Page 71 of Roping My Rival

He steps into the camper, and once again, I’m left wondering what other secrets Dane might have.

After both of us qualified for tie-down roping—me first, of course—I rushed Warren back to the trailer. I want to take him to the fair. It’s so out of my usual behaviour, I pause to make sure I’m not having a heatstroke or anything.

I’m not, thankfully. I’m almost positive this bubbly, overheated feeling is because of Warren inserting himself into my life in more ways than a roping partner. It scares me and thrills me in equal measure. Warren is the bright light I’ve needed for a very long time.

Just this once, I want to do something fun and not worry about rent and care bills, or new brakes and the care of my horse. I want to enjoy a fair, and I want to do it with Warren.

He exits the bedroom, smoothing a hand down the front of his plain red T-shirt. It hugs his shoulders and shows off his biceps. It’s a nice change from the long-sleeve shirts we wear in the arena covered with sponsorship patches. Although he still looks great in those, too.

“I think I’m ready.”

“You think, or you are?”

“You look nice,” Warren says, and if you could visualize an electric current between two people, it would flash like a neon sign right now.

“Thanks. So do you.”

He puffs out a breath and shoves his phone, wallet, and trailer keys in his pocket while I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth, watching the flex of his arms. He smiles at me, and I finally kick my brain into gear. “What do you want to do first? Do you have a favourite activity at the fair?” I ask as he locks the door, and we begin our walk to the fairground.

“Oh, man. I like a lot of stuff. I didn’t go to a fair until I was 16. I tried one of the spinning rides, and I’ll tell you this…not for me.” Warren laughs, and in the moonlight of this evening, I think he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever met. “But I love the Ferris wheel and sometimes the merry-go-round. Oh, and cotton candy. Gotta have that.”

He glances my way, a boyish grin in place. “What about you? Anything you always go to?”

“It’s lame, but I love all the games. I know most of them you can’t win, and I could buy the prize somewhere for less, but they’re so fun and I kinda like lugging around giant stuffed animals.”

Warren laughs again, and I’m so fucking entranced by him I almost stumble over my feet. “You like to wave that status symbol around then, huh? Brag about how good you are?”

“Damn right.”

“Then you better win me the biggest stuffed animal out there tonight.”

“Challenge accepted.”

After stopping at a bank machine in the exhibit hall, I wince when I withdraw far too much money for one night, but that’s a problem for later. I join up with Warren in the hall as we survey all the submitted projects from the local 4-H club. He’s super into reading some of them, too, which is again…oddly charming.

“Look at this one, Dane.” He leans closer, reading the printed words of a young kid describing goat care. “This kid, I bet you didn’t sell his goat. He’s too attached.”

“It’s a cute goat.” As far as goats go, anyway. It has floppy ears like Warren’s rabbit tattoo. I’d keep it just for that reason alone.

“Dad would never let me get a goat. I had a horse and rabbits, and he said that was enough.”

“Wasn’t it?”

Warren shrugs and moves on to the next display. “It was. I was fortunate to have that. I always pushed, asking for more animals.”

I can see that about him. He tattooed his favourite rabbit on his shoulder. That’s a decision you don’t make lightly. He chatters on about other displays and points things out to me.

“Are you still involved in 4-H?” I ask him as we exit to the food row.

“Sometimes. It’s how I met my dad, so it holds a soft spot for me.” Warren smiles with a fondness I can definitely understand. “In a way, it saved my life. When I see these displays at fairs, I like to see what the kids are doing and if it’s still popular. I’ve mentored a few kids who had rabbits before.”

“I bet you were good at that. You have a way about you kids warm to, I bet.”

Warren shrugs again. “I like to think I made a difference.”

The aromas of competing food trucks make my stomach growl as we enter the area with carnival food. This one is way bigger than the last one we went to. While I know there’s probably a cheaper option of hot dogs and burgers at a community food booth, I follow Warren along as he searches all the offerings, prepared to have whatever he has.

“Okay. I think I want to try the wood-fired pizza. It looks far too good.”