Page 15 of Rodeo Rivals (Hope Runs Deep #11)

Wyatt

S tep right. Step left. Tap. Go forward and then back. Hell. Wyatt was out of practice. He hadn’t line-danced in a dog’s age. It made him feel old beside McKayla, who was in-step with perfect timing and rhythm. All he could do was not fall on his ass. She was a rock star beside him.

Seriously, though. What couldn’t this woman do? He’d never met a more talented, marvelous person in his life. She hustled pool like a shark, rode rough stock like a champ, danced one hell of a two-step, and fucked like the Energizer Bunny.

What the hell was he even doing? Besides doing his best to keep up with Shaboozey’s “A Bar Song (Tipsy).”

Not for nothing, though, he could go for some hard alcohol.

When the song ended, he leaned down toward her ear. “What do you say? Double shot of whiskey?”

She eyed him skeptically, making him wonder if he had made the right move. Had he crossed their one night only boundary?

Duh. Yeah! This was the third time they’d bumped into each other. That rule went out the window.

As the next tune keyed up, she nodded. “Why the hell not?”

That was good enough for him. Curling his fingers into a fist, he placed it on his hip and offered her his elbow.

Snickering, she slid her hand through, and off they went to find a bar to get some libations.

McKayla

It was a bad idea. McKayla knew that, but that wasn’t new.

Every time she ran into Wyatt, it was ill-advised.

Not to mention, she’d already had several cocktails.

Shots on top of that would have her feeling no pain and ripe for horrible decisions.

Okay. Wyatt wasn’t that bad of a choice.

If memory served her correctly, her last poor life decision with him went rather well, but it definitely wasn’t wise.

History was definitely repeating itself, but was that such a bad thing?

Yes! It absolutely was.

He was her competitor. She’d keep seeing him on the circuit.

Getting too cozy with him would not only spark rumors—wait, is it a rumor if it’s true?

A question for another day. Either way, if it got out that she shacked up with him, they’d call her a buckle bunny.

Somehow, they’d attribute her success to him.

Regardless of how much work she’d done before she knew him.

The cold hard truth of being a woman in a male-dominated spectrum was that she had to be virginal. Ugh. Who wanted that? As an adult, she should be able to indulge just like anyone else without her reputation being threatened.

She had to walk a damn fine line. Frankly, it was exhausting. Right now, she didn’t want to think about her image. This wasn’t about the rodeo. Having a good time was her top priority. This was pre-rodeo festivities. She wasn’t bronc riding McKayla until she put that saddle on the next horse.

Lying to herself wouldn’t change things, but at this point, she wasn’t up for fighting the patriarchy. That would be tomorrow-McKayla’s problem. Tonight, she had a tall drink of water beside her who knew how to ring her bell.

What more could a woman ask for?

Wyatt

Wyatt hadn’t planned this at all. He’d actually intended to avoid McKayla. Their last interaction had gone so poorly, he doubted she’d want to talk to him. Then he saw Seth and the look on her face.

The two of them were going to get into it.

If he didn’t intervene, they’d make the papers.

They were far too high-profile on the rodeo circuit right now to have any sort of negative press.

The top of the leaderboard gets into a shouting match with the only woman competing against him.

Yeah, that would go over like a fart in church.

He did what he had to do—out of obligation to the sport and his friends. While he couldn’t really say that he and McKayla were more than acquaintances, they were friends in progress. Yeah. That sounded good.

“So, what are you going to do with your big third-place check?” he asked as the bartender poured their tequila shots. They’d graduated from whiskey a few shots ago.

She smirked. “You and I both know it wasn’t that large.”

He shrugged. “It was bigger than mine.”

The tiny cups filled with amber liquid arrived. Limes were balanced on the rims, and a salt shaker came with it.

She reached for the salt and sprinkled some on the fleshy part of her hand between her thumb and forefinger. “Do you say that to all the ladies?”

Shaking his head, he laughed as he clinked her glass with his. Together, they threw their heads back and drank the firewater.

The alcohol burned, and he twitched slightly as it went down.

Meeting her eyes, he couldn’t help but smile.

In the intermittent lights of the fairgrounds, with her hair loose, the different shades of brown, from soft honey to deep chestnut, in the thick waves were clearly visible.

She was absolutely stunning with a hint of dewy sweat on her skin.

In the humidity of the Texas heat, she practically glowed.

She shook slightly in a full-body tremble before she slammed her empty mini-cup down. “Honestly?” she began. “I’m probably going to get a new mattress for the camper. It’s due for an upgrade.”

As a litany of innuendos ran through his mind, he somehow kept them to himself. The lime he stuffed between his lips helped. As he sucked on it, he racked his brain for a nonsexual retort. He had to have something.

“What brand do you have?” she asked.

“You wanna find out?” He couldn’t help himself. It was the tequila talking.