Page 52 of Rhett
I did as instructed while moving my crotch closer to the front of the saddle to prevent me from catapulting off once it got moving.
Nyx instructed, “Don’t forget to keep your feet forward and turned out. When the bull goes forward, lean back. When it goes back, lean forward.”
“Once it gets going,” Imani said, “for balance, put your dominant hand near the head, palm out, then make your hand an L-shape.”
“Are you ready now?” the bull operator asked me.
“Anything else?” I directed to them.
“Yes,” Imani said. “Have fun!”
I sighed, still not liking my odds of not falling off the bull. I glanced around. At least if I did topple, the thick, heavily padded red area surrounding the bull would prevent me from injuring myself.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I told the operator.
“Alrighty,” he said. “Stay on the bull for as long as possible. If you are concerned at any time, say stop while extending your arm with a flat hand forward to communicate to me you are ready for the ride to end.”
When the bull started, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I just mirrored its movements and rode for what seemed like a lifetime before saying stop to the operator. He had a huge grin on his face when he helped me off.
“Good job,” he complimented me. “You rode for eleven seconds. For a newbie, that’s good.”
When I reached Imani and Nyx, they each gave me a high five.
“You mastered the bull,” Nyx said, looping an arm through mine.
“Now let’s see how you do against the BF Home Brew,” Imani said, clutching my other arm and dragging Nyx and me toward an unoccupied tall, round bar table with four chairs. Once we arrived at the table, we each plopped into a chair.
The air inside June’s was like a steam room, hot even with the AC on. “God, it’s hot as hell in here,” I complained, wiping the perspiration from my forehead. I was glad I’d made the choice to wear light clothing—a black tube top, designer shorts, ankle boots, and a drapey fishnet jacket. But now my thighs stuck to the red leather seat.
The music from the bar’s DJ was loud, and he’d played the same pelvic-thrusting reggaeton song three times in a row. People were on the dance floor, gyrating like it was their last day on earth.
A guy wearing a black T-shirt withMama June’swritten in gold on the front arrived at our table with a tray and promptly set out two platters—one stacked with hot wings, another with fried golden mozzarella sticks.
I arched a brow because we hadn’t ordered yet. He laid out small plates and napkins.
Imani snatched a wing. “Our door fee comes with unlimited bull rides, wings, and sticks.”
I grabbed a piece of fried cheese. “I’m not complaining,” I replied around a mouthful of melted cheesy perfection.
A petite older woman wearing a skintight T-shirt withMama June’swritten across it, jeans, and ass-length braids swayed over to our table.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite ladies,” her hoarse voice called out.
“Hi, Mama June,” Nyx and Imani said in unison.
“Meet Nova,” Imani said. “Our newest resident.”
“Visitor,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Mama June.”
June’s lips curled up into a genuine smile. “Ditto. I came over here because I wanted to officially welcome you to the Ridge and Mama June’s.” She leaned closer. “Bo told me that you’re a midwife. We need one of them in town, especially if you lovely hybrids keep showing up.”
“I don’t think townsfolk will be receptive to me being here.”
She fanned me. “Who gives a damn about a few ornery fuckers? Don’t let them chase you away, darling.” She looked me up and down. “You belong here.” She winked at me, then looked at the three of us. “Drinks on me tonight. What can I get you?”
“A round of BF Home Brew shots,” Nyx replied. “And keep them coming until the newbie”—she eyed me—“passes out.”
“You got it!” She chuckled and sauntered away.
