Page 67 of Danger

When he’s up, Danger swings up onto the bull like he’s climbing into a familiar chair. No rush. No nerves. Just a steady, unbothered calm that doesn’t feel right for a man about to tempt death.

He settles in, adjusts his grip, nods once. Then, like he feels me watching, his gaze finds mine. It drifts to the shirt swallowing me, and one corner of his mouth lifts. Then he winks.

My stomach flips so hard I swear I feel it in my toes.

The gate snaps open. The bull explodes out from under him, all muscle and fury, and Danger goes with it like he belongs there—like gravity is optional and fear isn’t something he knows anything about. The crowd is roaring, but I barely hear it over my own pulse.

Seconds stretch. Eight feels like eighty.

I’m on my feet without realizing it, screaming his name, my hands locked together so tight they ache. The buzzer sounds and the stands erupt.

Still, he rides. Like he’s pushing his limit. Finally—finally—he rolls free, hits the dirt clean, and comes up grinning.

Then he finds me again. The shirt. That dark, claiming smile catches on me and doesn’t let go. And only once he’s out of the arena—once I know he’s safe, walking, alive—do I realize I haven’t let myself breathe the entire time.

I sink back onto the bench, lungs burning, heart still somewhere in the dirt with him. Sawyer looks down at me in disappointment.

“Okay, nope—absolutely not,” she says, already hauling me to my feet. “They both just rode well, which means we’re legally required to go claim them before the buckle bunnies do.”

“I—Sawyer?—”

“Interviews are boring, the crowd’s feral, and my fiancé is sweaty and all worked up.” She grins. “Move your legs.”

I barely have time to argue before she’s pulling me through the chaos, weaving us behind the pens like she’s done this a hundred times. Boots, dust, voices—everything blurs. Sawyer spots Trouble first and squeals, launching herself straight intohis arms. There’s a cluster of riders gathered beside the bucking chutes. They're facing the arena, backs mostly to us.

I look around for Danger, but I hear his voice first.

"...don't read into it," Danger says. "She doesn't mean anything.”

I stop. The Kennedy’s ranch hand, Copper—the same one who nearly lost a leg because of Danger—lets out a low laugh. “Funny way to talk about your girl.”

Danger exhales. Casually. “She’s a convenience,” he says. “That’s it.”

Then he adds, almost bored, “Something to keep me busy until something better comes along.”

Something inside me caves in.

A convenience.

I don’t wait to hear the rest. I rip the rodeo bracelet off my wrist before I even get ten steps from the gate. A stampede of boots and giggles surges past me. I let it swallow me, let the echo of the crowd become white noise.Don’t look back, don’t let him see you break. That’s a rule I was raised on.

I almost make it to the parking lot before Sawyer catches up. She moves fast for someone in wedges.

“Winnie!” she calls. “Where are you going?”

I keep my back to her, counting my own inhales. Two. Three. Four. If I turn now, she’ll know how upset I am.

She jogs the last few steps and plants herself in front of me, arms folded tight.

“What’s going on?” She squints at me. “Who upset you?”

I shake my head. “No one. It’s nothing.” I can’t even look her in the eye. There’s still a splinter of Danger’s voice somewhere in my mind, and I don’t trust myself to speak without vomiting it up.

Sawyer isn’t buying it. She’s got this way of staring so hard it’s like she’s peeling back your skull to see what’s inside.

“Was it Rylee?” she asks. “Because if she was there and said something, I’ll go handle her right now.” She starts to move past me, murder in her eyes.

I stop her with a hand on her arm. “It’s not Rylee.”