WRECKER: A Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (A steamy billionaire romance story) (2 page)

“
W
hy’d
you drag me here anyway,” says Jack with a grin, “if all you wanna do is pick up girls?”

“Hey man, just because you strike out…”

I let the sentence trail off as I wink at him. I don’t know why my best buddy here doesn’t do as well with girls as I do. From what I can tell he seems like a good-looking guy. Blond, strong jaw, blue eyes. Good job as a lawyer. Isn’t that what they like? I guess not, because what they like is me.

I’ve been brushing off women the whole time we’ve been here at the track. All kinds. Sure, some of them catch my eye, especially that dark-haired chick from Canada. Maybe I should’ve gotten her name, her number, but I won’t worry about it. Women come and go.

Still, there’s something about her. she seems special somehow. Innocent. And damn good-looking.

“This is supposed to be a guy’s day,” Jack says. “You know I’m not in town long.”

“What, you want all my attention?” I say in a teasing voice. “You’re worse than my girlfriends.”

He shoots me a look and then does an exaggerated falsetto. “Oh Mr. Rodeo, Mr. Big Cowboy Star, pay attention to me,” he says, simpering.

It’s not too far off actually. I look over across the room for that cute girl. I’d prefer she was the one vying for my attention. She seems pretty engrossed in whatever her friend is saying. Maybe I’ll send them over a drink or two.

“Lay off, Jack,” I say, but I grin.

He can be ridiculous sometimes, but still he’s right. We don’t spend a lot of time together, so when we do it should count. He’s in town from Philly, he works in a law office—some kind of big lawyer. I don’t really care for that kind of life. But if he’s happy, more power to him.

The waitress at my shoulder is eyeing me with her big cornflower-blue eyes. She’s got some kind of super push-up bra on, because her nipples and her eyes are at almost the same level.

“What can I get you, honey?” she says, pushing her big breasts into my shoulder. I lean back a bit away from her.

“Well I’ll tell you what you can get me,” I say, raising one eyebrow. She looks hopeful—probably thinks I’m flirting with her. “You see that girl over there? Dark hair?” I nod toward Canada. “Whatever she’s drinking, send her another. Her friend too.”

Her bee-stung lower lip pouts out a little more than it was before. She’s disappointed. But she recovers quickly. “Why sure,” she says, moving farther away. “Right away, sir.”

I’ll have to give her a good tip. One thing they can say about Kanen is that I am not cheap. I may be easy but I’m not cheap, Jack used to say, but now I’m not sure if I’m even easy. I run my hands from my hair, reaching back to massage my neck a bit. It hurts from riding. But it’s worth it.

Hearing the crowd scream when I take those bulls out is kind of like an addiction. Experiencing time on the back of the bull, the way mere seconds can take on so much significance that they almost feel like years of your life, that’s also addictive.

“So who’s this chick that you sent the drink to?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I grin. “All I know is she’s from up north.”

“You got tired of the California girls?” Jack ribs me. He starts singing that old song, I think it’s the Beach Boys. “Girls, girls, girls…”

“What do you expect me to do, ignore all my admirers?” I joke.

But I know Jack ain’t serious. He’s never wanted what I have; he’s happy the way he is. Then again he’s never tasted it. I never wanted to ride either until I did it on a lark one day. Then it became my life. These animals, they’re huge. Powerful. And crazy. But there’s something in me that I know can control them. Because I am one of them.

And that’s what Canada will learn, if I have anything to say about it.

T
he sun is shining
, sky is blue, it’s a perfect seventy degrees, and I’m driving to my interview at the restaurant. Lacey told me just to act normal. She said my natural charm would definitely take me through this interview with no problem—easy peasy. Said her boss, Jeremy, would totally like me. I am trying to believe her, but it’s not as simple as she seems to think. I tend to get a little nervous in situations like this. But it helps that I don’t need the job. Makes it less difficult when nothing’s really at stake but my pride.

Still my stupid brain has to poke at me. What if you really did need the job? Then how would you do? How would you manage on your own? How are you supposed to make it through life without your husband? Because you’re going to have to learn how, sooner or later.

I turn up the radio to pump myself up, and to drown out those voices in my brain. Taylor Swift is playing. “Shake It Off.” And that’s exactly what I’ve gotta think. Because no matter what, I do have to make it on my own—it’s not like I have an alternative.

