Page 9 of Maverick (The Bull Riders #3)

Chapter Four

Stella

Against my will, I seem to have gotten myself tangled up with Maverick Quinn.

And I can’t stop thinking about him.

I’ve always found him hot. That’s the problem. As ridiculous as it is. As problematic as it is, as much as I don’t want to find him hot, I do.

And I need to be thinking about my ride.

I shove all the events of the last twenty-four hours to the side, and I ride my heart out.

It goes better tonight than last night, but it’s still not great.

I come in third. Which wouldn’t have been so detrimental if not for last night’s middle-of-the-pack fiasco.

I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth. But I don’t think it’s going to be good enough.

I haven’t watched the bull riders since Colt’s accident.

Usually, I leave the arena before they’re announced, but this time, I crouch down in the back part of the facility, looking through the fence, and watch as the animals are loaded into the chutes.

I recognize Maverick, even from the back, cowboy hat on, leather chaps with fringe, and black, of course.

His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow, his thighs muscular.

It’s hard for me to take my eyes off him.

And why not? For a little bit, I indulge myself. I’ve got a thing for him. And he’s so much different in reality from what I’d built him up to be in my head. But he’s no less gorgeous.

It’s strange, though, to find a little humanity in him.

Colt and Dallas hate him. And I tried to keep all the longing off my face when he would walk by when they were around.

It felt harmless. It’s not even a crush.

It’s just that if I imagine somebody taking me, ravishing me, tearing my clothes off, it would be him.

Partly because he seems like the kind of guy who could do it. I think that’s one of the things that draws me to him. He’s not a man I would ever date. Not a man I would ever marry. Because he’s not the marrying kind. That much is clear.

Which is what makes him the toe-curling, one-night-stand fantasy type.

Of course, I didn’t even get that from him.

Honestly, it’s a little bit insulting that what he wanted to do was take care of me like I was a baby bird that fell out of the nest.

I’m either that unappealing or he’s secretly honorable, and I just don’t really think he’s secretly honorable.

I rest my chin on my hands, which I have curled around the fence slats.

I hold my breath while the first two riders go.

I’m just expecting an accident every time now.

I know that it’s rare. If it weren’t rare, we would do things differently.

But after what happened to Colt, he asked me if it was the first time I ever looked at my own mortality, and I guess it is.

Colt and I are the same age. Young and strong, the peak of physical perfection, and he was completely taken out by an animal he had a lot of experience with.

And that’s the thing, you feel like you’re an expert.

But when you work with animals, being humbled can be closer than anyone believes.

Maverick’s third, and I watch as he gets into the chutes.

I can’t see the big screens, which typically have an overhead vantage point of the cowboy on the back of the bull adjusting the gear, but I can see him, even if it is at a bit of a distance.

I reach inside my shirt and grab hold of my necklace.

It’s a cross necklace my grandma gave me, and it serves as my good luck charm, talisman, and grounding tool all in one.

I catch myself saying a prayer for him as his name is announced over the intercom.

And then, it starts.

My mouth is dry, but I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s athleticism personified. I’m not usually allowed to root for him when Colt or Dallas are here either. Fair enough. You can’t go against your friends and root for another guy just because you think he’s hot.

This time, I’m crossing my fingers. Hard. The bull he’s on is black, spinning in circles, snot slinging out of his nose.

It’s a brutal sport, all around.

My heart is hammering so hard I forget to breathe. And then the clock passes eight seconds, and he jumps off. He faces away from the crowd like he always does. But his eyes connect with mine. Like he found me, crouched in the darkness, like he could feel me.

And I don’t even know how that’s possible.

My heart was already beating hard, and now I feel like it’s in my throat.

And so I do the totally reasonable thing. I stand up and practically run away.

I go get Cloud Dancing ready to be put away more quickly than I did last night, and I scamper to my trailer. I don’t want to run into him.

It feels dangerous. I can’t explain it. Tomorrow, we’re leaving this venue. There’s another event in a week, and if I don’t win that one, then I’m out for the season, functionally. I could keep going, but there’d be no real point. I won’t be able to earn enough points to get to the championship.

