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How charming. Now lose the shirt and get on your bed.” I blink slowly as I put together the real meaning behind what she’s saying. “That’s very forward, Summer.” “Don’t test my patience this morning, Eaton. I need at least three cups of coffee before I can deal with this adorable version of you.”
“How can I not be? You just called me adorable.” She clambers up behind me. “Save it for the buckle bunnies, Rhett.”
I try not to read into how she woke up, got coffees, and walked across the hallway to take care of me. Especially since she doesn’t need to do this.
I’m suddenly sitting up rigid, less focused on her hands than I am on the fact that after sleeping in a freezing room all night, she’s here taking care of me.
They’re going to send maintenance over today to take a look.” “Fucking right, they are.” Suddenly I’m incensed that she spent an entire night freezing. That I’ve made her feel like she couldn’t knock on my door and ask for help. “I’m going to talk to them.”
“Okay, macho man.” She laughs breathily. “Shut up and let me rub your back. It’s warming my hands.” And I let her, because when she puts it like that, it sounds an awful lot like she’s enjoying touching me.
Summer made me practice the right facial expression to make while feeding me little pills like some sort of Pez painkiller dispenser. I told her I’m not really sorry, and she told me that sometimes we do or say things we don’t mean to make other people comfortable. It’s a sentiment I’ve been turning over in my head all day. I’m not sure she’s right.
“You taking up riding, cowgirl?” I’d teased. “I already know how.” She smiled, a faraway look on her face. “It’s been a while though. I was pretty into it but quit when I got sick.”
Now, I’m back in the locker room with the other guys, trying to get my head in the game. But it keeps wandering back to Summer.
I’m pretty sure Summer could handle this fuckboy without my help, but I don’t like the thought of it. Not at all.
“Just ignore him.” Theo elbows me and mumbles, “You know he’s trying to throw you off.” “You’re smart for a baby, Theo.” He smiles and elbows me a little harder. His dad, a world-famous bull rider from Brazil, was my mentor, until a bull took him from us. So, I’ve taken Theo under my wing, and I make it my business to see him succeed. To give him all the support his old man gave to me once upon a time.
I drew another good bull for tonight. A real jumper. A vicious spinner. He’ll toss me like a lawn dart or give me the ride of my life. Later Gator is just that kind of bull. I’ve ridden him before, and he hated it. But I loved my score. So, here’s hoping he hates the feel of my spurs against his ribs again tonight because after that exchange, I sure as shit don’t want Emmett Bush leaping me in the standings.
This always happens to me before I step into the ring. The world melts away, and I hear nothing else. I see nothing else. My focus is singular, and I love this feeling.
Do I know a bull can kill me? Yeah. But I don’t think about that. Half the battle in this sport is mental toughness. If I think that way, who knows what will happen. I’ve always told myself as soon as I look down at a bull and feel fear rather than anticipation, that’s when I’ll know my career is done.
My shoulder is sore, really fucking sore, but not like it was before Summer got her hands on it. She didn’t even try to stop me from getting onto a bull tonight, something I appreciate more than she even realizes.
A muscle in my chest twists when my eyes linger on her, leaned forward in her seat, elbows propped on her knees, one hand on each cheek. She looks nervous. And not because she thinks I’ll get hurt. She looks like you do when your favorite hockey team is in a shootout for the win. She looks invested.
I keep my chin dipped to my chest, because I know this fucker is going to veer left at some point. And I know it’s going to hurt.
Safely on the sidelines, the first place my eyes go is to where Summer was sitting. For the second night in a row, she’s on her feet, whistling like a grizzled, old sports fan. It makes me laugh. When she sees me laughing, she gives me a timid thumbs up, followed by a shy smile. And fuck, it feels good. Because that—right there—is not part of her job description.
Dad: How’d the interviews go? Summer: Good. Dad: That’s all I get? Did he behave himself? Summer: He gave excellent interviews. The picture of professionalism. Unlike the way you talk about him, Kip. He’s not a dog, you know. Dad: Are you scolding your boss? Summer: No. I’m scolding my dad. Unless you still haven’t figured out your new employee’s name. Then I might scold my boss. Dad: Poor, poor Geronimo.
This is not a normal level of excitement for a person who is supposed to be doing a job. Watching Rhett ride a bull is a thrill I’ve never experienced. It’s like the ultimate show of masculinity. Crazy enough to climb up on an animal that wants to kill you. Strong enough to stay on. And accomplished enough to look good doing it.
“Hey, Doll.” Some Ken-Barbie looking cowboy is leaned up against the wall when I round the corner. He reaches for my arm in a way that I don’t appreciate, but I slink past—avoiding his touch—and brush him off with a forced smile and, “The name is Summer.”
“I don’t even know what your score was,” I blurt out stupidly. “But you were amazing.” His whiskey eyes go from pinched in the other guy’s direction to warm and bright. At me.
“You should get them to put that in an ad about him.” Theo Silva comes up from beside us, grinning. Handsome, but so damn baby-faced next to Rhett. He holds his hands up and slides them out straight, like he’s imagining a newspaper headline. “Old as balls but can still ride the fuck out of a bull.”
“I saw you on TV tonight.” My brows knit together. “For what?” “At a rodeo. Giving thumbs up to some bull rider.” Ah. There it is. Anytime he sees me potentially moving on, he swoops in. I used to think it meant I had a chance to get him back. Now, I’m old enough to know it’s his power play, it’s how he keeps me in line. Under his thumb.
“You’re not sleeping in here.” His hands land on his hips when he turns and stares at me square in the eye. “Oh, yes. I’ll just take my pillow and blanket out into the hallway and sleep there.” I smile at Rhett, but he doesn’t smile back. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll sleep in my room.”
