Ride: A Bad Boy Romance Read Free Page A

as famous as basketball players.”
    I raise my eyebrows.
    “And I’m the Michael Jordan of rodeo,” I say.
    “Not yet,” Wayne says. “You still got a couple to win before you get there.”
    “Think I could have my very own line of cowboy boots?” I ask.
    “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” Darlene says. “You got a ways to go.”
    Wayne leans across the table, making his most serious face.
    “You ought to take this seriously, Jackson,” he rumbles. “We’re talking rodeo championships being as big as the Super Bowl. We’re talking sponsorships, contracts, gigs doing commentary on ESPN once you retire. Play this thing right, and you’d be the biggest rodeo star of all time, because you’d be the first .”
    I take another sip of my coffee. My name in lights sounds nice, but I don’t even know what I’d do with a million dollars. Buy a ranch out in the country, I guess, and then what? Retire?
    The concept feels totally foreign to me.
    All I’ve ever wanted to do is ride , because there’s nothing in the world like the rush of staying on a bull for those eight seconds.
    A couple years ago, I got hurt pretty bad. When I woke up, I realized: this is what’s gonna kill me, and that’s if I’m lucky. I don’t know a single rider over fifty who doesn’t walk with a limp, and there’s plenty worse off than that.
    Commentating on ESPN? Doing cowboy boot commercials? That’s for someone else. Someone who thinks he’ll make it past thirty-five.
    Wayne leans forward over the table.
    “Just act with the slightest hint of decorum for five day,” he says, his voice low.
    I glance out the window, trying not to smile.
    “That’s not what they’re here for,” I say. “We both know they wouldn’t be interested if I was straight-laced and squeaky clean.”
    “Jackson, just be discreet ,” Darlene says. Her eyes are like iron. “No loud intercourse in bar bathrooms. No showing your johnson to anyone who asks. No disappearing to Mexico for a day and showing up an hour before you’re supposed to ride, like you did in San Antonio.”
    “I won San Antonio,” I point out.
    “See if you can win without nearly causing a catastrophe for once,” Darlene says. “There’s a difference between a good story and a scandal.”
    “Jackson, all we’re saying is take it down a notch for once,” Wayne says. “Take a girl back to your motel room instead of the alley behind the bar.”
    I look from him to Darlene and back. I’ve known them for a couple years, and they’re nice people, if firm. They just want Pioneer Days to hit the big time, and I know they’ve worked hard for it.
    I don’t really give a shit what people think about me, but for the two of them, I’ll give it a shot.
    No Mexico. Girls in the motel room only. Maybe in bar bathrooms if they can be quiet.
    “Okay,” I finally agree. “I’ll try it.”
    They both nod and then look at the door of the diner, their expressions suddenly turning professional. I turn to look at the two people heading toward us.
    In front is an older man, gray-haired and gray-bearded, wearing a button-down work shirt. He doesn’t look like he’s from around here, but he doesn’t stick out.
    Then he steps aside and I get an eyeful of the other person.
    Lord above.
    It’s a girl carrying a camera over one shoulder, her blonde hair side swept, her eyes raking in the knickknacks on the wall. She walks toward us and I forget to breathe for a just a second, because all I can watch is the straight line of her shoulders over the way her hips roll as she moves.
    I’m mesmerized. It’s like watching the ebb and swell of the ocean, except the ocean’s never gotten my dick hard.
    I stare. She looks around the diner, completely casual, totally seemingly unaware that even in jeans and a black t-shirt, every movement she makes screams sex, at least to me. Her face has the barest hint of freckles, and even though her eyes have circles under them, they’re