Page 2

The lights suddenly cut out completely, plunging the arena into total darkness.

The roar of the crowd hushes to a low rumble, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

A single spotlight snaps on, illuminating the center of the dirt-covered ring.

Standing there, bathed in light, is a tall man in a black cowboy hat.

His voice booms through the speakers, deep and commanding.

“Cowboys and cowgirls! Do we have a show for you tonight!”

The crowd erupts again, their cheers drowning out the rest of his words. He raises his hands, laughing as he tries to settle them down.

“Alright, alright!” he says, his grin is audible even through the mic.

“Before we dive into tonight’s events which include lassoing, steer wrestling, barrel racing, and, of course, the main event, bull riding—we’re kicking things off with a special tradition here on the circuit!

” His voice builds, drawing the crowd in.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the number one bull rider in North America... Hayessss Walker !”

The stadium explodes. Cheers, whistles, stomping. It’s chaos. And there he is. The guy I’ve been obsessing over. Okay, maybe obsessing is a stretch. I’ve only known who he is for about fifteen minutes, but still.

Holy .

Bull rider in chaps.

Hayes Walker steps into the spotlight, and I swear, time slows.

We’re only three rows up from the ground floor, close enough that I can see every controlled movement that he makes, every ripple of muscle under those light-washed Wrangler jeans that fit like they were tailored by God Himself.

Over them, he wears dark brown chaps that sway with his movement, drawing my attention to his strong legs and tight ass.

His plain white T-shirt clings to a chest so broad and solid, I’m pretty sure he could bench-press the bull he’s supposed to be riding tonight.

And his face?

Woosh .

My breathing stills and my hands freeze mid-clap. His jawline is sharper than the edge of a branding iron, his beard perfectly rugged, his lips… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind getting up close and personal with those.

Light brown hair, not too short, not too long, just enough to grab onto, peeks out from under a dark brown cowboy hat. He tilts the brim, scanning the crowd, and that’s when I see his eyes. Strong, like they’re designed to disarm anyone who looks too long.

I’m done. Completely, utterly gone.

From this close, he’s already huge—like, really huge. And the thought of standing near him? I’d like him to crush me. Absolutely wreck me. Give me my first attempt at riding a bull because he’s something I wouldn’t mind being on top of.

One thing’s for certain: I’ll never forget the first time I heard the name Hayes Walker.

“Oh, you were right,” Lydia says, her tone dripping with amusement, but all I can do is nod, eyes glued to him.

He’s delicious.

I wet my lips, unable to look away as he scans the crowd, smiling and waving like the whole arena was there just for him.

I’ve grown up around cowboys and farmers—men built by hard work, who know how to handle a field and wrangle livestock.

Small-town farmland is practically my middle name.

But this? This is something else entirely. None of them have ever looked like him.

He’s every tall-tale and cowboy fantasy come to life, and the crowd eats it up, stomping and screaming like their collective noise could drag him closer and I’m clapping again along with them.

“Wow, he’s hot,” I whisper, my voice nearly drowned out by the noise.

Lydia lets out a muffled laugh. “ Hot doesn’t even cover it.”

“Alright, y’all!” The MC’s voice booms through the speakers, snapping me out of my trance.

“Here’s how this is gonna go! I’m gonna reach into this jar and pull out a few seat numbers.

If your number’s called, bring your ticket down to the ring at halftime for some fun rodeo activities.

Winner gets a prize and a photo with our boy Hayes here!

” He claps the cowboy on his shoulder affectionately.

“I wonder what the prize is,” I mumble, still staring at the handsome-God grinning and waving like the attention fuels him. I don’t give a shit about the prize. I care about him.

Lydia bumps my shoulder, her grin mischievous. “Maybe it’s your dream come true. A ride on him.”

I snort, trying to stifle my laugh because, let’s be honest, that would be the ultimate prize.

The announcer plunges his hand into a fishbowl, swirling the slips of paper with exaggerated drama. He pulls one out, squints at it, and reads the first number.

“Row sixteen, seat number eighty-nine…”

A cheer rises from somewhere in the crowd.

“Row twelve, seat number seventy-two…”

The crowd behind me roars again, people jump up and check their tickets.

“And lastly, row three, seat number sixty-eight!”

The stadium erupts, but I don’t move. I can’t. My brain is frozen because I know. I don’t even have to look at my ticket to confirm it. I memorized the seat number the second it was handed to me and tapped it three times for good luck before giving it a dramatic kiss.

Lydia gasps beside me, grabbing my arm and practically shaking me. “That’s you! You get to meet Hayes Walker!”

I blink, still in stunned silence, my heart pounding so hard I can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And by golly, I do.

I was already set on remembering his name. Now, I get to make sure he remembers mine too.