“Just needed a minute.” My voice is rough, exhaustion and stress thickening each word.
“What the hell happened out there, man?”
Blowing out a breath, a sharp laugh leaves my mouth as I mutter, “He’s fucking getting to me.”
Right here, in this moment, I’m unsure if I’m referring to my father or to Sterling. Thankfully, Cope doesn’t ask. He’s silent for a moment, but I can feel the weight of his stare. I can’t look at him.
Finally, he presses a hand to my shoulder, gripping firmly, the touch making me glance up and meet his gaze. “You need to snap the fuck out of it,” he blurts out plainly.
“Excuse me?”Is he fucking serious?What kind of friendly pep talk is this shit?
Cope blows out a laugh, holding up a hand. “Just relax, killer. Let me explain.”
Eyes narrowed on him, I roll my lips inward and nod.
“You have fought to get where you are, Shooter. You’re one of the best damn bronc riders I’ve ever seen. The raw talent you possess is insane. You are a three-time world champ for a reason. But you didn’t get to where you are today because you competed against easy riders. In fact, completely the opposite. You’ve gone up against some of the greatest there is; a lot of times you’ve won, but sometimes you’ve lost. You’ve never let anybody get inside your head like this. You’ve never let it affect your game. So, what the fuck is going on with you lately?”
“I don’t fucking know, man!” The words rush out louder and harsher than I intended, so I repeat much quieter, “I don’t know, Cope. Okay?”
Cope opens his mouth like he’s going to say something before snapping it shut, his brows furrowing as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with me. “You…” he starts, blowing out a breath. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. I’m here for you always, dude.”
Cope is my best fucking friend. We’ve known each other since we were little kids, and have been thick as thieves ever since. There’s never been anything either of us has had to go through without knowing we can lean on the other. So, I’m not exactly sure why I’m keeping this shit with Sterling, and my dad, to myself.
It’s right there on the tip of my tongue to come clean and tell him everything. The NFR, the conversation with my dad, the way I’m feeling, that damn kiss a few days ago. Everything. But… I can’t. I won’t. And fuck if that doesn’t just mess me up.
“Yeah, I know,” I finally respond. “Thanks, man. I’ll be fine. Promise.”
He offers me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He doesn’t believe me… and frankly, neither do I.
But I just keep repeating the same words.
Doubt is what gets you hurt.
My night’sonly gotten progressively worse. I should’ve just gone to bed as soon as we all got back to the campground after the rodeo, but my dumb ass thought it would be a good idea to drink away my stress. As if that ever got anybody anywhere good. Cope’s right; I need to get the fuck over this shit. It’s not who I am. I’m not some sore loser. I mean… okay, maybe I am, but it doesn’t usually affect methis much.
Regardless, I’m on beer number who fucking knows, listening to everyone around me chit-chat and laugh while I take no part in it. We’re all sitting in camping chairs around the fire—well, everyone minus Boone and his family—Colt’s got the music playing, and everyone but me seems to be feeling good. I know Sterling’s feeling damn good; he won his first ever pro rodeo tonight.
Whoop-de-fucking-doo.
Lifting the can to my lips, I let my mouth fill with the crisp, cold beer before swallowing, my eyes shooting daggers at Sterling from across the fire. His gaze is everywhere else but me, though. It’s getting under my skin.He’sfucking getting under my skin. Even if I don’t want him there, he’s always front and fucking center in my mind. It’s maddening. What is it about him? He gave me one blow job several fucking months ago, and it’s like my entire world has spun on its axis because of it. Makes no goddamn sense. Daisy’s sitting right beside him, like she always seems to be lately, hanging onto his every fucking word. Laughing at everything he has to say, like he’s the funniest fucking person she’s ever met in her life.
He isn’t even that funny.
I’d even go as far as to say he’s actually even maybe a little boring.
With his dumb curly brown hair that never seems to sit right that I definitely don’t ever fantasize about threading my fingers through. His annoyingly gorgeous honey-colored eyes. His dimples that definitely don’t make my stomach flutter when he smiles with how deep they are. The idiotic way he always has a handkerchief in his pocket, like he’s a seventy-year-old man. It’s not endearing or cute or sweet. It’s obnoxious.
He sits there and flirts with my sister, but bit my head straight off for kissing him last week. Shouldn’t have even done that, but fuck, I was drunk, and he was there smelling like stupidfucking Old Spice deodorant with that goddamn pout on his lip he always seems to have. And I wanted to fuck with him, rile him up. Which I did, but it also fucked with me too. It left me confused.
And now he’s sitting ten feet away from me, but I’m not even on his radar, that kiss probably long gone from his mind while he flirts withmy fucking sister. What the fuck does she have that I don’t? Avagina?
Nope. No. Not fucking going there.
You know what? They can have each other. The straight-edge cowboy and the goody-two-shoes barrel racer. Match made in fucking square heaven.
I scoff to myself at how utterly annoying Sterling is, downing another swallow of my beer, not even realizing I’m still staring until his gaze flits in my direction, locking with mine. His lips uptick into a smirk, showing off his straight, white teeth.
Those goddamn infuriating dimples.
