Untamed

by Shey Stahl

  Getting back in the truck, I check my phone to see the time. I take my dress off. It’s too hot for clothes. It’s nearing noon and I’m starting to get this weird sensation in the pit of my stomach. Like I’m not sure what I’m doing or what this means. I want to send him a message, but I can’t make myself do it. I think I like the anticipation that he doesn’t know if I’m coming or not.

  But then I think to myself, what if he decides he doesn’t actually want me to come? Then what?

  Don’t think like that, I tell myself, pressing my hand to my bare stomach. The action makes me immediately think of the way Grayer’s hands felt on me last night and the way he pulled me to the edge of that hay bale.

  Haylee gets in the truck smelling like gasoline and half her bag of chips already gone. She gives me a nod. “Who’s your friend?”

  “What?” I set my phone down and glance around the cab. “What friend?”

  “Her.” She gives another nod to the window.

  When I turn my head, I jump about a foot off the seat when I see a woman standing there staring at me.

  “Hello,” she says, about knocking me out with her ass breath and running her leather fingers over my bare shoulder. “You’re both beautiful girls.”

  Is she hitting on us?

  “Uh, thanks.” I sneak a glance at Haylee. “Let’s. Go.”

  She ignores me, slowly bringing a chip to her mouth and then chewing just as slow, completely amused by this.

  “Can we help you?” I ask, scooting closer Haylee.

  The woman smiles, tight red lips and tangled, straw blonde hair. “My husband thinks you two are pretty.” And then she winks, fucking winks at us. “How ’bout a two for one?”

  I look over at Haylee to see what her reaction is going to be. “I don’t understand. What’s two for one mean?”

  I roll my eyes. “She wants us to fuck each other and let her husband join in so she can watch.”

  Her eyes go wide, her mouth forming a perfect O shape. “Oh hell, roll up that fuckin’ window, Maesyn!”

  My mouth gapes open. “Oh, so now we’re in a hurry?”

  Haylee wipes the back of her hand over her forehead. “Goddamn right we are! Roll that window up.”

  Shaking my head, I toss my phone on the seat and roll the window up as she pulls away. “It’s not the first time someone has asked for both of us together.”

  Haylee peels out of the gas station still shaking her head. “Yeah, but, at least Jeremy was hot.”

  She had a point there too.

  Chasing the sunset across the states, we eat gas station food and drink Red Bull like it’s water. We stop and take selfies and let the wind blow through our hair. Outside Amarillo, we pose next to brightly painted cars with their noses buried in the ground in Cadillac Ranch. But it’s the music I won’t forget. Miranda Lambert’s Platinum album carries us through Kansas and well into Oklahoma. George Strait takes us into Mississippi, and it’s Lorrie Morgan we’re listening to when Haylee reaches across the seat and takes my hand and tell me, “We’re a brunette and a blonde with an unbreakable bond.”

  We don’t realize we’re making memories. We’re just having fun.

  A bull rider's free hand is the hand he does not use to grip the bull rope during a ride. The free hand must stay in the air throughout the ride. If it touches the bull, or the bull rider before eight seconds elapse, the rider is disqualified and receives no score.

  I try not to think about her, but it’s useless. I’ve fallen hard like I’ve been thrown from the meanest bull only to get a face full of dirt.

  Ty, Reid, and I leave for Biloxi on Thursday morning. Waiting to see if Maesyn’s going to show up there is torture. I’m unbearable waiting to see if she’s going to show. I don’t like not knowing. I think a lot on the drive to Biloxi and it’s when we arrive and I see Britany again that it hits me. What am I going to say to Maesyn about this? She’s going to find out about Wyatt . . . and Britany . . . fuck. I don’t regret asking her to come. If anything, I’m on edge waiting to see if she will come and am praying she does. I need to see her again. The way she trembled from my touch, leaned into my kiss, sighed when I held her that morning, she felt something for me. Truthfully, it scares the shit out of me because she’s not what I need at the moment, but in the same sense, I desperately need.

  It’s in between autograph sessions when Britany pulls me aside. The morning started off shitty and goes straight to hell from there. I’m late getting to the venue only to have Britany grilling me with questions. She comes at me, eyes blazing when Ty outs me and tells her I invited Maesyn to the show tomorrow. “This girl . . . does she know?”

  “Know what?”

  Britany gives me the look. The one she gives moments before she slaps me upside the head for being dumb. “About Wyatt.”

  I breathe hard and step toward her, trying to keep my voice only between us in a room full of bull riders and fans. This clearly isn’t the place to be having the conversation. “No.”

  Her lips flatten in disappointment. Also a look I see often. She’s silent for several seconds. Then, without looking at me, she all but whispers, “Grayer. . . .”

  I shrug. “What?”

  “You invited her here and didn’t even tell her what’s she’s walking into.”

  She doesn’t have to remind me. No one does. If anyone’s hard on themselves, it’s me. I carry my responsibilities for Britany and Wyatt on my back constantly. I swore I’d never involve anyone I didn’t trust in this, but Christ, what the hell does she want from me? “I figured it was best to show her.”

  “Best for her or you?”

