Page 3 of Roping My Rival

“God, you’re an asshole.”

My boots can’t move fast enough. I just want to get in my truck and go. Thankfully, both my dads have already left, and we didn’t come in the same vehicle because I really don’t need them telling me how amazing I am without the championship, and that it’s just a buckle.

I love them, but sometimes I just want to steep in my rage at Dane Walker and wonder why the hell I can’t ever beat the guy. It’s always the two of us and nobody else. Walker and Burke. Never Burke and Walker, and I let that get under my skin too much. A lifetime of second place is not something I want to live through. Especially if he’s always the winner.

I brushed off the banquet tonight. I’m not great company and I'm up in my head more than usual. I need a distraction.

After parking where I know my horse trailer and Petey will be safe, I walk the two blocks back and step into a male strip club on the city limits. I found it once by accident when I wasn’t in the right frame of mind and just needed to decompress. What better way to take me out of miserable thoughts than to watch sexy, half-naked men on stage? Probably one of my best ideas, really. Although my therapist would likely disagree.

I hope Trevor is working tonight.

Entering the bar, I find a table near the back and sit alone. After a server brings me a drink, I watch the first act and notice Trevor working through the crowd on the floor. I must have just missed his performance.

When Trevor notices me in the back, his face lights up as he stalks over. His long legs and tight black booty shorts are a spectacular sight.

“Warren! This is a nice surprise.”

“Hi, Trev. You look great tonight.”

“I look great every night, darling.” He winks as his fingertips dust over my shoulder. “Private show or right here?”

“Do I get to talk to you longer if it’s private?”

His lips tilt into a smile. “Sure. Come on.”

Trevor takes me by the hand and leads me to the back of the bar, where there are three tiny rooms. He pulls me into the last one with an open door, and after closing it with an in-use sign, I settle into the single chair.

“Am I dancing or just talking?” Trevor stands near the small stereo system. His fingers hover over the power button as he waits for my reply.

“Both?”

Pulling out my wallet, I toss some bills on the table, and he nods. After flicking a switch on the stereo, music filters into the room, and I watch Trevor dance. I can’t say we’re actually close friends, but when I first met him here, he made me feel…normal. Maybe even like he understood I wasn’t just another man looking at his near-naked body.

I’m a man with things on his mind, looking for someone to listen. Someone removed from Kissing Ridge and rodeo. Perhaps even someone to validate my mixed emotions with Dane Walker and rodeo. I’m sure it’s not healthy, but find me another form of therapy this enjoyable.

I stayed until closing that first time, and we had a drink together. It’s an odd relationship. I enjoy watching him dance, but I want nothing sexual. Trevor is like a private confessional away from family, and he might know me more than the closest people in my life. It’s easier to talk to him than my real therapist, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the distance he has from Kissing Ridge.

Either way, I need him tonight.

“What’s bothering you, Warren?” he asks as he sways to the music.

“I lost again.”

He bends at the hips, his ass right in my face. “To the same guy? Mr. Blue Eyes?” Trevor chuckles as he stands. He runs his fingers through my hair. “You’re worked up, Warren.”

“Yeah. He’s…”

Trevor drops into the splits, then does this thing with his legs that makes me wonder if he has joints like those dolls that you twist in any direction, but they never break. Sure, it’s sexy, but I prefer his conversation. Yes, I leave money on the table, but only because I know he could make money in the crowd.

“I think you should talk to him. Feel him out. Sometimes these guys are all macho talk and can’t do the whole feelings thing.” He stands and undulates his hips. His fingers tease the waistband of his shorts.

“I don’t want to give him more ammunition. What if he’s not interested and mocks me more for that, as well as losing? God, I’d rather die.” My brain catches up to my words. “Not that I’m interested. He just…it’s frustrating, you know?”

So much. How can I even remotely entertain an attraction to the dickhead when he’s so goddamn cocky and rude all the time?

Trevor grabs the pole in the middle of the room, and for a moment, I’m enchanted by his strength and the way his muscles flex as he works the pole. He’s so strong and graceful. When the music ends, he struts to the front of my chair with his hands on his hips.

“Trust yourself, Warren. If he mocks you, then he’s a dick that deserves to be withered. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. You’re my sweetest visitor.” He pats my cheek before scooping up the cash on the table.