‘Alright, Blue, you got me.’ The nickname throws me a little—he called me that the other week too and I don’t know why—but his grin stretches further, a flutter picking up in my stomach again. I’m not used to being the centre of anyone’s attention, let alone Sawyer Nash’s.
He perks a brow tauntingly. ‘Who says I care, anyway? I’m dropping all sport as soon as I graduate. Got a job with a travelling rodeo lined up and gonna be a champion bull rider.’ Sawyer lifts his chin, chestnut eyes glistening with dreams—the kind people like us need to keep us going. I just haven’t figured out mine yet beyond getting through senior year.
‘Aren’t all your friends on the team, though? And do you really want to risk your chance at being prom king next year?Sawyer Nash, kicked off the football teamdoesn’t quite have the same ring to it asSawyer Nash, champion quarterback.’
‘Wow.’ Sawyer laughs, all hearty and rumbling, his shoulders bouncing, just as surprised as I am at what came out of my mouth.
The joy that hits me at the sound and sight of him catches me completely off guard. A faint wave of ease sweeps through me at his smile, my limbs loosening in his more relaxed energy. Enough to make me drop my hands from where I’d had them tightly gripping my backpack straps, as if anticipating the need to run away.
I bite down on my smile, mirth climbing into my chest as my giggle still manages to escape. Sawyer’s eyes flash as they take me in, his chest lifting a little quicker with each breath.
‘Having my ego torn apart by quiet little Honey Goldman wasnoton my bingo card for senior year.’
The wordlittlehits me unexpectedly. I’m average height and curvier than most girls. But, maybe to someone as tall and broad as Sawyer,littleseems a suitable word. I’m pretty certain he shot up to six feet during freshman year.
‘I’m sorry.’ Heat pricks my cheeks, but we’re still grinning at each other, and part of me never wants it to stop. I can’t remember the last time I’ve smiled to the point of my face aching. Everything in my life is normally soserious.
‘It’s fine.’ Sawyer relaxes further against the wall. ‘How would it work, anyway?’
‘Um …’ I tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. ‘We could do an hour after school each week—I normally stay in the library for a bit anyway when I don’t have choir. We can fit it in between football too. Maybe we start with math?’
‘Okay.’ His head bobs side to side, weighing up the proposal. ‘I am terrible at math. But as far as I see it, if I can count eight seconds for bull riding, that’s all I need.’
My eyes roll of their own accord, making me tense straight after, anticipating the usual bad reaction if I ever show a slither of attitude. I don’t know how that slipped through. Yet Sawyer keeps beaming at me, eyes almost brightening more at my clearly unimpressed response, strangely.
‘You know I would’ve given you the concealer for free, right?’ he says as he pushes off the wall, readying to go. ‘Not a problem for me, though—means I get to spend an hour after school with a pretty girl.’
I ignore the way my heart does a little flip at the wink he punctuates his sentence with—because I shouldnotbe letting myself get distracted by aboy. Not one that screams trouble like Sawyer.
Instead, I push out, ‘Please don’t let your friends think something is going on between us. I really don’t need that kind of … attention.’
Sawyer angles his head at me, the fluorescent hallway lights shining against his sharp jawline and golden hair. ‘Don’t worry, Blue. I’ll tell ’em Coach asked you to help me out. No funny business, I promise.’
I can’t help asking, ‘Why do you call me that?’
‘What?’
‘Blue?’
His smile drops into something gentler, a glance to the floor following before he meets my gaze again. ‘It’s those baby blues of yours. Can’t get them out of my head.’ He runs a hand through his hair, then straightens up his shoulders. ‘Anyway, Wednesdays work best for me. You bring the homework, and I’ll bring the makeup.’
5
Sawyer
Present Day, one month later
There’s a beautiful woman bouncing on my cock and for some reason I’m about two seconds away from asking her to stop. I must be out of my mind, except, I’m not—the problem is that I’m so damn far inside my head, I can’t enjoy it. Usually, I’d be slapping this woman’s ass and calling her agood girlfor riding me so well, but each enthusiastic roll of her hips jolts my broken leg, and it’s taking all my strength to try and ignore the pain shooting up my shin.
That’s not the worst part, though. I’ve had plenty of sex with bull-riding injuries, albeit not as severe—the problem now is that every time I close my eyes to focus on enjoying myself, my mind drifts off to how Honey stormed out of the hospital room because I decided to be a dick, which, shockingly, is prettyun-arousing.
I haven’t been able to get that day out of my head for the past four weeks—a symptom of being caged up in myempty childhood home due to myno weight on your legfor six weeksrule from the doctor. I’ve never had so much time with just me and my thoughts as I try to get to grips with using my crutches for longer periods of time, as well as gruelling my way through intense physiotherapy sessions.
So, my solution to righting such has been going out to Duke’s bar every night this past week, hoping that a couple of beers and drowning myself between some pretty woman’s thighs might take my mind off everything. Including how much I miss bull riding.
But I must have been a shitty person in a past life—or maybe it’s karma from this life—because apparently the world doesn’t just want to take bull riding away from me, but also my other favourite activity—fucking. It’s been like this every time I’ve brought a woman back to the ranch.
I thought calling up Briar—a woman I went to high school with who isn’t interested in anything more than just sex and is one of my only repeat hook-ups in Willow Ridge—might break the cycle. We know each other well enough that I wouldn’t feel embarrassed about not being able to perform the same way, and she knows what I like in the bedroom.