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“Not me, but this little cowgirl is.” He playfully nudges me with his shoulder, while I try not to glare at the hand still attached to his bicep.
“You’re up, pretty thang,” the man at the controls says, snapping me from my uncharacteristic thoughts of ripping out the groper’s long fingernails one by one.
The pretty brunette sizes me up, seeing me as competition. Well, I’m about to show her just how competitive I can be.
Guzzling down the last of my beer, I pass the empty bottle to Saxon. “Tell them I drink Bud Light,” I boldly say from behind my hand, hinting I’ve got this in the bag.
I kick off my boots before stepping onto the inflatable red round ring where the bull sits dead center. The bouncy surface will provide all the cushioning I need when I fall face first. What was I thinking? Eight seconds is a long time when riding a crazed bull. Not to mention, I’m wasted.
I mount the bull as I would my horse, but the shoulder span of this thing is huge, so it takes me three attempts before I get on. Digging my heels into its wooly sides, I grip onto the handle with one hand and raise my other in the air for balance.
“All right, little lady. On three, two and one!”
The moment the deafening buzzer sounds, the bull begins moving underneath me like it’s possessed. I scream, but that panic soon turns to determination when I realize I didn’t fall off as soon as the thing started bucking. I grip on tighter, squeezing my thighs and finding my balance to stay afloat. My drunken state is long forgotten and I focus.
Looking at the clock counting down, I see that I’ve made it to three seconds without flying off. When four seconds ticks over, I know I’ve made this bull my bitch. I hold on tighter, refusing to let go. I won’t let this bull, or any otherbullybeat me. I feel free.
I use my horse riding skills and athletic build to guide me and before I know it, the buzzer sounds, the bull stops throwing a bitch fit, and the crowd goes wild. My eyes search the spectators for Saxon, who smiles, giving me a thumbs up.
Jumping off, my inner thighs hurt like crazy, but I bounce across the floor and fling myself into Saxon’s arms. He catches me, laughing.
“I did it!” I shout, unable to contain my excitement.
“You sure did,” he says, hugging me tight. “You ready to claim your prize?”
Being wrapped in his arms this way, enveloped in his fragrance and warmth, I know that this, him, tonight, this is my prize. But I nod. I’m surprised when he walks with me still clinging to him, arms and legs wrapped around his neck and waist.
The controller doesn’t hide his disbelief that I stayed on as he passes me a straw hat with a pretty turquoise strap. “Congratulations. Looks like I bet on the wrong horse.”
“I’ve been riding since I was eight,” I smugly reveal, before hiccupping—looks like I could only evade my drunken mess for eight seconds.
“Well, god damn, shame on me.” Both Saxon and I laugh as we leave the next hopeful to try and conquer the bull. He doesn’t put me down and carries me over to the bar. As I look over his shoulder at his posse of pissed off admirers, I can’t help but smugly grin.
I feel silly being carried this way, but I also don’t want him to let go. Talk about push and pull. “So,” he says, reaching for the hat in my hand and placing it on my head. “What would the cowgirl like to drink?”
Adjusting the hat, I purse my lips in contemplation. He spins around so I can see the bar over his shoulder. Being pressed to his chest this way suddenly has me appreciating all the hard contours and muscular planes that make up Saxon Stone. I begin to feel that flutter in my belly—the flutter which leads to wicked thoughts.
A drink catches my eye, just for the name alone. I shouldn’t, but it’s out before I can stop myself. “I think I’ll have a sex on the beach.”
A choked breath gets trapped in Saxon’s throat, while I grin.
* * * * *
“No, you can’t leave her out here. She looks lonely,” I say, pointing to what I thought was Saxon’s bike. When he turns me around however, I realize I’m pointing to a Vespa.
“It’ll be fine and she? Since when has my bike been a female?”
“Since forever,” I reply, scoffing.
I have no idea what time it is because I lost track after my tenth shot. Saxon gave up with the water card after my third slippery nipple— the drink, I mean. I feel so educated in the world of spirits after tonight. I don’t know how educated I’ll feel tomorrow morning when I’m throwing most of it up, but I’ll deal with that when I’m crouched over the bowl.
Saxon slips his cell into his pocket once he calls a cab. He refuses to ride his motorcycle home, afraid I might fall off. I told him I was fine. However, when I tripped over air while walking to the bathroom, I knew he was right.
I can’t believe how much fun I’ve had. A shitty day has actually turned into one of the best days of my life. Fingering the woven straw in my hat, I smile, still on high from riding that bull and hanging on. It’s silly, but accomplishing that put forward the notion that I need things to change at home. There is no doubt in my mind that I love Sam, but is the Sam that I love someone I’ve put on a pedestal all these years? Have I been too blinded by love to see the cracks beneath the surface?
My memories of him are filled with nothing but love, happiness, and fun times, but if I were to dissect each one, would they be as perfect as I believed them to be? I do know that my journals will help me find those answers.
“Are you cold?”
