Page 25 of Braving the Storm

Some might even say his pro career only happened the way it did because of the impact her superstardom brought his way. Sponsors and opportunities that mere mortals could only dream of landed in his lap, fawning over his every move once they caught sight of them holding hands one time.

That shit went viral overnight.

Doesn’t take away from the fact he’s a fucking outstanding athlete and rider. But he’s had more than the rub of the green being hitched to her star.

Even if it’s secretly been hell for more years than not.

So, next week?

You bring that big talent, head over there and the place is all yours. Stay however long you need.

Just promise me, no buckle bunnies, wild one. Can’t have any shit like that following me to Crimson Ridge.

I’m gonna have enough of a PR headache to deal with as it is over the next few months.

What about convincing you to hop on your private jet and bring that sexy as hell ‘stache out here?

I promise I’ll purr real nice for you, sugar.

Fuck off, you’re such a slut.

For a tickle of your magnificent facial hair, I’ll do anything.

Smartass.

Don’t you have hillbilly happy hour to get to? Or are you sitting in your truck parked up some chick’s driveway, trying to figure out if you’ve already fucked this one and need to dip?

Surely you’ve worked your way through the entire population of Crimson Ridge by now?

Damn, Heartford. You wanna come here, and I’ll show you how to put that mouth to use?

You couldn’t afford me.

Gotta run, man. Pick the key up from my realtor in town, and charge whatever you need at the hardware store. We can video chat or some shit, and I’ll give you the rundown, but it’s pretty straightforward. Sand and paint. I know you know the drill.

Got it. Dream of me.

Fuckoff.

*kiss emoji*

I tossmy phone back in the holder. It’s late now, after my evening of aimlessly driving and driving and driving.

While I don’t know if I’m ready to head back up the mountain, I’m also itching to get back. What the fuck is the deal with this permanent carousel of conflicting emotions? It’s like I can’t shrug off the weird set of feelings that have landed and claimed their territory and now refuse to leave.

So, I guess that’s why I find myself making a direct line back to the cabin. By the time I haul myself out of the cab and drag my heels to head inside, my neck is killing me, my spine feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, and I’ve got the hips of an eighty-year-old.

With the best will in the world, there’s no way I’d be fucking anyone tonight; they’d be having to do all the work riding me while I starfished on my back the whole time.

Fortunately for my sanity, and my perverted goddamn brain, the cabin is quiet as I slip past the threshold, shedding my hat and jacket, and my boots get the same treatment dropped beside the door. When I take a glance down the hallway, there’s no light coming from the bedroom. Hopefully, she’s long gone to sleep.

I didn’t miss the hurt look sliding across her face when I ran out earlier. But I’d rather she’s pissed with me than deal with the other problem—that I was way too fucking close to doing something even more regrettable than spying on her while getting naked.

I roll my shoulders, feeling every crunch and knot, then stretch my neck side to side. My mind runs through the few things I need to handle before another sleepless torture session on the couch. Stoking the fire back up and tossing some fresh logs into the flames only reminds me of precisely how sore and exhausted I am.

Nothing some pills and a little muscle rub won’t fix.

Reaching behind my head, I tug my shirt off and wander down to the bathroom in the dark, mentally preparing myself, playing that old familiar game—the one where you grit your teeth and try to convince yourself your back isn’t killing you. Usedto play that one a lot after a particularly gnarly bull ride. It’s real fun.