Page 2 of Roping My Rival

“No, sir. I know I can’t do that.”

“Warren,” Dad says softly. “I’m Dad. Not sir, okay? We’ve been over this. You’re my son, and I’m proud of what you’ve done so far. You’re a champion roper, even if that buckle isn’t yours.”

“The buckle goes to the champion, Dad. I lost and I hate it.”

I sound like a petulant child, but I really wanted to win. Yes, for myself, but also for my dad. He’s a damn legend. I walk by his trophy case every day, and I want nothing more than to be just like him.

“Then I guess we keep practicing and you beat him next year.” He drapes his arm around my shoulder and guides me back towards our truck, where he’s already loaded my horse while I did the obligatory photo ops and interviews. “Don’t let him get to you. Show him next year he’s not the king.”

The following year

“Wow. How does it feel to always be second best, Burke?”

Familiar ocean-blue eyes shine as he waits for my answer. Jesus Christ, if I go to jail for sucker punching him, it’ll be worth it.

“You don’t always win, Walker. I’ve beaten you this year.” Only twice, but not never. I’ve never beaten him when it counted for all the bragging rights, but I’m not letting that get to me today.

I’m not always second. Only when it’s a big deal, and if he keeps reminding me, he might lose teeth. It’d be a shame to ruin his sexy smile. Not that I think he’s sexy, but he has a great smile. Objectively, of course. Even those dimples wouldn’t save him if he lost teeth.

“Okay, that’s true, but you never seem to win when the hardware is on the line. Can’t handle the pressure, I’d say. You choke, Burke.” He makes a noise like he’s dry coughing, then beams that smile my way. “That’s what it sounds like when you’re around, and we have a championship on the line. Choking, get it?”

What is this guy’s issue? Spinning, I slam a palm into his chest and press him up against the closest surface. A bucking chute rocks with the movement. Good. That might leave a mark.

“I don’t choke on you, Walker. Shut up.”

This close to Dane’s face, I notice how long his eyelashes are. And thick.

“Sure you don’t want to choke on me, Burke?” Dane says, his voice low, and his thigh nudges my crotch.

I step back, horrified by his implication. “Leave me alone, Walker. Not if you were the last man on earth.”

Dane’s cologne is fucking salty ocean or evergreen boughs. Whatever it is, it’s something far more pleasant than his personality. A mystery I regret solving.

Turning, I walk briskly back to my trailer and tend to my waiting horse. The second-place trophy gets flung on the truck seat with a curse. I wish I knew why he got to me so much and why the fuck I can’t beat him when it matters most.

Since I started rodeo, it’s been my singular goal to win. Just like my dad. There’s no better motivation than walking by my dad’s trophy case every day since I was fifteen. And yet…here I am, 24 years old and still without a championship buckle.

I have the facilities to train. My dad and uncles are all champions in their fields, so I have top-notch coaches. Even my horse Petey is bred for rodeo. I have all the tools that should allow me to succeed, and I can’t.

Because of Dane-fucking-Walker.

I’m still fuming when he drives by me and waves with his stupid, smiling, winning, dimpled face. I flash him my middle finger and immediately check my shoulder for my dad. He’d rip me a new one if I didn’t behave with integrity.

Win graciously and lose graciously. Those are the words he drilled into me, and I usually follow them. Unless it comes to Dane.

“Yo, Warren! Coming to the banquet?”

Free food before the drive home is never a bad idea. Dane never stays, which is a blessing for me, I suppose. He doesn’t know what he’s missing, and I’d like to keep it that way…even if I beat him.

When I beat him.

“I’ll be right there!”

If I can’t beat him in the ring, I’ll just eat his share at the buffet.

Another year later

“You know how sometimes you need to piss so bad, but your belt buckle gets stuck?” Dane smirks at me, and I shake my head as I try to walk past him. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve never had a buckle. Sorry, Burke.”