Beside me, Catalina snorts, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, pretending it’s just the excitement.
“You know him?” I ask, narrowing my gaze at the arena.
She cranes her neck toward me, a devilish smirk stretching across her lips. “He came into Boots & Bourbon and flirted with me.”
I remember that fucker, I watched it all happen. White hot jealousy courses through me, fuck him. Let me catch him flirting with my wife again.
I grunt, locking my eyes on this town’spreciousbullrider. Never heard the name, but hell if he doesn’t have the whole place wrapped around his finger.
He climbs the rail, tips his hat to the crowd, soaking in every scream. His gaze sweeps the stands. When it crosses our section, he pauses—just a beat too long.
At her.
Oh, I think the fuck not.
Jesus, I’m starting to talk like my wife.
I shift, sliding my arm across Catalina’s shoulders, pulling her tight against me. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are glued to the arena, lips pressed together, holding back a laugh.
The crowd’s cheers grow louder as his bull bucks against the gate, causing the entire chute to rattle with its force.
The chute rattles loudly as the bull inside bucks, pounding against the gate as if it’s desperate for blood. Dust rises, horns flashing under the arena lights. Jake Steele climbs the rail, waving his hat at the crowd like he’s on stage instead of strapped to a two-thousand-pound beast.
Stands erupt, as people stomp their boots, clapping, hollering his name.
I glance over at Catalina, who’s sipping her soda through a straw, her legs crossed.
“You’re really calm for someone watchin’ a man get trampled,” I mutter, glancing at her.
She shrugs, not even bothering to look my way. “I don’t care about that ogre. I just want to see the bull.”
That draws a small chuckle from me, even as my jaw stays clenched.
Seconds later, the gate bursts open again with a metallic clang, and the bull charges out, dirt flying under its hooves. Jake holds on tight, one hand in the air, chest puffed out like he’s riding for a damn crown. He puts on a show, grinning as the crowd screams, slapping the bull’s flank when he thinks no one’s looking.
I grit my teeth, watching him ride circles like a cocky fuck.
Catalina leans over, lips brushing my ear, voice dry. “He’s good, and he knows it.”
My gaze shifts back to her, studying her face. She’s calm. Unbothered. Nearly bored.
She raises her soda cup toward the arena with a slight smirk. “I like the bull better.”
A slow grin tugs at my mouth despite the heat crawling up my neck. “That’s my girl.”
The buzzer rings, the crowd roaring as Jake jumps off smoothly, tossing his hat into the air. He bows to the stands, soaking it all in. His eyes scan again, catching our section.
I slide my arm tighter around Catalina’s shoulders, pulling her against me, my lips brushing her hairline. “Let him look,” I growl, just for her. “Ain’t got a thing he’ll ever take from me.”
She sips her drink, completely unaffected, like the only show she came for was mine.
The arena empties slowly, dust hanging in the air as the crowd filters out toward the food stands and parking lot. Jake Steele’s name is still echoing off folks’ tongues, everyone buzzing about his ride.
I’m just glad it’s fucking over.
Catalina’s hand is tucked into mine as we weave through the crowd, her boots glittering under the arena lights. I’m half-focused on how her shorts ride up her thighs, half-scanning for an exit, when a voice cuts through the noise.
“Well, if it isn’t?—”
