Page 41 of Untamed
A rider’s glove is made of thick, soft leather. It is designed to let the rider grip the bull rope with ease while protecting his riding hand from rope burn.
My mind drifts to Grayer and the way he watched me last night. The kiss, the things he said to me. . . . My skin burns at the memories, the sensation of his warm body pinning mine against the door.
It’s not often I think about a boy as much as I’ve thought about Grayer Easton lately. I can only think of one other.
I’m in my room late Sunday afternoon, when I notice my dad out in the arena standing over the bullpens with Morgan. Grayer approaches wearing chaps and a glove on his right hand. He climbs over the chute when Hammer, Lemon Lou’s dad—and our mean as fuck bull—enters the chute.
My eyes widen at what I’m about to see. Grayer Easton riding a bull.
When Grayer’s in position, Dad tells him something and then he climbs over the side of the gate and gets a rope tied around Hammer behind his front legs. Before I know it, the gate opens and Hammer starts bucking and rearing.
I’m in absolute awe. I’ve seen bull riders before. I’ve been to the Ellensburg Rodeo every year since I was a kid. What gets me is Grayer’s confidence on the bull. There’s never a question of whether he can do it. He can. And he does. My eyes are riveted to him and the motion of his body as he does what he’s damn good at, bending and twisting as he tames the beast.
Holy. Crap.That’s . . . insanely hot!
The sight has me rushing downstairs.
I’m not quite fast enough because when I get down there, he’s off the bull and dusting off his jeans with a smile and Morgan’s cheering him on.
My dad laughs and by the look on his face, I can tell he’s impressed by what Grayer just did. “Ain’t nobody rode ol’ Hammer.”
Grayer tips his head and then removes his hat, dusting it off too. I’m learning that hat is his favorite since he’s worn it every day I’ve seen him so far.
I wait until my dad has disappeared on his tractor out to the south field and Morgan runs inside to apparently make him a sandwich. At least that’s what she tells me when she runs past me. With a deep breath, I look down and realize maybe I shouldn’t have worn this out here, but oh well. I go looking for Grayer. He’s walking toward the barn when I catch up with him, hoping maybe he might be a little nicer after kissing me in the barn last night.
“You definitely know how to stay on the full eight seconds, don’t you?” I can’t believe I just said that to him, but my tone has him turning around to look at me. He backs up a few steps watching me walk toward him, his eyes move over my body, the bikini top; they linger longer than I expect. His jaw tightens, then he turns back around. Definitely the wrong thing to say. Damn it.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is harsher than before, full of bitterness that I’m beginning to get used to. Curiosity gets the better of me and I follow him, just like I have the last two days wanting to figure out why he claims he’s trouble. My motto? If it sets your soul on fire, be fearless. And he certainly sets my entire body on fire. I’m beginning to think they’re just words to get me to leave him alone. “Are you always such a jerk after a girl sucks your dick the first night you’re in town?”
Sometimes I wish I didn’t say the things I do, but I’m cursed with being mouthy.
Grayer grunts and digs the pitchfork to throw hay into Mac’s stall. “What’s that say about you?”
Seriously?I hope you stab your foot with the fork. Jerk. Asshole. Dickhead. I really could go on here.
“What the fuck—” I’m just about to tell him off for being such an asshole when he beats me to it.
“You’re seventeen fuckin’ years old, Maesyn. You got no business actin’ this way.” He throws down the pitchfork and begins to walk away, his shoulders tense. His body language is telling me to stay back, but I’m not a very good listener, as it turns out.
It’s reality, but it hurts. It hurt really bad to hear him say that.
“Age doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
He turns on his heel and faces me again, anger lit and fuming. His tongue peeks out, sweeping across his bottom lip. His arms open wide, inviting, but challenging in the way he’s implying. “It should. That’s the goddamn problem. It fucking shouldmatter.” He gets more flushed and angry with each word. Taking a deep breath, he holds my eyes, repeating, “It matters.”
I place my hands on my hips, scowling at him. “Why’d you kiss me last night then?”
“What are you doing?” He ignores my question, searching my eyes for an answer he assumes I have. Stepping forward, he reaches for me. The pads of his thumbs brush over my heated cheeks lightly. “You’re letting these guys treat you like you’re some kind of slut. That’s not you. I see it. You don’t.”
It’s easier to believe the lies than to set them all straight. It’s easier to play the role, than be someone I don’t know. I may act tough, but I don’t know myself. Does any seventeen-year-old? Does anyone at any age? Having faith it will work okay is dangerous. It drives you to make a change, try harder, but when you do and you fail, then what?
My eyebrows dive down. “Is that why you don’t want me?” I murmur nervously.
For a second, it looks like I’ve gotten to him. He catches himself, his lips pursing. “Wanting you is not the problem.” His face and the way his eyes are stone cold and bleeding with an invisible pain means I should walk away before he says something that hurts me, but being near him is like dancing on the edge of a cliff and I can’t help it—I want the rush.
I furrow my brow. I’m close to tears, reality sinking in. He’s so angry that his confidence and pride waver. He’s breaking a little and it’s making him uneasy, and I see it. He wants to show me I don’t know what I’m talking about, but his stubbornness gets him too. It’s easy to say he’s not one that gives up easily. “You think you know, don’t you? You think you’re so fucking smart, yes?”
“Grayer.” I sigh, knowing I’ve crossed the line. His name on my lips is something he wants to hear. I see his face twist when I say it, the word washing over him. I wave my hand around, a little flustered. Oh man, he’s getting to me. “Don’t act like this.”
