I roll her on top of me, not caring at all about the fucking time. Especially not when her legs straddle my waist, and she sighs like she knows she belongs there.
“Fuck the meetings.” I grip her waist as she taps at her lip.
The sheet pools around her waist and the sun shines in brightly behind her, highlighting the beard burn across her chest, just above where her pert tits stare back at me.
“I’m also trying to figure out how I’m going to continue sleeping with a client who only has one-night stands.”
“Fuck one-night stands.” My hands glide up over her ribs, pushing her breasts together.
“It would be unprofessional for me to continue but . . .” She’s smiling now, looking light and sweet and totally fuckable.
“Fuck professionalism,” I growl, tweaking a nipple.
“Yes, well, Kip Hamilton might not share that sentiment. You’re still a client.” Her eyes sober.
“Fuck Kip Hamilton too. He’s fired.”
“Rhett—”
I silence her by sliding one hand up and pushing my thumb into her mouth, watching her lips part, and the flash of her pink tongue as I press down on it. “If you keep talking about things that don’t matter, we’re going to run out of time to do things that do.”
She just nods and sucks my finger as I grind my rock-hard cock up into her bare ass. “Now shut up and ride me. I want to watch these pretty tits bounce while you come on my cock.”
Her eyes widen, almost comically wide, but she pushes up onto her knees and drops herself down on me with a wanton little moan.
I told her I’d want to go with my head between her legs, but I think I’d settle for being anywhere close to her in my last moments.
“The interview went well.” Summer paces in front of me while I methodically tape my hands.
“Yup.” I can hear the music and the cheering from the arena all the way back here in the locker room.
“And I think the guy from Wrangler seemed happy with what you were saying to them.” From my periphery, I see her twisting her hands together.
“Mhm.” I pay special attention to my thumb. It still twinges from getting hung up a few weeks back.
“Plus, you do wear them well.”
I peek up at her now, all serious and anxious looking. “Was that a compliment?”
She furrows her brow. “Yeah.”
“Huh.” I go back to wrapping, lips tugging up as her fingers tap against the side of her thigh.
“I give you compliments,” she tells me. Like that somehow makes it true.
“Okay.”
“I do.” Her snakeskin boot stomps. “Do you need me to gush over you like every other girl on tour? Or like every newscaster Barbie who interviews you?”
I grin down at my hands. If Summer’s jealousy were water, I’d want to bathe in it. “No, Princess. Watching you get jealous over me is victory enough for a simple man like me. Never knew I’d like that so much. You are downright adorable, all pink cheeked and worked up like this.”
“Ha!” she barks, loud with disbelief. “That’s rich coming from you. You practically carried me out of that bar last night!”
“And I’d do it again. Emmett knows there are lots of great places to bury a body on my ranch. No one would ever find him again if he laid a hand on you.”
I chuckle, but Summer goes quiet. Her fingers tap on her legs again, which pulls my gaze up to her pretty face from where I’m seated on the bench.
“What’s wrong?”
“I kept you up too late last night. You should have been resting, getting ready for today. You’re an athlete. You need to prepare.”
She chews on her bottom lip. She seems worried.
“Summer, I’m fine. Come here.” I open one arm, and she instantly steps across the ground separating us, hugging me to her chest. I press my cheek to her sternum. I feel her heartbeat as her fingers slide through the ends of my hair.
“Be careful, okay?” she whispers. “Don’t give me a heart attack out there.”
“That joke is in real poor taste for you, Summer.”
She laughs, but it’s thin. Tinny.
I hug her tighter, and she leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head. Understanding dawns on me what she’s not saying. What we’re both not saying. I can’t, because if I went out there every weekend with even a small flickering of fear in me, I’d never get on that bull. Logic would take over. Survival instincts.
And I’d be done.
But I’ve got those instincts strapped down tight. One more championship and maybe I’ll take my gold buckle and hang up my hat.
Preferably on Summer Hamilton’s head.
24
Summer
Kip: Why did Rhett send me a text saying that I’m fired?
Summer: He. Didn’t.
Kip: He did. It said, “Fuck professionalism and fuck you. You’re fired.”
Summer: Well, he’s not wrong. That certainly isn’t very professional. I don’t think you’re actually fired though.
Kip: Of course I’m not fired. That asshole is stuck with me.
Summer: How is your shoulder? Are you taping it? Do you want me to come tape it?
Rhett: Fine. Don’t come back here. It smells like sweaty balls.
Summer: Thank you for the vivid description. I was reading about pulsed electromagnetic field therapy for rotator cuff injuries. Maybe we should try it? There’s a physiotherapist in the city who does it.
Rhett: I was kind of just hoping you’d give me more massages? But topless this time.
Summer: I’ll do that if you go to the appointment I scheduled for next week.
Rhett: Daily massages. Where you ride my dick while rubbing my shoulder. Then I’ll go.
Summer: Is your shoulder that bad?
Rhett: No, Princess. Your pussy is just that good.
Watching Rhett tonight has me wanting to hurl my fifteen-dollar arena beer all over the people in front of me. Emmett went first and had a great ride, something I know Rhett saw because he was sitting up on top of the gate with Theo watching.
I saw the flash of competition in his eye. He spent all night with his dick inside of me and still looks like he could kill the guy.
There’s this tiny part of me that wishes he’d just hop off that fence and retire on the spot. I want him safe. I want him to win too though. I want that for him.
But I also want him for myself.
It’s fucking confusing. I’ve never worried about another person this way, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve spent my entire life worrying about everyone around me.
Theo hops down onto his bull now, giving Rhett a bit of an unhinged grin as he does. I watch Rhett talk to him as Theo rubs at his bull rope, nodding—listening. There’s an intensity about their conversation right now that I haven’t noticed before.
Usually, things are lighthearted and friendly between them, but tonight there’s a definite mentor feel to their interaction. It’s heartwarming and nerve-wracking all at once.
The bull slams itself against the metal sides of the chute, and where I noticed Rhett back off in similar situations, Theo grins, drops his chin, and nods.
The gate flies, and so does the bull, like a bat out of hell. Theo looks like a younger, smaller Rhett, spurs riding up every time the bull bears down. He rides like his life depends on it. And based on how riled his bull is and how many times it switches directions, I would say his life actually does depend on it.
I barely know Theo, but I hold my breath all the same. On my nights spent sitting in the stands, I’ve seen other guys get head butted and stepped on. I’ve seen them leave strapped down on a stretcher.
In a lot of ways, it’s hard to watch, in others . . . I can’t tear my eyes away.
So, when Theo jumps off and tosses his hat in the air, I shoot up and cheer. The bull lopes out of the ring, chasing the clown, and Theo soaks up the cheers of the crowd. He scores himself a 90, which pushes him to the top of the standings for this weekend.
When I look back over at the fence, Rhett is sitting there, grinning ear to ear. So damn proud, chest puffed out, pride spilling off him.
He also looks fucking delicious. Dark and mysterious with his hat pulled down low on his face, charcoal shirt under his bull riding vest, and those simple warm brown chaps.
So. Good.
When he hops down to go stretch and warm up, my momentary calm dissolves and the nerves creep in.
I hate the feeling. I hate that I’m having it. I’ve come to terms with death in a lot of ways. Knowing that your time could come at any moment at such a young age does weird things to you. Somehow, the thought of me dying is easier to swallow than the thought of having to sit here in the stands while something might happen to Rhett.
I don’t want to be this girl, telling him not to take risks because my heart can’t take it. So, I push it down, like he told me he does.
I take a few big swigs of beer and let myself eavesdrop on the surrounding conversations. And when it’s Rhett’s turn, I take bigger gulps.