Oakley stands on the thick blue pads lying on the floor to protect the rider when he falls. He waves to the audience, giving them a curt nod and half smile.
He isn’t happy.
Ain’t No Love in Oklahomaby Luke Combs blares through the speaker. The lights flicker on their own, and the crowd’s excited shouts simmer down to a low murmur. Everyone looks up, watching each bulb, wondering what’s going on.
I turn around to peer out of the window, and rain slips down the windowpane.
It’s probably nothing. Storms happen all the time; it doesn’t mean a tornado is coming.
Even I don’t believe that.
Oklahoma hops on the bull, wrapping his large hand around the rope at the base of the pseudo-neck. He raises one hand towards the sky. While the song blares in the background about a tornado, Oklahoma gives the man in charge of the bull a curt nod, signaling he is ready.
The emotions are high in this place. Oakley must feel suffocated by everyone’s excitement.
“Just focus on me,” I whisper so low, no one can hear, not even Ruka.
I know my mate can hear me with his enhanced abilities. “Focus on me and how I feel. Let my emotions sink into you. No one else. Don’t listen to them.”
I do my best to pour my love for him through the bond, along with my happiness and excitement. I’ve never seen him ride a bull and I’m relieved this one can’t stomp all over him. He’ll live. I’ll get to take him home. He’ll be able to raise his child and hold me all night.
That’s all I care about.
The bond between us relaxes on his end, a soft hum of contentment strumming the chords that bind us together.
Thunder booms so loud, the lights flicker, and the lamps hanging from the ceiling sway. No one else seems to be paying attention, but Ruka is on his phone, checking all radars, chats, and seeing what other chasers are saying.
The cheers return when the mechanical bull spins and bucks. Oklahoma makes the ride seem so simple, as if anyone can do it. A red clock hangs behind him on a wall, ticking away by the second the longer he stays on.
The bull operator tries his best to buck Oklahoma off, but he can’t. There’s no use. A mechanical bull won’t be able to beat arider like my mate. Smoke drifts from the bull’s nose. Oklahoma slips forward and back with every buck.
He looks damn good up there. I bite my lip, imagining that rock-hard body moving against mine.
The buzzer sounds when the timer reaches eight seconds, and the crowd erupts into cheers, stomping their feet against the floor, sounding like a stampede of wild horses.
Oklahoma gives a few awkward waves as he makes his way back over to me, wrapping me in his arms so tight, I can’t breathe.
But he can.
He lets out a long, relieved exhale. He’s happy the ride is over.
“Can I have your autograph?”
“Can I get a picture?”
“I was there the night Cal got stomped on! I can’t believe you made it out alive!”
This time, it’s me who grabs Oklahoma’s hand, and I drag him away from the vultures, interrupting our night out. I pull him through the crowd, pushing people out of the way and uncaring if they get mad about it.
Don’t bombard my mate and I won’t bombard you; it’s as simple as that.
Walking through the front door, the night air wraps around us, and the noise from inside the bar is muted.
Peace.
It’s just us.
“Hey, you two okay? Do you need anything?” Ruka asks.
