Cowboy Casanova - Lorelei James [33]
A collective groan rippled through the room when a bull stomped the crap out of a rider’s leg.
Low stakes betting didn’t last more than ten riders because Tell won all rounds. Being a PRCA rough stock judge was an advantage.
Buck-offs were more common than an eight-second ride so the speculation was high that Chase had a shot at the championship round, since his first score put him in the top twelve.
After Keely ended her cell phone call, she squeezed between Cam and Colt on the couch. “Carter and Jack say hey to everyone.”
“You couldn’t go an entire afternoon without checking in with your lord and master?” Cord asked.
“I don’t have to check in, jerkface. Jack called me because he misses me.”
“I’ll bet he was drunk,” Cam said.
Keely elbowed him in the gut.
“Brandt, have you checked in with Jessie yet? It’s been at least an hour since you’ve talked to her.” Dalton added kissing noises and Tell muttered about being pussy-whipped. Brandt cuffed them both in the back of the head.
All in all, just a normal McKay gathering.
Chase’s match-up was announced. He’d drawn Red Bull Rebel. Chase was on the bull by the time the camera panned to him, helmet on, testing his wrap. Another shift of his hips and he nodded to the gatekeeper.
Red Bull Rebel went nearly vertical right out of the chute. Ben mumbled, “Come on, bro. You got this. Stay on him.” Chase had total control during the spin. Ben didn’t look away from the screen until Chase hit the eight-second mark and the cheering started behind him.
High-fives were exchanged all around the room. Ben grabbed the remote and rewound so they could watch it again. Immediately after the score of eighty-eight was announced, the camera panned to Ava, Chase’s wife, in the audience.
“Chase has really turned his ridin’ around,” Brandt said.
Ben muttered, “He needed to.”
“I’ve never seen anyone more determined when we worked them bulls last summer. One day, Chase climbed on twenty-five bulls.” Colby shook his head. “Crazy damn kid. Me’n Cash kept waitin’ for him to say enough but he never did.”
“Hey, Ben?” Kane said. “Me’n Kade are goin’ antelope huntin’ next weekend. Do you still want the hides if we bag a couple?”
“Yeah. Any deer skin you don’t want either.”
“What are you doin’ with them?” Colt asked.
“Tanning them and adding pieces to furniture. I’m not sure if it’ll work, so I need extra skins to experiment on.”
“I’ll pass the word along. I know Trev and Ed got permits to hunt damn near everything.”
After Chase placed seventh, the party broke up.
Ben was too restless to sit inside, so he headed out to his workshop. But his thoughts kept drifting to Angel. He hoped she wouldn’t talk herself out of returning to the Rawhide.
It’d been a common occurrence, in Ben’s experience, that once a woman was out of the club atmosphere, she’d get to thinking about how she’d willingly given herself over to a dominant partner. She’d become mortified by her behavior. In the moment, it’d been a heady experience. In the outside world, it seemed…wrong. Dirty. Out of character. A violation of her feminist sensibilities.
Not that Ben disagreed some dominant/submissive relationships were borderline degrading. It bothered him that some women’s foray into the scene only showed the worst side. Not the best side, like Layla and Murphy, who’d been together for years. Their devotion to each other’s needs was undeniable. Ben wasn’t looking for a lifestyle sub, but a woman who understood this wasn’t a phase with him. He was a dominant to the core and always would be. He couldn’t be with a woman who wouldn’t accept that side of him—no matter where they met.
Planing boards for mission-style nightstands took his mind off constant speculation about the odds of Angel showing up.
He suspected it’d be a long week.
Chapter Nine
Oh my aching ass.
Ainsley’s butt