Page 95 of Trigger Happy

I swore nothing would happen between us again, but I still say, “That’s it?”

His grin splits open. “Your man’s easy to please.”

My man.

He kisses my cheek before leaving with Arch, and they hop the fence into the animal corrals with the ease of men who have been doing this their entire lives.

There’s no way the rodeo… cops? Sheriffs? I don’t know who polices this place, but whoever they are, there’s no way they’re going to let him ride a bucking horse bareback.

I watch Lawton go up to a guy in a professional-looking vest manning the gates. He chats with him for a few minutes, notching up the charm one fake laugh at a time. It’s strange, seeing him act charming. He used to be like that any time we’d cross paths on jobs, but all that shine died off with Walker, until now.

Eventually he points to me in the crowd and waves. I guess I should wave back? After a few more good-natured head nods, a slip of a dollar bill, and a clap on the back, he’s in the gates.

I can’t believe that worked.

Another cowboy tosses him a pair of chaps, and he straps them over his jeans in a move that has no right being so hot. Then, with a grin aimed right at me, he starts unbuttoning his shirt, keeping his eyes on mine. My breathing turns shallow as I watch him undo each button one by one. The fabric slides off his shoulders, revealing hard muscles and scars that flex with every movement.

“I didn’t realize your man had so many scars,” Bobbi says in my ear.

“He had a lot of rodeo accidents growing up,” I say, a little breathless as I watch Lawton strip out of his pearl-snap.

She seems appeased because she goes back to sipping her bourbon apple cider mule, which doesn’t seem like something a closeted killer would drink. A Bloody Mary?

Lawton stands in the corrals, shirtless, in nothing but a cowboy hat, chaps, and jeans that hang low… He winks at me, and heat licks up my spine. I can’t help it. I like seeing him like this, more playful, less brooding. Arch hands him a thicker jean button-down, but he doesn’t bother putting it on right away. He simply drapes it over his shoulder like he’s fully aware I’m having a hard time convincing myself that I don’t want him.

Stan’s raspy voice booms over the speakers. “Hold on to your hats, folks! We’ve got a surprise entry tonight! All the way from Laredo, Texas, give it up for Luke Davis!”

“Come on,” I say, grabbing Bobbi. “Let’s get a better view.”

I tug her down the steps of the bleachers and climb onto the metal gate. I squeeze into an open spot on the rails beside a tall guy in a cowboy hat.

“Hi there,” he drawls with a white-toothed smile. “You from around here?”

I ignore him and focus on Lawton buttoning up his shirt in the arena. The crowd erupts into cheers when he struts toward the bucking bronco in the chute. He settles onto the horse, one hand gripping the leather handle and the other raised in the air. The bronco thrashes beneath him, and I clench the rails tightly, digging my fingers into the cold metal.

“You nervous?” Bobbi asks.

I puff out a breath, blowing up a strand of hair. “Of course not. It’s Luke.”

She nods to where my fists are digging into the rails. “You sure? I wouldn’t be surprised if you dented the metal.”

I let go of the rail, flexing out my hands. What is wrong with me? I never get this invested, but there’s this unfamiliar fusion of nerves and pride swirling through me as I watch Lawton roll out his shoulders, getting ready to ride. He’s rugged, confident, and sexy enough to need a trigger warning.

“All right, folks! Here we go. Let’s all give it up for Luke Davis! Three, two, one!” Stan shouts, and the gate bursts open.

The bronc explodes beneath Lawton into a twisting force of muscle, but he moves like he was made for this. He keeps one hand raised while the other grips the handle, and his body ripples with each violent buck.

I expected him to be tense, but he rides like a man who basks in chaos and relishes pain. It’s hypnotic, watching every clench of his muscle and each roll of his hips. His brows are knitted in concentration, and with every second that counts down, I realize how badly I want to lose this bet.

Who needs a yacht anyway? I have my down payment fund.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Hold on!”

Five, four, three, two…

The buzzer rings through the arena.

“Would you look at that, folks!” Stan shouts. “Our first rider to last all eight seconds! Give it up for Luke Davis!”