“Yes, and no.” Taking one last drag, he puts it out, sticking the butt in the pack and shoving it in his pocket. “With the exception of NFR, we’re in off-season from about mid-September until about early May. However, most of us are still training and practicing weekly, if not daily, during that time. It’s rare for us to take any real time off from that type of schedule. It’s a year-round commitment if you want to be pro, just like any other sport.”
“How often are you training?”
“I go to the gym every day, and I’m practicing at least two or three times during the week on top of the gym training.”
“And how do you practice?”
“On broncs,” he replies plainly, and my cheeks heat because that feels a little obvious. “But also in other ways, like mechanical horses. This helps me practice my form and keep my core muscles strong outside of the gym.”
His passion and his dedication are such a turn-on.
Over the last several weeks, I’ve discovered how much I enjoy listening to Cope talk about the rodeo and about bronc riding—two things I never thought I’d find interest in. And truthfully, if it weren’t Cope talking about it, or Cope riding, I probably wouldn’t give a shit. But something about watching and listening to him explain something he’s so visibly passionate about makes me warm all over. It’s clear to anybody with eyes and ears that Cope loves what he does. It’s not just about title or money or whatever else they do this for. He’s talented and he genuinely enjoys it.
“I’d love to see you ride one day,” I announce softly, and when he turns his head, gaze meeting mine, his wide smile makes my heart skip a beat.Was that a stupid thing to say?
“We can make that happen,” he replies, nudging my arm with his. The touch is electric, making my breath hitch. We hold eye contact, and the world disappears beyond us. I wet my lips with my tongue, and my blood heats as his eyes dip, tracking the movement before mimicking it with his own.
Fuck. Kiss me. Please. Fucking. Kiss. Me.
I could honestly laugh at how ridiculous I sound inside my head right now. Why the hell would he kiss me when he still thinks I have a boyfriend? When I turned him down the first time?
But you don’t have a boyfriend anymore, dipshit. So, tell him that.
Then it would seem like I was only telling him because I want him to kiss me.
Well, youdowant him to kiss you.
Oh my God. I’m losing my mind. How am I arguing with myself?
Internal me is right, though. I need to tell him. Hell, Iwantto tell him. So, why does it feel like such a big deal?
Because I’m me, and I always make things way larger than they need to be.
For fuck’s sake, Xander.
Dragging in a deep breath, I clasp my hands together in front of me, staring out into the night, my pulse a jackhammer, as I finally say it. “Henry and I broke up.”
Cope sucks in a breath, and I can see his body tense up beside me, but I don’t dare look at him. “When?”
“When he came to visit for my birthday.”
The questions and confusion radiate off of Cope, and I don’t even have to look at him to know it’s there. I canfeelit. “But I saw you on your birthday, and he wasn’t here.”
“Yeah, uh…”Spit it out already.“I broke up with him the night my aunt went back to the hospital. He got on the next plane back home.”
“Why? Ah, I mean, you don’t have to answer that,” he blurts out with a quick shake of his head. “I don’t know why I asked that. It’s none of my business. Are you okay?”
When I finally look over at Cope, his brown eyes are soft, watching me with curiosity and something that vaguely resembles care. It turns my insides into mush.
“It needed to happen. We wanted different things, and the distance between us made that painfully clear. I’m okay.”
And Iamokay.
Cope clears his throat and runs a gentle hand down the side of Aggie, where she’s still standing in front of us, chewing on some of the tall strands of grass near the edge of the porch. “What are the things you wanted that he didn’t?” he asks quietly.
This was the one question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. The answer can feel heavy. But I’m also not going to lie to him.
“A future,” I reply, as if it’s so simple. “I want to know that I have a future with my partner. That I’m not just wasting my time and dating only to date. I want to know I’m important to them—and not just be told that, but tofeelit.”
