I’m going to kick his ass.
Shooter, oblivious to my humility, points over toward the back, silently indicating he wants me to meet him over there. I nod, heading into the back before the next rider has a chance to come out. There’re still a few guys left who have to ride before the winner can be announced, and I’m positive I’m going to hurl before that time comes. I’d rather have been the last one to go so I could find out right away, but of course, things don’t work out that nicely.
My stomach is clear in my throat by the time I reach Shooter, and he wastes no time hauling me into him. I probably stink, and I know I’m all sweaty, but he clearly doesn’t care. His arms squeeze me so tight, I’m surprised I can still breathe, and his soft, hot lips land on my neck, peppering the sensitive flesh with kisses.
“So proud of you.”Kiss.“You kicked ass out there.”Kiss, kiss.“God, that was so hot watching you.” He seals his lips to mine, tongue surging into my mouth, showing me just how hot he found it. “I’m so hard for you right now.”
A groan rumbles from my throat. “People can hear you,” I breathe against his mouth.
He snorts. “You say that like I give a fuck.”
The last few months with Shooter have been incredible and interesting… to say the least. He’s still going to therapy, but he’s down to once a week now, and his relationship with his dad isn’t anywhere near perfect, but it’s eons better than it was before. I was worried how it would be leading up to finals, since it is his first year not competing since going pro. I worried he may pull away, or hold some resentment toward me, but it’s the complete opposite. Shooter’s been more supportive and encouraging than I ever could’ve asked for. He’s gotten rid of any doubt or imposter syndrome that’s attempted to wriggle its way into my mind.
He hasn’t made up his mind out loud yet, but I’m almost positive he’s coming back next season. With time, he’s found his love of the sport again, and even though he seems hesitant to admit it, I can see it. Whichever way he goes, whether he comes back or he doesn’t, I’m still so freaking proud of him. He’s come so far, and he’s exponentially happier since the start of the season. If anybody deserves to be free and happy, it’s Shooter.
About ten minutes later, the crowd goes wild, letting me know the final contestant just finished. Suddenly, my throat feels tight and my chest aches. It’s time. The announcer’s loud, cheerful voice booms over the loudspeaker, and my mouth goes dry as I listen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for this year’s world champion winner for bareback bronc riding, his first year on the circuit, Sterling Addams!”
Time seems to stop as my name reaches my ears. As it sets in… I’m the winner. I. Did. It. There’s no way. My feet leave the ground as Shooter hoists me up, jumping up and down as people swarm us. With my hands planted on his shoulders, I peer down at him, our eyes locking.
“I did it,” I say with sheer disbelief.
“You fucking did it, baby.” Shooter’s smile is so wide, so bright. It warms my insides and makes me melt. He sets me down, hands cupping the back of my head as his breath fans my lips from our proximity. “I’m so proud of you, Sterling.”
Pressure builds, tears stinging the back of my eyes as Shooter lowers his mouth onto mine. I can’t even help the moisture leaking down my face as everyone I love manages to find their way to us. Our friends, my parents, our agent. Everybody is here, and it couldn’t be more perfect.
“I love you,” I whisper low enough only for Shooter to hear, the truth behind those three words staggering. We started this season off rocky at best. I never could’ve imagined a year fromwhen Shooter and I first met thatthiswould be where we ended up.
He grins, eyes squinting as he speaks over my lips. “I love you.”
42
Shooter Graham
Juno’s is packed by the time we arrive. Rowdy fans who either just came from the arena or who watched it on TV are fawning over all of us as we weave through the small space toward the bar. The energy in here, and between our group, is unmatched. I’m riding a high so strong, you’d think it was me who won that world champ title. If you would’ve asked me this time last year if there was any possibility I’d be happy—truly ecstatic—for someone winning the title I was gunning after, I would’ve told them they were fucking out of their mind for asking such a ridiculous question.
Yet, here I am. Grinning ear to ear, excitement and pride coursing through my blood as I watch Sterling meander off with Cope to set up the pool table. Colt and I order a couple of rounds of shots for everyone before joining them in the corner of the room. The music is up loud enough that you gotta shout a little to be heard, which is exactly how I like it in a place like this.
Across the pool table, Sterling’s gaze locks with mine, and I swear, my knees get weak. It’s been exactly a year since I methim, and while nothing about the last twelve months has gone according to the plan I needed to follow, I wouldn’t have it any other fucking way. Sterling settles something inside of me. He balances me out. He tests me, and pushes me, and fights for me in ways I never knew I needed. He believes in me, like I believe in him. He’s a royal pain in my fucking ass sometimes, but honestly, I love it.
The hours pass, and the establishment gets more and more crowded as the night gets later. After a couple of rounds of pool, we’ve all moved on to the dart boards, but when Sterling steps away to order us all some more drinks, an idea sparks in my mind, and I can’t help the grin that slides into place as I follow after him.
As I approach him, I watch with a building arousal as he lifts the baseball cap that he replaced his cowboy hat for back at the arena off his head, running a hand through the sweaty, messy locks before putting that hat back in place. He rests his elbows on the top of the bar, one leg bent as he waits for the bartender to notice him. I keep my distance for a moment because it doesn’t take long for her to spot him and come take his order. She’s making heart eyes at him, either because she knows he kicked ass tonight or because he’s fucking hot. Or hell, probably both.
My chest swells and my stomach flutters, knowing that what she’s looking at is all mine. That gorgeous man with the dark brown curly hair, eyes like honey, dimples sweet enough to make you fucking melt, and the timid expression that I know only masks a confident man dripping with sex appeal isall mine.
And fuck, I couldn’t be prouder. Or luckier.
He walked away with the title and the belt buckle, yet here I am, standing about three feet behind him, feeling like I’m on top of the world.
Biting down on the growing smile, I close the distance, coming up from behind him, and sidling up to his left. “You weregreat tonight,” I murmur, with my lips right up against his ear. His scent envelops me. Musk, a little sweat, and that underlying sweetness that’s all Sterling. It makes my mouth water.
When he turns his head to the left, his molten gaze connects with mine, a sultry smirk tugging on his full, pink lips.
“I know,” he replies with a smirk.
Déjà vu hits me like a wave, the reminder re-directing all the blood in my body south.