I’m more worried I might accidentally hold a pillow over your smug, pretty face until you stop breathing.
He turns, and in a few strides he flips the top half of my suitcase closed, and I stand frowning at him as he zips my bag shut. “What do you think you’re doing?” “All I heard was that you think I have a pretty face,” he says as he marches past me, rolling my suitcase behind himself. “Of course, you missed the part about me wanting to kill you.”
Long months spent in a hospital gown have made me appreciate all things that make me feel pretty. Sexy. Even the angry red scar down the center of my chest doesn’t take away from that for me anymore. I’ve outgrown that insecurity.
Letting my eyes trail over Rhett Eaton is like spending time at an amusement park. Each part is better than the last.
“I think . . .” My eyes roam over him again as his leather scent blends with the tang of the wings. “I think you look like you’re running yourself into the ground. If you’re going to win, you need to be better to yourself.” “I like the way you put that. You might be the only person I know who isn’t on my ass to retire.”
I opt to break the tension by reaching for a fry and shoving it in my mouth. Rhett smiles and does the same. We watch the show, gasping when people fall and cheering when they seem like they’re on a roll. I think the food tastes better just because we’re sitting at the foot of a shitty hotel bed, legs crossed, takeout containers spread out beside us.
“No chance.” Rhett licks his lips as he stares at the screen, and I can’t look away. “You need your energy to put up with me. Have it.” I swear that one little drumstick is staring back at me. Daring me to make this mean more than it does. But giving me the last piece is just so . . . sweet. I almost can’t reconcile it. I almost want to ask myself what it means.
He snorts. “You’re welcome. But you’ve got sauce on your face. A big old smudge of it.” Immediately, I shoot a hand over my mouth. “Where?” “Kinda hard to see with you covering half your face.” “But the minute I move my hand, you’re going to laugh at me.” I shift back up onto my knees, a somehow less vulnerable position. His smile widens as he leans closer. “Oh, absolutely.”
I swear if I closed the distance between us, he’d make me glad I did. But his career is hanging by a thread, and I promised to help. To be a professional who can handle working with athletes. And knowing what I know of Rhett Eaton, my heart would be in shambles right along with his reputation if we were to close the distance between us.
“Eaton, stop being such a pussy and get in here. I thought you were good at hopping in and out of women’s beds.” I lift the blanket and scoot over to my side to make extra room for him. He chuckles as he moves under the covers and drops his head onto the pillow he brought with him. “Most women aren’t as terrifying as you.”
“Yeah, lots of health issues growing up. Turned out to be an undiagnosed congenital heart defect. Fixable with surgery, except surgery went wrong, and there were complications. Big scary ones. Plus, a nice lingering infection. Kind of killed my teenaged years. Just really had to go all out on making myself an extra burden and all that.”
I’m so fucked. I’m super fucked. I’m so super-mega fucked. Summer was also right. I’m a massive prick. Because I’ve been awake for the better part of an hour, letting her cuddle me. Staring at her, trying to memorize every little freckle. Watching her sleep like a lovesick Ted Bundy or something.
“You’ll be pleased to hear that while I was using the restroom on the flight back, Summer ordered me a glass of milk.” Summer snorts and takes another bite of the scone in her hand. From the opposite side of the breakfast table, Beau cackles over the rim of his coffee mug. “Summer, will you marry me?”
Over the past week, I’ve often wished she’d be a little less professional. A little more reckless.
Though I have to confess, this routine Summer has me on isn’t terrible. I feel better every day. My biggest complaint is that I’m getting professional massages rather than ones from her.
“Here I am, a man in his thirties and no matter what I do, people treat me like I’m a child. Like I’m irresponsible. And worse, they treat me like I’m stupid. And my job is to grin and ignore it because why? Money? That’s how people want to see me? It’s exhausting. All I wanted to do was ride bulls and chase that high that made me feel something.
And now I’m here bending over backwards to appease the masses because I’ve become some sort of household sex symbol or mascot for entire industries? I never asked for that kind of responsibility.”
When I breathe out, she breathes in, the surrounding air a silent cocoon in a busy hospital. She says it so quietly, I almost miss it. “I don’t see you that way.”
“Haven’t seen you at family dinner lately.” The other woman holds similar features to Summer, and yet, she couldn’t be more different. Porcelain skin and pale blonde hair pulled back so tight her entire face looks equally taut. Cunning, icy eyes, just like her expression.
I almost chuckle over the names. Winter all frigid and biting. Summer all warm and soft.
I just KNOW there’s something more to Winter, I just don’t know what, yet.
“Doctor Winter Valentine. I’m Summer’s half-sister.” Summer winces at that designation, but it’s what her sister says next that has her all flustered. “And of course, I know who you are. Summer had your Wranglers ad plastered on her bedroom wall for years.”
her neck and onto her chest. Am I going to harass Summer about this later? Absolutely. I love to spar with her. It might as well be foreplay for how well she holds her own.
“Can we please pretend that never happened?” Her palms muffle her voice. I grin and shake my head, crossing my arms, irrationally pleased with the whole thing. “Not a fuckin’ chance, Princess.”
But when I do, my eyes land on the McLaren parked ahead of us, in a towaway zone with its hazards on. It’s the license plate that makes me stop in my tracks. DRHEART As a teenager, I thought it was witty. Now I think it’s lame beyond compare.
“You okay?” Rhett’s hand lands on my lower back as he looks down at me, concern etched across his features. “I’m just joking around. You should probably fire me for sexual harassment.” “I . . .” I shake my head. “No. Just my ex.” I nod my head toward the vehicle parked about ten car lengths ahead of us.
