Page 77 of Untamed
I can totally see him saying that. Hear the slow drawl he has and the impact his voice and poetic like words have on me.
“Bushwacker is notorious for throwing riders over his right shoulder. Let’s see if Grayer can hang on.”
I watch as Grayer adjusts the rope, three other guys surrounding him and assisting. The bull beneath him is oddly calm, eerily so that it makes me wonder if they’re all like that. Grayer takes his left hand and wipes it aggressively, over and over again down a rope and then works on wrapping the bull rope around Bushwacker. I have to admit, the motion he makes rubbing his hand on the rope looks strangely erotic and gives my tummy a certain jolt.
The bull beneath Grayer suddenly rears up and the man next to him holds Grayer by his vest to keep him steady. My heart jumps at the danger I’m witnessing. I know bull riding is dangerous, clearly based off personal experience here, but it’s a quick reminder that anytime he gets on a bull, I might forever have this wave of unease washing over me.
Grayer steadies himself when the bull comes down by placing his hands on the bars beside him and then he lowers himself back down to adjust the rope again. When he’s got it where he wants it, his left hand securely tethered to the bull by a rope, he moves forward on the bull so he’s practically on the shoulders.
And then he goes still.
He gives the nod.
Thenod.
The bucking chute opens and out barrels a brown and white bull that’s so much larger than the rest of them he looks like a beast. He comes out strong, his back legs kicking out and spinning, his head pitched low to the ground.
“Grayer’s faced Bushwacker six times and Bushwacker has proved his Bull of the Year status and had thirty-six straight buck-offs since then,” the announcer says, the crowd drowning him out as they cheer on Grayer. On the drop, Grayer maintains complete control. I can’t imagine the strength and control it takes to stay on the bull, but after our night together and seeing the way his body moves, I have a pretty good idea howin controlGrayer can be.
The buzzer sounds, signifying an eight-second ride and the crowd goes ballistic. Grayer dismounts the bull when he’s midair and lands on his knees about three feet from the bull. My heart pounds, dread washing over me as I watch this. At any minute, that bull can turn on him and charge. That’s not easy to watch.
There’s a silence as he stares up at a board, awaiting his score, and then smiles. That’s when I get a good look at his ass in chaps and I’m not disappointed at all. The back of his vest has his last name and the number fifty-five on it.
“We’ve seen history here, folks!” the announcer says. “How about ninety-five and a quarter?” The crowd roars in response to the score he’s given.
Grayer smiles, removing his hat and waving to the crowd, nodding and clapping to the score he’s awarded. He looks over his shoulder at me as he’s heading to the chute gate and nods. I start laughing. Just a moment later, they show him on the screen being interviewed. “How’s it feel?” they ask when they tell him his score.
His smile is the biggest I’ve seen. “It’s ’bout damn time.”
The reporter laughs, cupping his hand on Grayer’s shoulder. “I said history was made here today, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He laughs out a rushed breath, still trying to catch up with the adrenaline. “I got my revenge on him.”
Haylee and I sit down in our seats for the first time since we arrived. “This is awesome,” she says, all smiles. “And so freaking hot. How did we not know about this?”
“It definitely is.”
It’s another hour into the show and I can tell they’re almost done for the night. That’s when a tall blonde approaches us with a little blond-haired boy on her hip. “I’m Britany. Are you Maesyn Calhoun?” She looks at me, smiling. She reminds me of something out of a magazine, but still simple and down-to-earth. Tight stone-washed jeans and a black shirt that matches her cowboy boots.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, nodding. “I am.”
She gestures toward the stairs. “Grayer’s waiting for you guys. He told me to bring you back.”
Practically shaking, I stand immediately, as does Haylee. “Okay.”
She leads us down a long hallway and then into a room where there are about ten bull riders either standing against walls or sitting on the floor. It appears to be some sort of locker room, maybe, or waiting area.
I spot his hat first, then him. He’s standing with his back to the wall, staring down at his bull rope and glove in his hand. I think he senses my presence, or it’s Haylee’s slow whistle that captures his attention. Either way, our eyes lock and he gives me that once over. Starting at my boots, all the way to my face. He drinks in my every curve at the same time I look over him. He’s wearing a black shirt splattered with dirt and logos from sponsors, leather chaps, dark jeans, and those same cowboy boots he wore back in Ellensburg. He looks delicious and I have a hard time just standing there and not running to him.
Would it be too much to run and jump into his arms?
Probably.
He pulls in a breath but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear he’s happy to see me, as if my presence here has immediately improved his mood. Not that he is in a bad mood, just that it’s better.
“Hey.” His eyes smile when he speaks, stepping toward me.
“Hey.” I want to immediately reach out and touch him, but I don’t. I wait.
