“Exactly. But I won’t hurt you. The boys won’t either. We are all hyper aware of our bodies and how much space we take up. Maybe we look like big ol’ lugs out there in the arena, bucking with no rhyme or reason, but there is rhyme. There is reason.”
“I know that part,” she said softly. “I’ve watched every ride you’ve ever done on the circuit.”
His eyes sparked with something deep. “You have?”
She nodded. Cleared her throat. “I mean, I had to research you. All of you. I’ve watched all the game tape of Dead and Quickdraw, too. So…you know. Not just you. Because that would be weird.” She laughed nervously and finished cleaning his hand.
When she was done and looked back up at him, he was studying her with this soft look in his blue eyes. The color there was utterly human. She could imagine him as just a man right then, a normal moment between a boy working out and a girl tending to him.
“Thank you for washing the blood from my hands. I usually do that for myself,” he said, darkness tinging his tone.
And there it was. He wasn’t normal. And her being widowed so young wasn’t normal, and nothing she felt in this moment made any sense.
“I have a flight to catch,” she said low. Why did she want to stay? She had a life. She needed a break from the chaos of the last few days. She needed to check on her coffee shop and organize the travel and food and meetings and interviews for the boys for the next event.
But…
Standing here, looking up into his clear-blue-sky eyes, she wished she could put off real life for a little longer.
“What happened last night can’t happen again, Cheyenne,” he rumbled.
“I know,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.
His finger hooked under her chin and lifted her attention back to him. “Rule number two: Never show submission.”
“To bulls?”
He shook his head slightly. “To any man. You hold their gaze, you grit your teeth, and you stay in the moment. You’re good, Cheyenne. You’re gonna make a name for yourself as a bull agent. You’re the first. You’ll be the legend, and it’s gonna look like you stormed in here and took everyone on, no cares given. It won’t always feel like that, but it’ll look like it. I’m gonna make sure of it.” He repeated, “You’re good,” before he gave her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The world don’t know it yet, but you have a bull behind you. No one will mess with you anymore. I owe you protection.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I took your protection from you, Cheyenne. Tarik ain’t here anymore to push you through a man’s world. That’s a man’s job, to back his lady up while she rises. And to lift his fist or his voice to anyone who disrespects her along the way. And there will be disrespect. Tarik ain’t here, and I’m not your man, but I’ll protect you quietly just the same. You get in a spot? You call me by my real name. Just one word. Say the word, and I’ll stop whatever is happening.”
She was so choked with emotion she could barely speak. “I thought your real name is Two Shots Down.”
“That’s the name everyone else knows. My family calls me something different.”
“What is your name?” she whispered, feeling the weight of the gift he was about to give her.
“Dalton. Say that word, and I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”
Chills rippled up her arms, and she nodded. “I won’t tell anyone your real name. Your secret is safe with me.”
His smile stretched his face and finally reached his eyes. “I know. Go catch your flight, go back to your life. I’ll see you Thursday.”
She wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to leave and not see him for four days. Wasn’t ready to say goodbye, which didn’t make a lick of sense because she barely knew him. Right? Barely knew him. But…it felt like she did. It felt like she had this connection with him because of what they’d both gone through. Tarik had shaken both of their worlds.
But it wasn’t just the tragedy that bound them. The more she got to know about him—the real him, not the monster in the press—the more deeply she wished to know more.
She’d been dormant for years, and Two Shots Down was the one who had shaken her shoulder.
He was the reason she was waking up.
Chapter Eight
Leaned back against the porch railing, Two Shots Down stared at the horses running in front of the sunset and took a long drink of his cold beer. This was the part of his life he’d always enjoyed the most—the quiet.
Oh, the crowds were fun, the attention, the fire that burned in his blood when interviewers pried too deep, the girls watching him, the men wanting to be him or kill him. The rage of the bull.
But this? When he and his bull could agree on something. When they were at peace. This was the most important part of his life.
His phone lit up beside him, and he jerked his gaze to it, feeling a stupid wave of hope that it was her—Cheyenne.
She’d done good for three days. No texting him outside the loop she’d set up for him and Dead and Quickdraw. And he’d done good to ignore the itinerary and professional talk about what needed to happen this weekend for the first leg of the Battle of the Bulls events.
The big TV stations were showing up now with the new funding, the new attention, the rumors he and Cheyenne had accidentally dredged up. His plan to bring in Noni and take the heat off Cheyenne hadn’t worked, but manipulating the media never did. The media was too good at playing games. They were the only winners. Now he looked like trash, two-timing both girls, breaking hearts when he’d broken neither.
Cheyenne was probably catching so much heat, but she hadn’t mentioned it.
Good girl.
He’d said the kiss couldn’t happen again, and she was distancing like a pro.
Good girl.
It wasn’t Cheyenne on the text. It was Dead. He’d sent a picture of a mole on his calf and asked the loop, Should I get this checked out?
Two Shots Down hated the loop. Those assholes were obnoxious. Even Quickdraw, who seemed to hate answering texts as much as Two Shots Down. The only responses he’d given so far were the middle finger emojis every day at two in the morning. It was like he was setting an alarm to do it. Damn response always woke him up in the middle of the night. Probably that’s what Quickdraw meant to do.
His phone lit up with a text again. And there it was, that little wave of hope. Again. So annoying.
You’re definitely dying. Oh, look, Quickdraw did know how to respond after all.
Two Shots Down couldn’t help his smile and took another pull of his beer.
The phone lit up, and this time his hope was rewarded.
Cheyenne’s message read, Dead, once again, this isn’t what this loop is meant for. Professional stuff only.
Can you take a look at my mole in person tomorrow? Dead asked.
No! No one on the planet wants to see your GD mole. Whoo, Cheyenne was feisty today. Sexy.
Grinning, Two Shots picked up his phone to better enjoy the shit-show that was Dead.
Why are you grumpy? I’m trying to bond with you as my agent.
You’re trying to annoy me early.
Early?
I have one more day off from you before your shenanigans tomorrow. I’m relaxing tonight. Stop sending pictures of your body parts.