by KJ Bell
I grab his arm. “No, they’re good. I promise.”
“You sure?” Cooper asks, giving me a doubtful look.
I smile. “Positive. They’re gonna kiss and make up.”
“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit.” He laughs. “’Bout damn time.”
We take a seat at the table, Copper still shaking his head. I haven’t had many opportunities to spend time with Cooper and an awkward silence falls between us. Finally, he says, “Looks like your friends are havin’ fun.”
JT and Ginger dance sweetly to a slow song. Marty and Austin grind into each other, like horny teenagers at a school dance. “Looks like,” I agree with a huffy laugh. “You got a girl?”
“It’s complicated,” he says. “She’s not a fan of bull ridin’.”
Although I’m curious about the details, it would be impolite to ask for them. I smile with understanding. Riding bulls is a dangerous sport, especially when you do it for a living. Riders are often on the road, which I’m sure wears on a relationship. He stands, offering to get me a drink from the bar, but I decline.
His comment loiters in my mind, making me question how I feel about Battle’s profession. I’ve been around the sport long enough that I know what it entails, but I never considered how the danger or travel could impact a family. Wyatt travels. I was prepared to marry him. As far as riding being dangerous; well, now days, the sport is safer than it’s ever been. Statistically it’s safer than many other professions. I think if you choose to get involved with a bull rider, you have to accept the terms. Riding is in their blood, and you can’t expect to change them.
Battle and Tucker return double-fisted with goofy smiles on their faces. The rowdy twosome carries on at the table as though their friendship had never been interrupted with a lousy misunderstanding. It warms my heart seeing the two of them friends again, and pride surfaces, knowing I gave them the nudge they both needed.
Cooper rounds everyone up to leave. Somehow all nine of us squeeze into a cab. Girls on laps across the back—me on Battle’s, Ginger on JT’s, and Marty on Austin’s. Poor Scooter gets smashed into the side window while Tucker and Cooper share the front seat. I apologize to the cab driver several times for my rambunctious friends, but he assures me he’s seen worse.
The arena’s parking lot transforms into a giant party. Our site is no exception. Battle and I sit in chairs around Cooper’s chiminea. He starts a fire while I take in my surroundings. Beer flows and many of the riders have kegs, open to anyone of age, and a few girls who probably aren’t. Fire rings twinkle in the night. Music blares from various sites, and of course, women make their rounds, hoping to land themselves a cowboy.
The buckle-bunnies, as Battle refers to them, are easy to separate from the girlfriends or wives. Their perfectly styled hair, heavy makeup, and skimpy clothing don’t make them stand out nearly as much as their desperation.
Three of them approach our site and flirt with Scooter and Cooper. As I watch Cooper pull the brunette onto his lap, I realize his girl not being a fan of riding isn’t about the danger or the time apart. That her issue isn’t with the sport. Their relationship lacks trust. It dawns on me trust was the ultimate demise of mine and Wyatt’s relationship. I lost faith in him from the first break he asked for, and I was never able to find it again. I haven’t known Battle long enough to know if I trust him, but the incident with Tucker makes me believe I can. He was willing to lose his closest friend to avoid lying. I don’t know many people who would take such a risk.
Once the fire is roaring, Battle goes inside to mix me a Jack and Coke. Our group, and the three uninvited, although apparently welcomed guests, start up a game of dice. Marty and Ginger try to convince me to play. I decline, hoping to spend the rest of the night getting to know Battle.
Battle appears from behind me and hands me a red Solo cup. I take it from him and smile as he sits down next to me with the bottle of Jack between his thighs.
“You want to play dice?” he asks.
I glance over at the group of people who are now sprawled out on the concrete. “No, thank you. That looks like an orgy in the making.”
He laughs, rolling dice in his fingers. “I was thinking just you and me play. A little game of get to know each other?”
I tilt my head. The last time we played a game, I ended up flat on my back. “And how do we play this little game?”
“Whoever rolls high asks a question, and whoever rolls low has to answer truthfully.”
