“You’re gonna be amazing tomorrow,” she murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”
My chest tightened. I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulled her closer, and buried my face in her damp hair.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too,” she mumbled.
I kissed the top of her head. “Go on and sleep, Starlin’. I got this.”
A few minutes later, her breathing slowed into a steady rhythm against my ribs.
I stayed wide awake.
My grip locked tight around the crumpled silk. She thought the wild rag was nothing but dirty talk I’d fed her in front of the mirror to get her in bed. She had no clue what I was fixing to do with it when I climbed into the chute tomorrow night.
Out there, the crowd would think I was being a show-off. But when I pulled the silk tight around my eyes, it would still smell like her. Like sex and sweet perfume and the way she moaned my name when I had her wrists tied to the headboard.
With a high like that, I could ride the wildest bronc in the pens.
She'd be sitting in those stands, realizing I'd dragged our dirty secret into the arena with me. I rubbed my thumb over the smooth fabric, listening to the quiet rise and fall of her chest in the dark. I only hoped she wouldn’t kill me when she found out I’d lied.
thirty-four
. . .
SIENNA
A sharp elbow jabbed my ribs.
“Sorry,” Wren muttered, not sounding sorry at all. Her silver rings dug into my thigh as she practically vibrated beside me. “I can’t sit still. My heart’s about to explode.”
“He’s next!” Colt shouted.
A plastic cup bumped my shoulder, sending a splash of cold Coors Light across my jeans.
“Next out of Chute 6, we’ve got Brock Wilder drawing Cursed Crow. Wyoming cowboy, Wyoming horse—let’s see what they’ve got!”
The roar of thousands of people crashed over us like thunder, vibrating through the concrete under my boots.
I shot to my feet and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Let’s go, Brock!”
“Hold on a second,” the announcer’s voice boomed back over the PA system, cutting through the heavy bass of the stadium music. “What is he doing down there?”
I whipped my head toward the Jumbotron. There he was, seated deep in the yellow chute, the bright lights glaring off his dark hair. He was wrapping a thick strip of fabric over his eyes,knotting it behind his head like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Ladies and gentlemen! We’ve seen some crazy things in this arena, but folks, I gotta tell ya—this next cowboy is fixin’ to ride his bronc completely blindfolded!”
The crowd roared. All the air left my lungs.
“Is he out of his goddamn mind?” Colt said.
On the giant screen, the lights caught the fabric: dark, midnight-blue silk. The one he used to tie me up last night.
Wren shot to her feet too. “I can’t believe my eyes. Sienna, did you know he was gonna do this?”
I couldn’t answer. My throat had closed completely. I just shook my head, unable to look away.
Brock’s face filled the screen—the sharp line of his jaw, clean-shaven, that calm set of his mouth. His lips moved in a silent prayer as he settled onto the bronc's back.