I honk the horn of the guy ahead of me who’s been idling at the stoplight for a while. Maybe he’s going to a job interview too, as he seems just about as out of it as I do.

Of course I’m also a little distracted by the man I met over the weekend at the track. The cowboy sent both me and Lacey a drink, and Lacey said I should go over and talk to him, but I didn’t have the guts. He just said goodbye to me afterward, tipping his hat to me as he and his friend left, and I blushed from the tips of my feet to the top of my hair.

* * *

“
S
o
, Chastity, tell me, where do you see yourself in five years?”

Jeremy’s staring at my resume. I can’t read the expression on his face. Five years? Weeelll...no idea. My mind drifts to the man from the racetrack. Where do I see myself? I see myself married to that gorgeous, sexy man. Three kids? Maybe two, maybe four! And a golden retriever. I’m not picky!

“In five years?” I say out loud. “I’m not really sure, to be honest. I just moved here from up north, and honestly I’m a little bit more focused on the moment right now. Probably not what you want to hear when you ask that question, but it’s the truth. I suppose ideally I would like to see myself happy with my job, maybe have a little house with a garden…” I’m rambling now, but I’m not sure what else to do. I look up at Jeremy. His expression is bemused.

“Hey I get that,” he says. “That all sounds great. I’m not sure why we’re supposed to ask these specific questions anyway. I guess it gives us something to say if we’re stuck.” He pauses. “So… let me see here. What would you say is your greatest fault?” There’s a lightness in his voice. Maybe I am going to get this job after all.

Driving home, I wonder what my greatest fault really is. In the interview I said I was a people pleaser. I figured it might be the most positive fault for a waitress to have. But in all honesty it’s not exactly my greatest one. And now that I’m thinking about it, I’m looking deeper inside.

Jeffrey used to tell me my greatest faults—not in that language of course—were how impulsive I could be, and how I beat myself up over things that I didn’t have any control over. But what did he know? He always seemed in control when he was alive. He was the kind of guy that had everything mapped out. If he had been asked where he saw himself in five years, he could have given a PowerPoint presentation on it, complete with soundtrack. But with what I know now, he was never really all that happy that way.

And all I’ve got is Taylor Swift. Maybe a new waitressing job. And a fantasy.

* * *

L
acey is on the phone
, and she wants to know if I want to go out tonight. And not just anywhere, she wants to know if I want to go to the rodeo.

“This your first rodeo, Chastity?” I imagine Kanen saying, in that sweet-tea voice of his, as he puts his index finger under my chin, tips my face up, and covers my mouth with his kisses.

“Yeah I’m not sure,” I say back to Lacey, “I kinda have a lot to do around the house.” Of course, it’s just a lame excuse and she jumps on it right away.

“A lot to do, is that right? A lot of watching TV? A lot of cleaning the bathroom? A lot of picking your nose?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I say. “Well, everything but the last one.”

She laughs, though she’s not far off and she knows it.

“You know what I think about ‘you got a lot to do’?” She’s going in for the kill now and I cringe, waiting for her to poke me. “I think you got a whole lot of living to do, girlfriend. And we could start now.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I capitulate. “What time do we need to be there?”

“Not sure. I’ll pick you up around six? That should give us time to get drinks beforehand,” she says.

I guess there’s no avoiding it. I want to ask: Is it a night when Kanen is going to ride? But I know she’ll make mincemeat out of me for that one. And I wouldn’t blame her one bit. And let’s be honest, that’s why she wants me to go.

When I go to my closet, I find myself choosing my sexiest blouse and the soft blue jeans that make my legs look as long as can be. I’m even gonna break out my new cowboy boots. They’re gorgeous. Hand-tooled leather, black, with eagle stitching. Toes so pointed you could put out a snake’s eye with them. At least that’s what the salesman said.

I plug in the curling wand, and start to do my makeup. I find myself putting on a little extra mascara and blush. I’m not sure why. The last thing I want to do is draw the eye of that dangerous man. But somehow, the makeup seems kind of like armor. Like it could protect me. I’m not sure from what. When I almost poke myself in the eye with the mascara, I figure I should probably stop.
Sigh
. I’ve always been a bit clumsy.

