Eight Seconds to Ride (Copper Lake, #1)

by Ashley James

Eight seconds… that’s all I have to do—make it eight seconds.

Nothing is ever a secret in a small town, especially one as gossipy as Copper Lake.

I’ve never been someone who can make friends at the drop of a hat. I tend to be more introverted; small talk makes me sweat, and I never know how to act in large groups of people.

I forgot if a man doesn’t have the three B’s, you don’t want it.” Arching a brow, Whit asks, “Three B’s?” “Big, burly, and bearded.”

It’s a tiny facility filled with sweaty, grunting cowboys. A queer man’s dream.

I’m a grown man. Surely, I can learn to be around him without becoming flustered and mindless… Right?

We all know what they say about the definition of insanity. It’s me, doing the same thing, expecting things to be different.

“You, Shooter I-love-to-be-center-of-attention Graham, are peopled out?”

And now he’s sitting ten feet away from me, but I’m not even on his radar, that kiss probably long gone from his mind while he flirts with my fucking sister. What the fuck does she have that I don’t? A vagina?

You know what? They can have each other. The straight-edge cowboy and the goody-two-shoes barrel racer. Match made in fucking square heaven.

I’ve never met anybody more cocky, more full of themselves, more freaking delusional than Shooter Graham.

But right now, with his beautiful, bright blue eyes watching me, his lips brushing against mine with every exhale, and his body heat so close to me, I can’t find it in me to give a crap about should or shouldn’t. “Fuck it,” I mumble seconds before my mouth seals against his,

All it takes for me to fold is a pair of baby blues and a few dirty, taunting words.

“Well, what were you expecting?” “I don’t know, maybe that he was a dick to you. Not that he was giving his dick to you.”

I want him to fracture. To break apart into a million little pieces because of me. I want him writhing and panting and needy.

He always tastes so fucking good, every time I kiss him.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard and so good, you’ll never be able to forget me.”

Shooter kisses like he rides—rough, dominant, and with his whole body. He owns me with this kiss. And he knows it.

“Shut the fuck up, Addams, and take this dick like a good boy.”

“Fuck, I wish you could see how fucking good you look taking my cock,” I rasp. “The way this pretty pink hole stretches to take every last inch.”

Shooter has this way of watching me like I’m the only person in the room. He looks at me like I’m the only one who matters, like he has eyes for nobody else.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, deep voice like gravel. “About last night, and every other time.”

“You think you can kiss me like that, and then tell me you don’t think about me?”

And the chaps… Whoa boy, the chaps. They’re a simple brown leather with fringe, but there’s something about a man—specifically, something about Shooter—in chaps that just sends a thrill down my spine.

“I need you, Sterling.” He nods. “I know. I’m right here. Come on.”

“Fuck, dirty boy, you’re killing me here. Do you have any idea how fucking hot that is? To know my hands are the only hands to ever roam this tight fucking body of yours? To know my dick is the only one to ever drag across your tongue? To come down your throat? To be inside of you in every single fucking way?”

There’s something about Sterling that just does it for me.

Shooter is the embodiment of rodeo. Of bronc riding. It’s in his blood, and he wears it like a second skin.

I’ve never seen Shooter look at anybody like he looks at you.”

He makes me feel free, like I can do anything. I can be anyone.

Never in a million years did I think something like that would make me so happy. Monogamy. Boy, how the fucking times have changed.

“I have one request.” “Oh, gosh. Do I even want to know?” “Hey, you said you wanted to be there for me,” I remind her. “This is being there for me.” She rolls her eyes. “What?” “Keep an eye on my boyfriend, and keep those fucking buckle bunnies away from him.”

I need to be consumed by all things Sterling, and it feels like if I don’t, I’ll perish.

We proceed to kiss like we have all the time in the world. Like it’s our favorite hobby. We kiss each other like we couldn’t possibly imagine living without each other.

Don’t worry, Addams… I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll never be able to forget me.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says breathlessly.

“Who’s hole is this?” I ask, my voice sounding almost foreign to me with how husky it is. How full of lust it is. “Tell me who you belong to, baby.” “Yours,” he cries out. “You… I belong to you.”

It blows my mind how comfortable I feel with Sterling. How being here with him, kissing him, being intimate with him, feels right. Wholly and completely right.

I love the way our hands look together. The way our bodies look together. Two rough, gritty men.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day the Shooter Graham settled down, but I’m happy for you.”

I’ve spent more time crying in the last three months than I have in the last decade, and I’ve gotta admit, I’m fucking over it.

Then he proceeded to slap my ass and tell me how juicy it looked between my chaps. Such a romantic, that one.

We started this season as rivals, and we’re ending it as so much more.