  I hate to admit she has a fraction of a point. I shake my head, not in the mood to share. I’m not going to tell her that the moment I think of that wild blonde and her green-sea eyes my dick gets hard and I’m totally distracted. For fuck’s sake, it’s terrifying she’s gotten to me this quickly and the last thing I want to do is admit it. My words come out clipped and biting. “Can you leave two tickets for her at the booth?”

  “Why two?”

  “She probably brought her friend.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Fine.” Britany looks at me sharply. Unhappily. And I get the impression I’m going to be getting this look often.

  I can’t say I care, either. Despite being ranked number one in the world, only three points ahead of Reid and with eight events until the World Championships, I’m one-tracked at the moment. Pussy does that to you. Just ask Ty and Reid who had to ride ten hours in a truck with me. With every second that passes, I’ve become exceptionally more unbearable. I’m tense, short-tempered, and on edge. All that really boils down to is I’m really goddamn horny.

  A bull ride originates inside a gated steel box called a chute. There are typically six chutes at each PBR competition lined lengthwise at one end of the arena. However, some events have a set of six chutes at each end of the arena for a total of twelve. The bull rider and bull remain in a designated chute until the arena is clear and the rider has strapped his hand in his bull rope. When the rider is ready, he nods, signaling the gate man to open the chute gate and allow the ride to begin.

  It’s nearing three Friday afternoon when Haylee and I realize we might be lost heading into Biloxi. Having driven pretty much nonstop, we also realize we can’t follow a map, which is ridiculous because we also have GPS on my phone and still can’t follow it. You would think it wouldn’t be that hard. We pull off the interstate and sit along the side of the road, each passing 18-wheeler rocking our truck sideways.

  “Damn it.” Haylee rips the map from my hands and stares at it, her brow scrunched in concentration and finger following the interstate lines. “We were supposed to take exit 1-C off I-10 into Biloxi.”

  “We missed that.” I frown nervously. Haylee hates being lost about as much as she hates the color yellow. Which is a lot. “I don’t think we were on I-10.”

  “Apparently.” She tosses the map on the floor in frustration and looks ou
t the windshield. “What time does it start?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  Haylee sighs, picking the map up again and then looks back at me. “Do you know where it’s at?”

  “No. I know it’s in Biloxi.”

  She glares. “Do you know anything?”

  “No. . . .”

  “Well, did you talk to him about it?”

  “No. He just . . . well, I was about to thank him for giving me the best orgasm of my life and he told me to meet him in Biloxi and tell him when I got there.”

  Haylee considers this. “Well . . . you’re a lot of fucking help. Call him.”

  My finger hovers over the Call button, both in shock that I have the name Grayer Easton in my contacts, and that I might call. But I don’t. I can’t. “No. I can’t do it.” My eyes widen. It was the obvious thing to do, but I refuse. No way am I calling him. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he . . . ugh! Fuck my what-ifs.

  “Why?” Haylee presses.

  “I’m scared,” I admit, because I can to her. It’s Haylee. She gets me. If anyone is going to understand me, it’s her.

  “We suck at Thelma and Louise.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Haylee stares at the map a little more intently, gives up, and then we find a gas station another five miles away to ask for directions. Still, with barely any clothes on, she runs in for directions. This time I stay in the truck.

  “Oh my God, Maesyn.” Haylee slams the door when she gets back in the truck. “It’s like another hour away, the other direction!”

  “Well, I’m sorry. Apparently I can’t read a map.”

  “Apparently. Hey, you have a fancy phone,” she says, pointing out the obvious. “Turn on your navigation. I can’t get lost again. This is driving me crazy.” Haylee puts her key back in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life. “But first let’s stop for food. I’m starving.”

  “No. Let’s just get there.”

  She gives me that look. The one where she sees right through me. “You just want to go for the dick.”

  “Not true.” I’m trying to defend myself, but the flush in my cheeks gives me away. “I want to watch him ride. We don’t know what time it starts. What if we stop for food, then we miss him ride.”

  “Uh-huh. You just want to get there for him to ride you.”

  When a rider "covers" his bull, he successfully stays aboard the bull for eight seconds and therefore earns a score for his efforts.

  By the time we get there, the lights around the arena are bursting gold and blue and shining brightly over the city. It’s easy to see this is the attraction in the city. The sheer size of the event isn’t something I had been expecting. It’s like the parking lot of a rock concert.

  Over the years, I knew professional bull riding had turned mainstream and these guys were huge stars, but I had no idea it was like this.

  “I’m so excited!” I squeal, giving in to my girly side for a moment.

  “Me too.” We change out of our sweaty clothes in the truck, and Haylee starts laughing when she gets hers off. “Do you see any truckers?”

  I don’t. All I see around me is lifted dirt-covered trucks. “Nope. We’re safe.”

  As I look through my bag to see what I want, Haylee’s half-dressed already and adjusting her cowboy hat. She slips a tank top on that’s fringed on the ends and a pair of frayed jean shorts. Slipping on her boots, she ties her top in the front to reveal an inch of her stomach. She reaches for her bracelets on the dash.