I purse my lips, but I don’t ponder the decision long. A game of truth is a perfect opportunity to learn more about him. “Okay. I’m in.”
“Ladies first,” he says, handing me the dice.
I set my drink down and roll the dice on the ground below my feet—eleven. He rolls nine.
There are many questions I want him to answer truthfully, but I don’t know where to begin. I decide on something simple, asking how he got the name Battle. By the look on his face, he’s not thrilled about answering.
“My father believes we’re related to the McCoys, like from the infamous Hatfield and McCoy feud. He named me to honor the battle that he says finally brought prosperity to the McCoys.”
“You don’t believe him?”
When he laughs with disgust, a strange feeling rolls through me. I shouldn’t have asked a question that makes Battle think of his father.
“About the prosperity or our relation?” he asks.
“Period,” I say, returning his laugh.
“Gerald McCoy’s an egotistical bastard.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I don’t believe shit my father says.” Battle drinks, his stare concentrated on my lips. “This game’s about gettin’ to know each other. How ‘bout we skip the questions about my fucked-up family.”
I pick up the dice, feeling thoroughly dismissed. Battle’s father is a subject I’ll definitely be shying away from. When I win again, I decide to move on to the night we met. “Why were you such an ass at the bar the night we met?”
The bottle of Jack leaves his lips as he chokes. He sets it on the ground at his side, and says, “You get right to point. The truth, huh?”
“No time to waste.” I wink.
“The moment I saw you, I wanted to fuck you.”
It’s an honest answer, but slightly shocking. Most guys use charm to get a girl into bed. I laugh. “You should really work on your approach.”
“Why?” he deadpans. “It worked.”
I open my mouth to argue, but what is there to debate? I slept with him.
“Is that always your approach?” I ask, slightly annoyed that I fell into his trap.
His eyes focus on mine. “I don’t recall doin’ the approachin’, sweetheart.”
Oh. I smile on the inside, my cheeks burning as I remember introducing myself to him.
“When you smiled at me in the stands, all I saw was your innocence. I didn’t wanna take it.”
This is more truth than I expected to get, and I ask another question. “Why did ya then?”
He smirks. “That’s a different question, and it’s my roll.”
I win again and ask, “Why did you sleep with me?”
He sighs, lifting the bottle of Jack from the ground. “Because I’m selfish,” he says, and chugs a few swallows from the bottle. He sets it down and continues, “And I regret it.”
“Why?” I ask, feeling terribly confused, and hurt.
“Your roll,” he says, his expression flat.
I’m irritated with his dropping a bomb like that without elaboration. I roll the dice bluntly displaying my annoyance. After he loses, again, he laughs, pointing at our friends. “Are you sure you don’t want to play dice with the group? I think you’d win.”
“Nice try, McCoy,” I say, staring him down. “Why do you regret sleeping with me?”
His chest sinks with a deep sigh. “Faye, if I’d known then that I wanted the middle with you, I would’ve waited. I wouldn’t have taken a driv
e with you. I would’ve saved that night and made it special.”
More truth I didn’t expect. It comes with a softer side of Battle McCoy, which delights me, but I don’t want him to regret anything. “If you’d waited, you might not have figured out you wanted the middle. And, Battle, that night was special. Please don’t regret it. You didn’t take anything I wasn’t willin’ to give you.”
“Oh…I know you were willin’. I could see how much you wanted me in those purdy green eyes.”
I smack him hard in the chest and try not wince at my stinging hand. “You’re incorrigible,” I say, handing him the dice. “Roll.”
He wins. His eyebrows knit together. He takes a moment before he asks, “Are you still in love with that dipshit from the restaurant?”
I blanch. Now he’s getting right to it. His question comes with a hint of jealousy, which takes me by surprise. Battle clearly has questions, too. This is one I’ve already asked myself. The night Wyatt attacked me gave me the clarity I needed to find the answer. I look right at him and answer, “No.”
A devilish and sexy grin forms on his lips. “Good. I don’t like sharin’.”