When all is said and done, though, I have to say I look pretty damn good. I even turn around and check out my butt in the mirror. Not bad.

I find myself making finger guns in the mirror, while saying, “You still got it, girl!” and I’m immediately ashamed. I’m shaking my damn head. Does anyone else embarrass themselves when they’re alone?

E
very cell
in my body is electric. The bull I’m riding tonight is the biggest, meanest most badass motherfucker in the whole of Texas, and I’m gonna take him. I’ve been waiting for this moment all day, and as I’m poised above him, I’m full of energy, of unbelievable trilling excitement, of bristling power. I imagine so is the great beast below me, as he huffs and pushes against the walls of the enclosure he’s in, for show. Until I’m dropped on him.

The announcer’s voice turns into a meaningless droning singsong as he revs up the crowd. He’s only on the periphery of my consciousness, because all I’m focused on is the bull. The smell of him, the sight of him. Every molecule of his energy. It all fills me. And I’m ready. I’m so ready.

It’s really just me and the bull. We are the same, me and him. It’s us against the world of people. Of assholes. Of fakery and BS. But when it’s the bull and me we’re cut from the same cloth. We’re made of the same thing. Starlight, anger, and confidence. The sound that indicates the mechanism is going to drop me onto his heaving, black back warns both of us, and his ears twitch and turn. Then it happens.

“Showtime,” I whisper, and then I’m on him, his huge body bucking and writhing as he bursts out of the gate. In split seconds, I anticipate each movement, each motion he makes, compensating for every minuscule twist and turn as it happens. My boots dig into his side, both keeping me on and spurring him to greater and greater leaps and bounds to throw me off. We’re locked in this game, we two, and each second is filled with danger, the possibility of being thrown into the dust. Of breaking a leg. Or worse.

I stick to him like the bad decisions you make when you’re drunk, like the ex-girlfriend that wants you back.

I have no idea what the actual time for normal people would be, but for me it might as well be hours. I try to perceive as slowly as I can, to stay alive and aware every millisecond.

When it finally happens and I’m thrown, as the ground rushes up to meet my head, and the roar of the crowd fills my ears. Hooves rush by my face. A rodeo clown sets out to distract the 2200-pound creature from trampling me to death, and I try desperately to fill my lungs with air. My heartbeat is huge in my ears and I’m full of adrenaline, but it’ll take a moment before I can move or breathe.

When I turn my head, that’s when I see her. It’s Canada, her mouth a round “O,” her eyes wide as saucers. The shock of her presence, here in my audience, watching me with such intensity pushes the air into my body and I can breathe again. That means I can move. I roll up and strut to the door of the arena, narrowly missing the horns of the bull I just dominated. The crowd is going wild, hooting and hollering.

Jack’s waiting for me there. He hands me a towel. I swipe it over my sweat-stained face, and it comes away with the dust of the arena floor on it.

“Holy shit bro, I thought you were going to die out there,” he says, shaking his head. “I was worried about you, bro.”

“Not today,” I smile. “Not today.”

“I guess not. Shit, that was amazing. Some folks are saying that it was record-breaking what you did.” He’s still shaking his head, looking at the floor with his eyebrows raised. “You sure that’s a good idea though? Seems super risky.”

“That’s what I love about it, Jack,” I assure him. “Why would you let yourself possibly get killed by a giant animal like that if you didn’t love it?”

“Well, you make a good point,” he admits. I know I do. “I guess you could do it for money.”

“I have no need for money.” It’s something I don’t talk about, but I’ve been set for money for quite some time now. I had an windfall that I don’t often tell people about. I’m a simple man with simple pleasures, so I give the profits to a financial planner, and he sends me reports every now and then. Mostly I throw them in the trash, open maybe one a year. And that’s enough for me. I know a lot of people have gotten rich offa me, in backdoor bets, betting for me or against, don’t mind me none. I reckon that’s where most of the excitement in the stands came from today.

But not for my little Canada. No, she was there for me, just me, I’m sure of it. She wanted to see me tonight and when I fell, she saw my body, not my effect on her bank account, unlike most of the stands. The way her hands flew up to her pretty face, in happy shock as I jumped up and shook myself off. The relief in her eyes as I threw her a little wink. She’s something, that little Canada.

I think I’d like to take her home.