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“Until me.” I shoot her a cocky smile, and she rolls her eyes.
“Until you. Riiiiiiiight,” she says. “Lucifer has been responsible for forty-seven injuries this year alone, and unless you’ve forgotten, you’ve got commitments outside of the arena, commitments that will earn you well over fifty grand.”
“I’m well aware of the risk, and as far as Wrangler and Powerade are con—”
“Gatorade.”
“Whatever. The point is, bull riding is my job, and it comes first.”
Fifty grand is nothing to Nikki. She was born into money, and even though she works her ass off, she doesn’t really need her job.
She may come from cash, but I come from a ranch in Heaven, Texas. My parents—although they’re doing well now—have practically killed themselves for every dime they have, and even though I’ve got a decent cushion in my bank account, it’s not enough. It might never be enough. Being a bull rider is a precarious job, and it doesn’t always pay the best, which is why I’ve let her talk me in to a few modeling gigs and the occasional commercial.
Every time I get on one of those bulls, I’m putting my career and my life at risk. If something happens and I lose the ability to work, I need to know I’m going to be financially stable until I find something else to do. So, yes, whether she understands it or not, I need that fifty grand.
“Call it off.”
She’s smoking crack. “No way.”
As Nikki well knows, I don’t back down. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it, which is probably why she pinches her lips into a thin line and strides across
the room. Her hand hits the door knob and she stops, but doesn’t look back.
“You better stay on that fucking bull, Rhett Allen, or so help me God, your ass is mine.”
“Not a problem, darlin’.”
The smell of dirt, sweat, and testosterone-fueled beast fill the air as I weave my way through the back pens. I hear the announcer reveal the final special event as I slip on my gloves, and when I come into view, I’m bathed in a bright light. The crowd roars to life. I raise my arm, encouraging their cheers, and I’m reminded why I love this sport.
It’s the thrill I get every time the gate opens, the adrenaline that rushes through me as I’m whipped through the air by a two-thousand-pound bull. It’s just me, that beast, a thunderous crowd, and eight seconds of pure fucking glory.
Most people think I’m crazy, and I don’t deny it. Any man who regularly mounts a one-ton bull has to have something wrong with him.
“You ready for this?” Dad asks, placing a hand on my arm.
It’s tough on my dad to leave the ranch, but he insists on being with me as much as he can. And although I feel guilty pulling him away from my mom and siblings, you won’t hear me complain. He’s my rock, my mentor, the person who keeps me tethered to the life I left behind to chase my dream, and I count on him more than he’ll ever know.
Smiling, I look up. “I was born ready.”
“We’re really proud of you, son. Your mom and I, your brothers and Adley—we’re real proud of you. The whole town is piled in at Dirty Dicks to watch you tonight, and Beau is streaming your ride on his phone.”
I picture the pub overflowing with patrons. Everyone packed in like sardines; beer sloshing from their mugs as they cheer me on. Dirty Dicks isn’t large enough to house everyone in town, but they’ll sure as hell try. With a population of 12,500, Heaven, Texas is big enough that not everyone knows your name, but small enough to have a Facebook page where you can catch up on who’s who. That town saw me grow up, learn to ride a bull, and break a few laws along with a few bones. Even though I don’t return very often, it’s still the place I call home.
“Well then, I better give them a good show, huh?” Hoisting myself up on a rung, I fling a leg over the rail and ease myself onto the bull. Lucifer looks at me over his shoulder as if he’s offering me one last chance to hop off and save myself. I’m ranked number one in the world, cowboy, with a buck-of percentage of 88.89. You don’t stand a chance.
I narrow my eyes. The odds are in his favor—even I’m not naïve enough to believe otherwise—but I’m too stubborn to back out now. “Bring it on,” I whisper.
Lucifer huffs and thrashes from side to side, slamming us against the chute. Three sets of hands reach for me, and when the bull finally settles, they release their grip and I’m able to adjust my hand until it’s secure in the rope.
And then, with the tip of my head, the chute opens. Lucifer flies through the gate with the wild fury only a bull on a mission can possess.
Monroe
“You need to show more skin,” Cooper says, eyeing my shirt.
Looking down at the black shirt I’ve paired with skinny jeans and my favorite Chucks, I wonder how the hell I’m supposed to show more skin. I was proud of this outfit, considering my wardrobe consists mostly of concert T-shirts, boot-cut jeans, and my favorite pair of Ariats.
“You didn’t say anything about skin,” I tell him. “If I remember correctly, you said a black button-up shirt and jeans.” I look to my co-worker and friend, Sean, for confirmation, and he just shrugs.
