“What a gentleman.”
I help Nariko down and spin her around, loving how her long dark hair fans around her. She’s so graceful in everything she does. I can’t help but watch her all the time.
“Looking gorgeous, Sugar,” I compliment, loving how bright she smiles when she hears my words.
No one could understand how deep my love goes for my mate. My love can be found in every little motion she does. The way she laughs, the sound music to my ears. The way she speaks or gasps. No one hears the slight high-pitched noise she makes in the back of her throat sometimes when she’s scared.
It usually happens when Kevin comes around.
She’s a brand new beginning, and I find comfort that there will be no end.
“Ready to knock boots?” I tug her close, bend my knee, and dip her over my leg.
She clutches onto my shoulders, laughter bellowing from her.
There.
Right there.
That’s where my love lives.
In her. In everything she does.
The bar is crowded, and everyone in this small town seems to be out tonight.
Cowboy hats are in every direction. Music shakes the ground under my feet. To the right, someone flies off the mechanical bull and smacks onto the pads. To the left, people are line-dancing. Straight ahead, the bar is packed. Cowboys are buying drinks for their cowgirls.
Except for one.
Me, Oklahoma, and the rest of the crew watch as someone climbs into a machine that is at the end of the bar. Above it is a neon sign that says, “The Whirl of Death.”
“What is he doing?” I shout over the music, hoping Oklahoma can hear me.
“He will spin for about fifteen to twenty seconds at a high rate. When he comes out, he has to chug an entire beer withoutthrowing up. If he does, he gets his picture on the wall and free beers for the rest of the night.”
“That’s it!” I can’t believe someone would put themselves through that for a picture on the wall.
“That’s it. He won’t make it though. I can tell.” Oklahoma grabs me by the belt loop and tugs me in front of him, then wraps his arms around me.
I love that he likes having me so close.
“I can tell because he is already drunk. He is going to pass out when his fifteen seconds are up.”
“That looks like a terrible idea,” Ruka says.
“I want to do it! I’m next! Excuse me.” Jazz pushes his way through the crowd to make his way to the bar.
“That’s not fair. That’s cheating. He has…secrets,” I whisper.
Oklahoma’s dark chuckle sounds in my ear, and I melt against him. He smells so good too. It’s as if I’m standing in the middle of a field after it has rained.
The bartender grabs a megaphone. “Come on, everyone! Give a hand for the next victim of “The Whirl of Death,” he announces as if he is a showman, his voice low and deep. The lights flicker on purpose. The crowd cheers. People stomp their feet and clap.
He climbs onto the machine that looks like it was made in someone’s basement. There’s a backrest on the inside with a strap to protect whoever is inside and hold them down. The tube reminds me of a ride at the fair. The spaceship that spins in a circle and gravity keeps you plastered against the wall. It’s like that, but much smaller and can only hold one person. The bartender closes the door, and the man straps himself in with nothing to hold on to.
Oh, no, no, no.
No one could pay me to do that.
