeping him centered so he doesn’t lose points.
He's perfection.
And he’s making my dick hard.
Once the pickup men have secured Walker’s safe dismount eight seconds later, he launches over the gate as they go back to release the flank strap on the horse and escort it out as well.
NowI kiss him.
Gripping his head, I plant a quick kiss on his lips, just needing to taste him. His sweat coats my fingertipsas they brush through his hair and I smile, feeling his hands land on my hips.
“That was a fuckingperfectride,baby. Welcome back,” I praise.
“Same to you. I know you’re not riding, but it feels like your comeback as much as mine.”
As last year’s reigning champion, Jackson White rides next. I honestly would’ve offered a handshake and agood luck, but he was getting secured in the shoot while Walker rode, and nothing was going to tear my attention away from my boyfriend while he was in the ring.
Walker turns his attention to Jackson’s ride, but I’m too busy noticing the way Walker’s got his forearms resting on one of the top rungs of the gate while a cowboy boot is propped casually on one of the lower rungs. The stance makes his ass stick out and I’m about to come in my fucking jeans.
It’s going to be alongrodeo season.
Jackson has a good ride, but his bronc doesn’t perform as well as Walker’s which will cost him points, as will the fact that his spurs briefly lost contact with his horse at one point.
Thankfully, this rodeo isn’t a go-round, so we’ll know the winner in about five seconds when the judge announces it, but there’s zero chance it’s not Walker.
Sure enough, Jackson’s score comes in a whole two points below Walker, making Walker the victor in his first rodeo of the season.
Unsure how Jackson is going to respond, we’re pleasantly surprised when he comes over and punches Walker lightly on the shoulder.
“Helluva ride, man. Glad to have you back. I got a little lazy without you around, but you better believe that won’t happen again.” Turning to me, he holds a hand out for me to shake. “If you know of anyone that’s got even close to your levelof knowledge, do me a favor and send them my way, yeah?” I nod and take his hand, pumping twice before letting go. Jackson tips his hat to us. “See y’all in Montana.”
“Looking forward to it,” Walker replies.
The announcer calls Walker back out into the ring and he tries to drag me with him.
“This isyourmoment,” I tell him, trying to pry his fingers off my shirt.
“This isourmoment, Phoenix,” he argues. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
Sensing that he won’t actually budge unless I’m with him, I relent and follow him through the gate into the ring.
I thought coaching would be a lot harder than it is. I thought I’d be fraught with jealousy and anger over not being able to ride or that I’d do something stupid like try to get on just to see if I still could. But as it turns out, coaching is really satisfying. Well, coachingWalkeris really satisfying.
The crowd’s cheers as Walker and I step into the dirt ring almost have me choking back a sob. Sure, there have been a few haters, but far less than we’d anticipated. Mostly, people just love to watch a good rider do what he does best…and Walker does it best.
LXR really wanted us to be the poster children for gay cowboys and we politely declined, choosing not to do any promotional shoots half naked with each other, or in questionable positions, but standing in this ring with the man I love, it’s hard not to give them what they want simply because I want to wrap my arms around him, bury my face in his sweaty neck, and lick the salt from his skin.
As soon as the announcer is done with the brief interview, throughout which he mercifully only asked me two questions, Walker does a ritual I haven’t seen in almost a year. But this time, when he takes his hat off, flips it twice in the air, uses twofingers to tap it low over his eyes and kisses those same fingers…he turns and presses them overmyheart instead of his own.
Fucker.
Now I’m biting the inside of my cheek to prevent the tears from falling, and any of the media snapping away at this moment are going to catch my emotion with their lens.
“Fuck it,” I mumble a split second before pulling Walker into a hug and planting my face exactly where I want it. Knowing I’m hidden by the brim of his cowboy hat, I let myself suck on his neck right there in the middle of the ring. “I fucking love you, and I am so goddamn proud of you,” I tell him over the roar of the crowd and the announcer’s mic as he congratulates Walker on a fantastic return.
Someone started another bonfire tonight.It’s a warm, clear night and Walker’s been getting all the attention. While he enjoys it, and is appreciative, I can tell he’s getting tired. Our friends stuck around for a good while after Walker’s win, but eventually they all needed to either start the eight-hour journey back home—Knox apparently has some job he has to be at early in the morning—or they headed back to their hotels.
