The summer Alanna Rodger turned eighteen, she thought it would be just like the rest of the summers spent on her parent’s farm in Amarillo Texas. That was until champion bull rider Callan James returned home.
Everyone in town knows about the James’ boys and why they disappeared four years ago.
Everyone but Alanna.
She’s warned to keep her distance but there’s something about Callan’s allure that has her wanting a closer look to unravel all of the reasons that he left — ensuring he stays long after his eight seconds in this town are up.
And when he finally does leave town, she knows exactly where to find him.
There’s nothing that can stop her from wanting him… even the four year age difference won’t prevent her from pursuing him. When Callan can’t get past the age difference, he does everything within his power to show her just how dangerous his lifestyle is.
Can she break through his rough exterior?
If I thought that rodeo was something I’d never experienced before, I was wrong. In the basement of that bar in a private room was a mechanical bull centered on mats and another bar with about twenty people. It seems almost private as if only the selected few are allowed down here.
It’s clear within minutes that Callan is definitely one of those selected few and nods and tips of hats follow his entrance. He’s given a beer, and one for me too, which he twists the top off and hands me, keeping his left hand in mine. Like taking his hands off me is just not possible right now.
“Do you know all these people?”
He looks around. “Mostly.” And then he draws in a long breath, a motion that exudes sexiness at all levels, and nods to the room with the bull. “Ever been on a mechanical bull?”
I swallow, not sure if I heard him right. I stare at his flushed cheeks and glossy eyes as I reply. “No.”
“It’s set for slow.” He gives a nod to the mats, his left hand giving my backside a soft smack. “Show me whatcha got.”
Show him?
I know exactly what that means. He wants a show and I’m hell-bent on giving him one.
We walk over to the mechanical bull and I place my hand on the cool metal. “You yelled at me the last time I was on a bull.”
He shrugs his shoulders and places his hands over mine. “I know…but I wanna watch this.”
“And you’re in control.” I point out letting him know I know why he wants this.
He stares at my lips when he speaks and I can tell he desperately wants to kiss me. I feel it just like I did on the dance floor.
It’s not easy to get on there, Callan gives me a hand on the bull when the music starts in the basement. Maybe planned, I’m not sure, but it gives me that little push I need to do this. Somehow having music with anything can give you motivation.
“I’m The Only One” starts out with the distinctive twang of the guitar and then moves into the bass and lyrics knowing what I need to do. I wink over at Callan as he sits in a chair with a clear view of me and a beer in hand. I’m curious what he’s thinking right now. So curious I want to ask, beg him to tell me what he wants. I mean, he suggested this. Obviously he’s looking for something, right?
My nerves peak with my racing heart, my hands trembling slightly as the fear subsides with each breath. Taking a look around, I see I have an audience, men who are clearly with women but sneaking stolen glances in my direction as I sit on this mechanical bull.
“Ready?” Callan asks, his voice raised so I can hear him over the music, his hand on the button.
I give the same nod he does.
He hides his grin by lowering his head. “Hang on, baby.” His words are delivered slowly as his tongue darts out and licks his lower lip before the bottle in his hand raises.
It’s clear within minutes that Callan is definitely one of those selected few and nods and tips of hats follow his entrance. He’s given a beer, and one for me too, which he twists the top off and hands me, keeping his left hand in mine. Like taking his hands off me is just not possible right now.
“Do you know all these people?”
He looks around. “Mostly.” And then he draws in a long breath, a motion that exudes sexiness at all levels, and nods to the room with the bull. “Ever been on a mechanical bull?”
I swallow, not sure if I heard him right. I stare at his flushed cheeks and glossy eyes as I reply. “No.”
“It’s set for slow.” He gives a nod to the mats, his left hand giving my backside a soft smack. “Show me whatcha got.”
Show him?
I know exactly what that means. He wants a show and I’m hell-bent on giving him one.
We walk over to the mechanical bull and I place my hand on the cool metal. “You yelled at me the last time I was on a bull.”
He shrugs his shoulders and places his hands over mine. “I know…but I wanna watch this.”
“And you’re in control.” I point out letting him know I know why he wants this.
He stares at my lips when he speaks and I can tell he desperately wants to kiss me. I feel it just like I did on the dance floor.
It’s not easy to get on there, Callan gives me a hand on the bull when the music starts in the basement. Maybe planned, I’m not sure, but it gives me that little push I need to do this. Somehow having music with anything can give you motivation.
“I’m The Only One” starts out with the distinctive twang of the guitar and then moves into the bass and lyrics knowing what I need to do. I wink over at Callan as he sits in a chair with a clear view of me and a beer in hand. I’m curious what he’s thinking right now. So curious I want to ask, beg him to tell me what he wants. I mean, he suggested this. Obviously he’s looking for something, right?
My nerves peak with my racing heart, my hands trembling slightly as the fear subsides with each breath. Taking a look around, I see I have an audience, men who are clearly with women but sneaking stolen glances in my direction as I sit on this mechanical bull.
“Ready?” Callan asks, his voice raised so I can hear him over the music, his hand on the button.
I give the same nod he does.
He hides his grin by lowering his head. “Hang on, baby.” His words are delivered slowly as his tongue darts out and licks his lower lip before the bottle in his hand raises.
A stay-at-home mom, Chelsea spends her days drinking entirely too much caffeine, baking sugar-sweet treats she never eats, playing on Pinterest, and jotting down notes for her novels. A dreamer at heart, she’s been creating happily-ever-afters. She’s a lover, a writer, a dreamer, would rather type than speak, wants to remember everything, loves lots of ice in her drinks, and is slightly introverted.
No comments:
Post a Comment