Sharin’ implies so many things. Here’s my chance to clarify where our relationship stands, but I have another question that’s been nagging me since I first visited his house. The next roll goes to me, and I bravely ask, “Why don’t you drive the Camaro?”
He looks away, rubbing his eyes. “Bad memories.”
“Of?” I push, ignoring his body language telling me to, “drop it.”
“Fuck!” He leans forward on his elbows. “Of a time in my life I don’t like talkin’ about.”
There’s pain in his posture, in his words, and in his beautiful eyes that are begging me to let this go.
“Fair enough,” I say with understanding. There are painful things in my life I don’t like to talk about. Like losing my gram, or my controlling parents.
“Look, Faye,” he says, straightening. “I really like you, and there may be a time I can talk about it, but I’m not ready.”
“Okay,” I say softly, and toss the dice at him with a grin.
He loses the next roll. I pump my fist, which makes him laugh.
“Why are you such a cocky bastard?” I ask, trying to stop a smile from forming, but it does anyway.
Battle stares at me with amusement and asks, “Is that your question, or are you just generalizin’?”
“That’s my question, but if you need specifics, how ‘bout when you’re in the arena?”
I enjoy the sexy, quiet laugh he releases. “That’s just confidence, sweetheart.”
No doubt he’s confident, but putting himself in danger fulfills some need, some desire to either punish himself, or prove something.
“Yeah, but eight seconds is never enough. You always push. Why?”
His brow pinches tight, like it always does when he’s dealing with some internal conflict. He rubs his knees, and glances over at me. “The rush I get from pushin’ limits reminds me I’m still alive. I need it.”
Typical cryptic honesty I don’t have the energy to decipher tonight. I think about his ride earlier. He hopped right off, which leads to another question. “Why didn’t you need it today?”
His teeth graze over his bottom lip as he leans in close. “I had you to remind me today.”
My cheeks warm as he leans back in his chair. He darn sure doesn’t play fair, and he knows it. His answer is one I’ll settle for, for now. Eventually, I’ll discover what actually drives him.
The game continues and transitions into lighter topics before we decide to call it a night. Most of the sites have gone quiet. Our group thinned, and I don’t see the buckle bunnies anywhere. I’m hoping Cooper was smart enough to send the brunette on her way. Ginger is sleeping over in JT’s trailer, which leaves Marty for me to sort out sleeping arrangements.
Battle helps Marty pull out the retractable bed from the wall. He and Austin convert the kitchen table to a bed, before we go to our room. I change into pajamas in the bathroom and brush my teeth. When I open the door, my jaw drops. Battle stands before me, wearing nothing but a smile. My heart skips a beat, and then picks up speed. I’m sure he sees the fervor burning my cheeks. He winks and brushes past me into the bathroom.
I exhale and cross the room to put my dirty clothes away before climbing into the bed. He exits the bathroom, still naked and still grinning as he walks to the bed and lifts the covers.
“You forgot somethin’,” I say, staring wide-eyed.
“What?” He grins.
“Pajamas.”
His forehead wrinkles. “What kinda man sleeps in pajamas?”
My father and Wyatt. “You’re seriously gonna sleep naked?”
“It’s the only way to sleep.”
He hops up on the bed, laughing.
“With me … in the bed?” I ask, reminding him, as if he didn’t know.
“I’m fine with it.” He glances down to my chest, and lifts his eyes to mine. “Oh, you don’t trust yourself?”
“I can keep my hands to myself if you can.” My attempt at putting him in his place fails miserably, and he laughs. “Incorrigible.” I huff.
My phone vibrates on the small side table.
Dad
I groan, sending the call to voicemail.
“The dipshit?” Battle asks.
“Worse. It’s my father. He doesn’t think I should be datin’ you.”
He chuckles. “Daddy gives good advice.”
“He thinks I should get back together with Wyatt.”
The playful smile disappears from his lips. “Oh, well then, he gives horrible advice.”
“I told him what Wyatt did, and he still thinks I should work it out with him. It’s all politics.”
“Aren’t most family issues?”
