Page 44 of Buckin' Around

My hamstrings pull, the stretch sending heat all the way down my leg. I hold it for a few breaths before rising and swapping legs.

“Well, hello, gorgeous. Getting all limbered up for after, hey?” A feline voice washes over me, and I look up and out from under the brim of my hat to find not one, but three buckle bunnies.

“Someone’s not where they’re supposed to be,” I reply with a wink, but I’m half serious. Behind the chutes is off-limits for anyone except riders and arena staff. Levi will have a fit if he spots the?—

“Lockwood! No groupies behind the chutes!” Levi yells.

Ah . . . shit.

I stand tall and nod to the gates that lead back to the spectator side of the arena. “You heard him, ladies.”

The brunette closest to me only moves in closer. When her breath hits my face, she smiles, tipping her gaze up. “Well, then I guess we will have our meet-cute at the bar later, cowboy.” She taps the brim of my hat.

Usually, by now I have moved in. Lined up that exact thing. I work fast, and buckle bunnies have always been one of the perks of this rough-and-risky circus.

Tonight, her forwardness only serves to annoy me. I can’t place it, and I don’t have time to as Levi peels away from the chute he’s working and stalks for us.

“Out, now. You heard him.” I guide her by the shoulders until she’s mere feet from the exit gate.

“Oh my god. Rude!” She glares over her shoulder as she pushes through the gate, her two friends following. “This is the worst boy zoo we’ve ever been to, Kirsty.”

One of two blondes flips me off. I stand, arms crossed like some kind of cowboy bouncer, as they clear the gate and disappear into the crowd.

What the hell is a boy zoo?

“Lockwood, you’re up. Chute two. Get your mind out of the gutter and into the game, son. We are not sending you home in pieces because the blood sank to your cock.” Levi’s thumb is pointing over his shoulder.

A solid decade older than most of us, he’s a retired bull rider and the best arena manager on the circuit. Also the main arena manager on the circuit, but who’s keeping tabs?

“I’m good. Head’s in the game, bossman, I swear.”

I give him a halfhearted salute with two fingers and cross the dirt to chute two.

My draw, Carnivore, is waiting not so patiently for me. Kicking at the chute, he weaves from side to side, dropping his head with a snort.Oh goodie, someone else who hates me tonight.

I drop into a squat stretch, holding the rails, and do my own version of weaving side to side. I need to be limbered up. Not for the buckle bunnies—at least, not this time. I need to make a spot on a team, backup plans and all.

“Alrighty, folks. This bull has been known to send his riders headfirst into the dirt and come ‘round for a second go at ‘em. Give it up for CARN-I-VOOORE!”

The crowd goes stupid.

My heart takes it as a sign to fling against my ribs like it’s scared out of its wits. I tug at my Tiffany glove, adjusting it tighter before scaling the rails. Levi slaps my back as I swing my leg over the rails and stand over Carnivore, boots planted on the rails.

“Spence, hat!” Brades calls from the ground. I toss the hat to him, and my helmet appears in one of the chute cowboy’s hands.

“Thanks, bud.”

This has been my routine since I started. The hat is my comfort piece. It sounds stupid, but standing over a bull in this getup, hat and all, I feel above the bull. Like I have the confidence I’m not going to come out of this worse off than the bull.

I secure the helmet with the chinstrap and drop down onto the bull’s back. Slowly.

He moves but doesn’t get chaotic, so I take to strapping down. My rope is slid around his girth by a chute cowboy, and I take over positioning the handhold where I want it.

When I’ve got it in the exact spot I need, I say, “Pull.”

The rope tightens.

Carnivore kicks up, head butting the front of the chute.