“Come on,” Cope urges with a warm smile. “It’ll be fun. I promise we’re all nice.”
Even though I’m kind of backed into a corner, and can feel the other guys’ eyes on me, I reluctantly nod. “Okay…yeah, I’ll come.”
I shoot a quick text to Conrad, letting him know I’ll be back a little later than I anticipated, and then follow them to the restaurant—Lou’s Diner. We all go in and are immediatelyushered toward a booth in the back. Cope says they come here weekly.
Sliding into the booth, I have Cope on one side of me, Shooter directly across the table from me, and Boone Stanton on the other side of me. Boone’s an incredibly talented bull rider. He’s also an internet sensation. The ladies on social media go feral over him. I can feel Shooter’s taking me in, but I refuse to look in his direction. I’m scared my face will turn bright red if I do. I have no idea if he’s told these guys what happened, but I’d rather not have my face give it away.
We’re only here for a few minutes before a woman who looks to be in her fifties drops off some waters for everyone. It’s at that same time that somebody else shows up, taking a seat beside Shooter. It’s one of the guys Conrad introduced me to this morning; Colt, one of the other bull riders. He’s another name I already knew, but it’s cool getting to meet these guys in the flesh.
The tips of my ears burn, and the air’s tense as hell, but I’m certain it’s just me overthinking. It feels like everybody knows my dirtiest secret. I’m sure a guy like Shooter is the kiss-and-tell type. Chancing a look, I find him already watching me, as I anticipated. His blue eyes sparkle with what looks to be amusement, and his lips tip up on one side into a crooked grin. He’s painfully attractive.
Suddenly, our entire encounter comes rushing to the forefront of my mind, hitting me like a freight train. How I nearly puked as I forced myself to talk to him once I saw him standing beside me at the bar. The way his eyes looked me up and down before he started flirting with me. How brazen he was leaning in and asking me tohelp him celebrate. The way I followed him, as if there were no other option. I followed him like I had done it a million times, like my stomach wasn’t in twisty, painful knots the entire way, every step amplifying my nerves.
The way his lips felt.
The unforgiving chill of the linoleum under my knees.
The weight of him on my tongue.
The taste of him in my mouth.
All of him. He looked like a god staring down at me, his face transformed by pleasure. The high I got from that moment was unreal. Being on my knees fortheShooter Graham. He was the star of the whole night, and he choseme.I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wake up the next morning wondering if it was all a fever dream.
But now I have to work around him while he looks at me like he knows all my secrets. And well, he kind of does.
The server, whose name I’ve now learned is Ginny, comes back to take our order. As she walks away, Boone turns his attention to me. “So, you excited for your first year on the circuit?”
“A hundred percent, yes.” This—bronc riding, the rodeo—is something I can talk about. Conversation that comes easily to me. I may have trouble making friends, but I’ve never been shy about my love for this sport. It’s the one area of my life where I shine, where I don’t hide away.
“Where’d you move from?”
“Texas,” I reply. “Midland, to be specific.”
“How long have you been rodeoing for?” This time, the question comes from across the table. Shooter.
“Since I was a teenager,” I tell him, holding his gaze, no matter how much I want to look away. “I was in the rodeo club at my high school three out of the four years, which is how I got started.”
He nods, seeming genuinely interested. “So, why move here instead of staying in Texas?”
I huff out a laugh. “It’s no secret that Copper Lake is home to some of the greatest. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
Shooter preens, glancing around the table. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”
It’s no secret to anybody who pays attention that Shooter is very full of himself—and for good reason. In every interview I’ve seen him in, in all the social media posts he makes, he’s the definition of cocky. He knows he’s the best, and that nobody comes close to beating him.
But I plan to.
Our food comes, and we all dig in, most of the simple chatter dying off. It’s so freaking good. I can see why they all come here every week.
About halfway through eating, Cope wipes his mouth, clearing his throat before asking me, “You’re staying at the Grazing Acres, right?”
I nod, not wanting to talk with my mouth full.
“Cool,” he replies enthusiastically. “Every year before we leave for the circuit, we have a bonfire at the ranch. It’s next Friday. You’ll be there too, I’m guessing?”
“Oh, uh, I haven’t heard anything about it yet, but I’m sure I will.”
“You should come,” Colt chimes in. “It’s always a good fucking time.”