“No, I mean it’s literally politics, pathetic, small town politics. Wyatt’s father is a State Representative. My father wants to run for Mayor when he retires next year. The only reason he wants Wyatt and I to stay together is for Mr. Daughtrey’s backin’.”
He glances up, his warm hand sliding into mine, providing me comfort. “Did he tell you that?”
“He doesn’t have to.” I sigh. Over the last week, I’ve come to terms with the reality that my father’s been playing me for years. “My father plans everything. I’m smart enough to put the pieces together.”
As Battle sits up and toys with the sheet, I assume he’s going to tell me how I’m making assumptions. Instead he provides me with something I want more. Another piece of his life. “My father married my mother for similar reasons.”
“He did?”
“Yep. She’s the daughter of Mitch Wessinger.” He turns his head to me. “You know the name?”
“Of course. I studied finance. The Wessinger – McCoy merger was huge. It gave McCoy Cattle controllin’ market share.”
“Yep,” he breathes and lies back down on his side, facing me. “And all Gerald McCoy had to do was marry Mitch’s daughter, Evelyn, which he did, but he never loved her.”
Life is hard enough when you realize your parents aren’t perfect, but I can’t imagine how Battle felt learning his father didn’t love his mother. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“He was an abuser, not physically, but emotionally, and a cheater. By the time I was twelve, my mother had enough of his gallivantin’ ways, and she left him.”
“That took courage.”
He looks down, an annoyed laugh tickling his throat. “No, that took husband number two.”
“Erinn’s father?” I assume.
He nods. “The asshole took off after Erinn was diagnosed. She was four. Hasn’t seen my mother or Erinn since.”
Life has been cruel to him. Memories plague Battle and have hardened him. He’s built walls to protect himself, walls so thick I’m not sure I’m capable of tearing them down.
“Is that why you and love aren’t on good terms?”
“I haven’t seen
it work out much. The one woman I love is dyin’, so I can’t say my heart’s open to it a whole lot.”
My eyes burn with tears. “Is it open to me?”
“I want it to be.”
His answer thrills me. I smile as his arm drapes around my body, pulling me close. I absorb his warmth, while his shallow breaths coax me to sleep.
Who’s yelling? I stir in Battle’s arms. The voices lower, but they’re still present. I reach over and check the time on my phone. It’s four in the damn morning and people are … are … Oh, my God.
Battle chuckles. “They woke you up, too?”
“Is that—”
“Yep, they’ve been at it for over an hour.”
“Ew.” I mock shiver, pulling the covers higher.
“They’re just gettin’ ramped up.” Battle laughs.
“Again … ew.”
Marty and Austin performing horizontal acrobatics isn’t something I want to hear, much less visualize. The moaning continues, and when I hear Austin scream out, “Yeah, you like it when I spank you,” I burst into laughter. But then, Marty yells back, “Yes, oh God, spank me,” followed by Battle shouting, “Yeah, get some, A,” and I break into hysterics. Marty and Austin, however, fall completely silent.
“That shut em’ up,” Battle says proudly. Only it doesn’t last long as Marty’s cries not to stop fill the air.
There’s no way I can go back to sleep listening to the two of them, not to mention how incredibly awkward it makes things for me and Battle. I groan, burying my head under my pillow, trying to ignore the embarrassment I feel about being turned on.
A moment later, the sound of ocean waves fills the air, drowning out the sound of porn from the other side of the door. I pop my head out from under the pillow, glancing over to Battle’s phone where the sound emits from.
“What is that?” I ask, giggling from the image of my rugged cowboy, being lured to sleep with pretty ocean sounds.
“It’s an App I bought on the last trip when I got stuck bunkin’ with Scoot—snores like a damn grizzly bear. Rachel told me about it.” I tense, wanting the mattress to swallow me as jealousy flares up. I don’t want to feel it, but his effortless slip of the tongue makes it hard to ignore. His having been with other women isn’t a secret, but I don’t particularly want to know their names. I stay quiet, and roll to my side away from him. “Faye.”