Page 88
I stopped listening about halfway through her rant. Chance’s Instagram page became a forbidden space for me after he started posting thirst traps for his adoring fans. It was mostly abs and his tattoos, but I didn’t care to see him flaunting his assets for other women. I never thought to check his account once we mended fences.
My thumb swipes at my phone screen and I tap on the social media app. Nerves skitter down my spine, which is completely uncalled for. Whether she’s blowing smoke up my ass or not, it can’t be worse than the last time I dared to look.
But sure enough, the most recent posts feature me more often than not. There are at least a dozen pictures of us together. Several are from moments I didn’t realize he captured, such as an intimate embrace in our meadow. This is a gesture I didn’t expect, which makes it all the more meaningful. My expression gets blubbery around the edges, but I refuse to get emotional in front of these buckle bunnies.
The announcer’s voice breaks into my personal crisis, saving me from further ridicule. “Our final saddle bronc rider of the night is a Midwest super-star. He’s had an incredible season, winning ninety percent of his rounds. His record speaks for itself. This guy is a winner. We should be displaying his name on billboards across the states. He’s dedicating this ride, and all those in his future, to his wildflower. Let’s see if he can take home a check for her tonight. Give it up for Chaaaaance ‘Lucky Stride’ Bensoooooon!”
I let out a loud “Woooo!” while clapping and stopping my boots, which reminds the buckle bunnies of my presence. The brunette makes an ugly face while her friend glares. It’s good to know they see me as competition.
When Chance and his bronc lunge from the gate, a hush falls over the crowd. I hold my breath. He flies across the arena on this untamed animal as if they’re attached. Each boom of the horse’s hooves drums in my ears like an approaching storm. I’ve watched him compete a hundred times, but each time is different.
My stare is captivated by his perfect form. He flings his arm forward and back to the rhythm of the bucks. His legs kick with professional precision, snapping his knees in whenever the bronco sets his rear hooves down. The lead rope is held taut in his right fist, not allowing an inch of slack. It’s all timed on a razor’s edge of accuracy. This is why he’s the best in the business. I scoot to the edge of my seat as the clock ticks.
The buzzer makes me jolt. Chance stays on for an extra three seconds just to prove he can. Before the pickup crew can offer him a lift, he launches himself from the saddle and lands on his boots in the dirt. His gaze immediately whips over to me. The desire in his smolder brands me and I swear my skin sizzles.
“How about a ninety-two for Chance Benson? Puts him on top of the leader board where he belongs!” The announcer hollers over the rowdy applause.
I leap to my feet while whistling between my teeth. The girls plug their ears as if my celebration is offensive. Chance smirks and crooks his index finger. They assume he’s beckoning to them, rising to their impractical footwear. We can’t have that.
I push myself directly between them, making sure to shove their arms out of my way in the process. “Watch out. Blonde bimbo coming through.”
They stare at me as if I’m speaking a different language. Sundress stomps her wedge sandal. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I toss my golden braid behind me and start climbing the arena fence. “To claim my man.”
Chance trots to where I’ve slung my legs over the metal panel. His arms open and I launch myself at him. The protective vest he’s wearing adds a bulky layer between us, but I’ll enjoy removing it later. Our lips crash together just as he places his cowboy hat on my head. It drives the rodeo crowd into a thunderous uproar.
“That’s my girl,” he croons in my ear.
The tip of my nose traces the slope of his. “Why didn’t you tell me about your Instagram?”
“Finally got the nerve to take a peek? I was wondering how long it would take.”
“Pardon me for thinking you were still posting thirst traps.”
“Thirst traps?” He chuckles. “If anything, those were wildflower bait. I was showing you what’s always been yours.”
“Good grief,” I exhale against the flames he ignites within me. “I might be a goner.”
“That’s real good, baby.” Chance kisses me again. “Take the leap. I’ll be here to catch you.”
“Well, well, well. I think it’s safe to assume this is Lucky Stride’s wildflower. How about a victory lap for our champion cowboy and his lady?” The announcer’s voice cracks into our private moment that’s actually very public.
Another cowboy is leading a horse for us to borrow since we didn’t bring any of our own. Without releasing me, Chance swings us up onto the saddle. I’m backward and the horn is digging into my spine, but I have the best view of my man. He alternates between grinning like a lovesick fool, kissing me, and whistling for the fans. My expression is a dopey mess by the time we finish.
Chance dismounts smoothly as if he doesn’t have an extra one-forty clinging to his front. I’m basking in our bubble of joy while he carries me away from the arena action. It’s that point in the evening where we find out who really ends up on top. An unmistakable drawl derails our plans.
“How’s that future wife of yours, Benson? Still scarred and fuckin’ your diseased dick bareback?”
Chance bristles at the slew of insults Wyatt just flung at us. He slips me behind him in a piggyback position before whirling to confront his rival. It’s absolutely no surprise to see Sundress and Pigtails tucked possessively under the other bronc rider’s arms.
“Jealous you can’t keep a woman satisfied long enough to stick around for more than one night?” Chance’s voice is a sharpened blade aimed at the other man’s throat.
Wyatt doesn’t take the hint. “Don’t forget Gemma willingly went on a date with me.”
“We all make mistakes,” I coo. “It’s not too late for you, ladies.”
But Sundress and Pigtails don’t budge. Typical buckle bunnies. Wyatt’s gaze lacks enthusiasm while he ogles them. It’s going to be a letdown they’ll try to forget.
