Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I look away. “Offer’s off the table now.”
“How about this.” She gives me a wicked smile and moves close. “If you can ride the bull for ten seconds, I’ll tell you why I left home and why I don’t want to go back. But if you can’t, I want to know why you need money so badly.”
I press my lips together and look over at the big machine. A drunk girl’s holding on with both hands, squealing and laughing as it rocks back and forth, going really slow, the operator doing his best to make her ass and tits shake. It’s lewd and stupid and borderline gross but folks are laughing and having a good time, and hell, it doesn’t look that hard. Though when the girl is finally launched off and her boyfriend takes his turn, he lasts for barely four seconds before the bull wrenches him away. I get the feeling the bar doesn’t want dudes up there if they can help it.
“Ten seconds,” I say, considering, and decide to see how far I can push her. This may be a job, but at least I can have fun. “I don’t care why you ran away from home. You can keep that secret. If you’re going to get me to debase myself tonight, I want something else.”
“I’m not going back there.” Her eyebrows arch. “That’s out of the question.”
“I don’t care about that. If I make it ten seconds, I want you to kiss me.”
Her mouth drops open and that’s the reaction I was hoping for. She stares at me, halfway between a laugh and an angry snort, but her head tilts, and I spot something in her eyes, something sharp and calculating, and her tongue rolls across her lower lip like she’s thinking about me. That look is fascinating and it sends a spike of adrenaline into my chest, and slowly she gives me a sultry smile and touches her mouth with her knuckles like she’s kissing a ring.
“One peck,” she says. “No tongue. Two seconds.”
“I want your taste, princess,” I say, leaning in and speaking into her ear, enjoying the way she’s getting all riled up. “I want tongue and teeth and lips. I want you to moan into my mouth—”
“I am not going to moan, War! What the hell!”
“That’s my offer,” I say, pulling back. “Take it or leave it.”
She considers before nodding. “All right. A real kiss. Ten seconds, which seems only fair.”
I incline my head. “Works for me.”
She shoves her hand out. “Shake on it.”
I take her palm in mine and squeeze. “I can’t wait to feel your tongue on mine, princess.”
She rolls her eyes—but she looks worried.
The bull operator barely looks at me as I get in line. He’s a burly guy in cutoff jean shorts. I wait my turn and watch, paying close attention to the two other men that go before me, both of the younger and drunker than I am. Neither lasts long, but I learn a lot, and by the time it’s my turn and I’m walking awkwardly out to the big, ugly machine, I’m starting to question all my life choices.
But I’ve done worse. I’ve done harder, and uglier, and more embarrassing. I’ve lowered myself to the floor and licked the pavement to get what I want. I’ve lied, cheated, stolen, and hurt people.
I can ride a fucking bull.
I get on the back and spot Melody in the crowd. She’s watching, arms crossed, an intense half smile on her lips like she can’t wait to watch me crash to the floor and fail. I stare back at her, gripping the pommel loosely, and the bull begins to move.
The trick is moving with it. Shifting my hips, keeping my balance centered. It wants to whip back and throw me forward, and I go with it, rolling like I’m riding a wave. Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds, and I’ve already held on longer than most guys, but the bull operator knows his audience, and this crowd doesn’t give a shit about watching some man hang on for dear life. My fingers sink into the slippery leather and I rock forward and get a thick whiff of oiled plastic and spilled beer as the bull writhes and bucks wildly, twisting and spinning fast, and I’m sliding off and cursing now, all tact and strategy forgotten as sheer strength takes over, and seven seconds pass, eight seconds, and I’m slipping off the side and nearly falling, and nine seconds pass, and I spot Melody standing with her mouth open and her tongue against her teeth as ten seconds come and go and I finally let myself fly onto the padding.
“You’ve done that before,” she accuses when I step out of the ring.
“I have,” I confirm with a massive smile. “Do you have any idea how many mechanical bulls there are in Texas? Even rich boys like to slum it sometimes.” Including one particular client five years back. He’d tip me a twenty every time I got up there and rode, the sick bastard. I almost miss him.