Page 64 of Untamed
I know he needs to get going, but I see it in the way he’s moving slower, he’s confused and doesn’t want to leave. He knows there’s something more happening between us. He looks at me, shaking his head slowly with that smirk never fading. “How’d you do this to me in a week?”
“I’m pretty determined when I want to be,” I tease, winking. I’m not looking for him to say anything. He doesn’t have to. I know when he leaves me, his life will continue the way it always has. Something tells me he lives a wild life on the road. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m certainly not going to judge him if he does. “Once you get around those buckle bunnies, you’ll forget me.” I don’t mean for my words to sound insecure, but I suppose they take on that a little, don’t they?
“You’re better than that,” he says to me, watching my face fall. I know exactly what he’s referring to. “Don’t let them touch you like that. Don’t let them take something that’s not theirs. Yougive, you don’t take.”
“Unless it’s a bull you’re riding. Then you take?” I’m teasing again, wanting to draw out the moment.
He grins, pulling his shirt over his shoulders. “Nothing’s the same when you’re on a bull. A beast decides your fate.”
I think back to what he’s said, the part before the beast decides your fate. The part about me being better than I am.“You’re better than that.”I’m not sure I believe I’m better than that. But I do like the way he cares enough to say it. He’s the first one who has.
I look up at him and wrap the blanket around my shoulders. “Would it be too much . . . too soon . . . if I said, I’m depressed you’re leaving?” It sounds so cheesy when I ask it out loud.
He smiles and gives my shoulder a bump with his own when he sits back down next to me. “Well, I would have to say . . . you wouldn’t be the only one who was bucked off.”
I think about the meaning. He’s not looking forward to leaving, right? I’m not imagining it. And it sends my heart a thrill. It pounds then evens out when I draw in a breath. It’s like a roller coaster that finally reaches the peak and then on the downward fall, that rush you get.
The blanket drops off my shoulder a touch. I wink at him. I might remember this forever but George Strait’s “Baby Your Baby” comes on when I ask, “So I got to you, Eight Seconds?”
He laughs at the name I’ve given him. “I guess you did.”
I kiss his T-shirt-clad shoulder. Turning his head, he gives my forehead a quick brush of his lips. Standing, he reaches for his hat by my clothes. I’m still sitting on the hay bale and when he turns around to face me again, he drops to his knees and pulls me to the edge of the bale.
His eyes trail over my body, no doubt remembering last night when both our eyes flicked to that belt buckle. I’ll never see another buckle without remembering the way he controlled my body.
He wants to go again, probably because I’m naked still with only a blanket loosely around my shoulders. But after four times in one night, I suppose he needs to get going. “Fuck, this sucks.”
I laugh. “Do you have a flight to catch?”
He nods. “Yeah, flying out of Yakima this morning in like an hour.”
I stare up at Grayer, wondering what it will be like when he’s gone. I smile at the thought of him and what he’s done for me emotionally.
“You’re gonna be late,” I say, pushing him away, knowing he needs to leave if he’s going to make it to Yakima in less than an hour.
He smiles, but he’s stalling. He doesn’t want to leave. “Honey, I’m a bull rider. We’re always running late.” Grayer senses my hesitation because he has it too. “Take care of yourself, Maesyn.” His calloused fingers brush over my cheek. “You’re a beautiful girl and you deserve better than the losers you’ve been with.”
“I’ll be sure to hold out for a hero,” I tease, running my hands over his chest.
“I hope you don’t mean me.” He laughs, shaking his head, then tips his hat up as he stands and reaches for my hand. “I’m no hero.”
“Grayer. . . .” I stand with him, wrapping my arms around him and let the blanket fall away. Before I can say anything, he wraps his arms around me, his lips brushing my temple, our chests pressed together.
He swears softly, groaning. “You did that on purpose.”
My cheeks burn. “Maybe a little.”
His hands don’t stray from my hips. They could go lower, but he holds back. “You’re killing me. I need to go.”
By the look on his face, he knows he’s potentially holding my heart in his hands. It’s too early to say something like that to him. I don’t know that I love him, but I also don’t want him to leave. I want to see where this could go.
Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a dream catcher. It’s heart-shaped, with cream feathers falling, and turquoise and maroon beads. It’s beautiful and old and exactly everything I love about dream catchers.
And then he hands it to me. “This was my mom’s. . . . I thought you might like it. Happy birthday.”
I have no words. None. I’m not even sure what to make of my thoughts. Warmth creeps up my face like I want to cry at the gesture, the gift, but I keep the tears at bay. How can I tell him goodbye after this?
He smiles softly at my speechless expression. “I know what you’re gonna say.” His words wrap around me like the warmth of his touch. He presses a firmer kiss on my forehead and pulls away, his eyes never leaving mine.
