WRECKER: A Bad Boy Cowboy Romance (A steamy billionaire romance story) Read Free Page A

I almost poke myself in the eye with the mascara, I figure I should probably stop. Sigh . I’ve always been a bit clumsy.
    When all is said and done, though, I have to say I look pretty damn good. I even turn around and check out my butt in the mirror. Not bad.
    I find myself making finger guns in the mirror, while saying, “You still got it, girl!” and I’m immediately ashamed. I’m shaking my damn head. Does anyone else embarrass themselves when they’re alone?

Four
    Kanen
    E very cell in my body is electric. The bull I’m riding tonight is the biggest, meanest most badass motherfucker in the whole of Texas, and I’m gonna take him. I’ve been waiting for this moment all day, and as I’m poised above him, I’m full of energy, of unbelievable trilling excitement, of bristling power. I imagine so is the great beast below me, as he huffs and pushes against the walls of the enclosure he’s in, for show. Until I’m dropped on him.
    The announcer’s voice turns into a meaningless droning singsong as he revs up the crowd. He’s only on the periphery of my consciousness, because all I’m focused on is the bull. The smell of him, the sight of him. Every molecule of his energy. It all fills me. And I’m ready. I’m so ready.
    It’s really just me and the bull. We are the same, me and him. It’s us against the world of people. Of assholes. Of fakery and BS. But when it’s the bull and me we’re cut from the same cloth. We’re made of the same thing. Starlight, anger, and confidence. The sound that indicates the mechanism is going to drop me onto his heaving, black back warns both of us, and his ears twitch and turn. Then it happens.
    “Showtime,” I whisper, and then I’m on him, his huge body bucking and writhing as he bursts out of the gate. In split seconds, I anticipate each movement, each motion he makes, compensating for every minuscule twist and turn as it happens. My boots dig into his side, both keeping me on and spurring him to greater and greater leaps and bounds to throw me off. We’re locked in this game, we two, and each second is filled with danger, the possibility of being thrown into the dust. Of breaking a leg. Or worse.
    I stick to him like the bad decisions you make when you’re drunk, like the ex-girlfriend that wants you back.
    I have no idea what the actual time for normal people would be, but for me it might as well be hours. I try to perceive as slowly as I can, to stay alive and aware every millisecond.
    When it finally happens and I’m thrown, as the ground rushes up to meet my head, and the roar of the crowd fills my ears. Hooves rush by my face. A rodeo clown sets out to distract the 2200-pound creature from trampling me to death, and I try desperately to fill my lungs with air. My heartbeat is huge in my ears and I’m full of adrenaline, but it’ll take a moment before I can move or breathe.
    When I turn my head, that’s when I see her. It’s Canada, her mouth a round “O,” her eyes wide as saucers. The shock of her presence, here in my audience, watching me with such intensity pushes the air into my body and I can breathe again. That means I can move. I roll up and strut to the door of the arena, narrowly missing the horns of the bull I just dominated. The crowd is going wild, hooting and hollering.
    Jack’s waiting for me there. He hands me a towel. I swipe it over my sweat-stained face, and it comes away with the dust of the arena floor on it.
    “Holy shit bro, I thought you were going to die out there,” he says, shaking his head. “I was worried about you, bro.”
    “Not today,” I smile. “Not today.”
    “I guess not. Shit, that was amazing. Some folks are saying that it was record-breaking what you did.” He’s still shaking his head, looking at the floor with his eyebrows raised. “You sure that’s a good idea though? Seems super risky.”
    “That’s what I love about it, Jack,” I assure him. “Why would you let yourself possibly get killed by