And it would be for the best anyway. This season has been terrible. A bust, really. I can go to Gold Valley and visit Colt, I suppose. Or I could go back home to my little house near my parents’ in Sonoma. Yeah. That’s probably what I’ll do.

And what I don’t do is think about Maverick.

We’re in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, for the next event before I see Maverick again.

And when I do, it’s like being punched square in the chest. He’s there looking fine and glorious, and treacherous, the sun shining down on him, and I’m getting my trailer parked in position, and I can’t afford to be distracted.

So I look away firmly, get into my spot, and climb out of the truck.

I open up the side door and grab a halter and lead rope, opening up the back of the trailer and clipping the lead rope onto Cloud Dancing.

She comes slowly out of the trailer, and I lead her down the narrow row of stalls before I find the one designated for us.

I half expect Maverick to come over and talk to me.

He doesn’t. And I’m left feeling silly that I thought he might.

Maybe he’s forgotten. Maybe he’s won too many other women in random poker games since our last encounter for him to think about me at all. Maybe saving virgins is such a commonplace activity for him that he’s now forgotten about it entirely.

That seems possible.

I resolve not to worry about him. Because he isn’t thinking about me. This is an annoying feature of me and my obsessiveness. It hasn’t happened very many times, but if I get obsessed with a guy it can take over my brain.

I’m standing firm in the decision that I will not allow Maverick to take up that kind of space.

Lust isn’t a crush. And there’s nothing particularly crush-worthy about him. No. That’s actually laughable. Almost as funny is thinking of him as a potential boyfriend. That word would fit him like one of those horrible hand-knit sweaters made from cheap yarn. Itchy, lumpy, and just no.

“What score do you need to advance?”

I know his voice. I don’t have to turn around to confirm that it’s him. My heart leaps up into my throat. I clench my teeth together, and I don’t turn, because if I do, I have a feeling he’s going to be standing far too close, the impact of him far too severe.

“An impossible one. I would need to make the time faster than I ever have. Clean.”

“And you don’t think that’ll happen?”

“I’m not feeling very record-breaking today.”

“But you’re doing it anyway.”

“I’m not a coward.” Then I do turn to face him. “What about you?” I already know his position is all but secured. Especially since Colt’s accident. I don’t say that, though. I have a feeling it would annoy him, and I don’t want to engage him in banter, actually. To the best of my ability.

“Well, that speaks highly of you. That you’re still going even though you don’t think you’ll make it to the finals.” He shrugs. “As for me? If I end up in the top five scores tonight I’m good. So, short of an incomplete ride, which can happen, I’m going forward.”

That was the thing about bull riding. Well, it was the thing about all of these sports. There were those variables that you couldn’t count on. That had little to do with skill, and everything to do with split-second decisions made in moments.

Everything to do with whether or not the animal behaved itself, and often it wasn’t going to. That was just the nature of the beast. And of the business.

“And what happens if you win?” I ask.

“Then I win,” he says.

“Are you going to keep riding even if you win?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“It must bother you. Colt and Dallas being out.”

There. I went and mentioned them. I couldn’t help it in the end. Maybe I do want to poke him. In spite of myself. Maybe I’m looking for that dopamine hit that comes from my interactions with him.

Dammit.

“A win is a win. Just like getting your ass dragged through the arena is a loss. He fell off the bull. So, I’m still the best.”

I feel my face contort in horror. “That is a horrible perspective.”

“I’m kind of horrible. Or did you miss that?”

It was true. Even as he was honorable in a strange way that night he didn’t claim my virginity, he was mean about it. He doesn’t try to soften things. He doesn’t try to make me feel better. Regardless of what’s going on.

“Why?”

He laughs. “Are you looking for deep insight? There is none. I just suck. And I don’t care. I don’t care if you think I do. I don’t care if anyone thinks I do.”

“You’re like a reality TV show villain.”

“I like to think that I’m a little bit better than that. Or a little bit worse, pick your perspective.”

“Well, you don’t get to control what others think about you. Or who they compare you to.”

“True. I guess somehow, I’ll live.”

“Well. I have to get ready.”

“I look forward to your ride.”

I can’t tell if he means it or not. But before I start the event, I do see him. Standing in the back of the chutes. Looking.