  The wind had done a number on my hair, but with a little hairspray, it had that beach gypsy look to it. My braids were all knotted together and tangled with others. Taking the scarf I packed, I tie it up halfway in my hair to give it some sort of tamed look. I choose my skin-tight jeans with the rhinestones on the pockets and the matching buckle and pair it with a tank top and my boots. When I fasten the belt, I immediately think of Grayer last night and smile.

  Haylee notices, the corners of her cherry red painted lips twisting up as she applies another coat of lipstick. “What’s got you going?”

  “Thinking ’bout last night.”

  “And...?”

  I peek a look at her out of the corner of my eye as I pull my black and turquoise tank top on that says “Let’s Ride” in pink writing across the chest. “Let’s just say belt buckles do more than keep your pants up.”

  “Oh, realllllly?” She’s completely intrigued, turning in the seat to face me as she continues to apply makeup.

  I point to my tank top. “Too much?”

  She reads it silently and then grins. “Nope. Perfect. Hopefully, he can read though.”

  Reaching into my bag again, I dig out all my jewelry: cuffed bracelets, earrings, and the necklace I always wear. It seems a little much to get dressed up, but this is Grayer Easton I’m getting ready to see. Surely I have some competition with the buckle bunnies. I’ve never been the jealous type. I’m more of an admire her beauty without being threatened type of girl, but I do want to keep his attention. I have no idea what these kind of events are like.

  It was still well into the nineties even with the sun down and the moment we’re dressed, I want my clothes off again. Everything is sticky and tight from the heat.

  Before we get out, Haylee reaches for my hand and smiles. “I don’t care what happens next but this, us leaving together. . . .” She doesn’t finish her words, maybe she can’t, but the moment catches me off guard because Haylee’s always been the rock between the two of us. And now she’s sorta close to tears. “Thank you for this.”

  I’m not sure what to say to her, but I speak from my heart like I always do. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  At that moment, two wandering hearts leading us into the unknown, this is perfect. Together we left it all behind in search of ourselves, and maybe a bull rider.

  When we’re dressed and ready, the moment we’re out of the truck, time becomes a blur and my stomach is in knots about seeing him again. If it wasn’t for Haylee, I don’t think I would have managed to get to the ticket booth.

  “Do you still have any of that rum?”

  Haylee laughs, looping her arm in mine. “No, it’s in the truck. Let’s go find us some bull riders.”

  We walk. Actually, she kind of drags me toward the Mississippi Coast Coliseum.

  “Can we get two tickets?” Haylee asks once we’re at the ticket booth. It’s apparent the event has already started by the lack of a line.

  The ticket attendant looks up at us. “What’s your name? I have two tickets on call that I’ve been told to ask names for.”

  “Uh . . . Maesyn Calhoun,” Haylee says, smiling back at me.

  The attendant looks relieved. “Finally, the girls we’ve been looking for.” And then he hands us two front row tickets for the two-night show. “Enjoy.”

  Haylee and I both gape at one another. Grayer had reserved two tickets for me on the chance that I did show up.

  Be still, heart.

  “Holy shit,” Haylee says, wrapping her arm around mine again. “He really left tickets for us?”

  “Apparently.” And the fact that he knew to leave two, like he knew I would bring Haylee . . . I think I like him even more. I don’t dare throw around the love word; it’s a word you give meaning to, not something to throw around.

  Because of our minor detour, we missed the opening ceremonies. Inside, the sight before us is unreal. Un-freaking-real. It’s loud. That’s the first thing I notice. There’s a man on a bull, nineteen thousand fans screaming, the smells of dirt, manure, and the thrill of adrenaline-soaked riders risking their lives all for an eight-second ride. Haylee scrunches her nose. She hates that smell, but it’s part of the experience.

  It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before. I’ve been to rodeos and have seen bull riding, but never on this scale. I don’t notice I’m breathing heavily until the thudding in my chest echoes in my ears.

  Immediately I can see the allure of the sport. It
’s in the adrenaline, the guts, and the pride it takes to experience the most dangerous eight seconds on dirt. As one tames a bull before us—or attempts to—another five watch his every move, waiting for their chance at the beast they drew.

  “This is crazy,” Haylee shouts over the screaming fans and the announcers when we take our front row seats. Front freaking row!

  The rider on the bull registers a four-second ride before he’s bucked off, the crowd cheering him on when he manages to get away from the bull rearing by his head. Bullfighters quickly detour the bull back to the bullpen. Despite the rider not scoring, it doesn’t deter the crowd any with their cheering.

  Scanning the sinewy cowboys hanging over the rails, I search for that cream hat. My problem is there are so many they begin to all look the same.

  “I wonder which one is Grayer. They all look alike in hats and chaps,” Haylee notices, looking around.

  She’s right. They do and then I panic a little. “I hope we didn’t miss him.”

  Scanning the crowds, I notice one thing. The world of professional bull riding is popular. The women . . . there are so many with their tits out and they’re going just as crazy as the bulls, hoping one of these cowboys will glance their way.

  It’s then I spot Grayer about twenty feet from me. The man who made me travel across the United States to see him. It’s definitely him. I’d know that terribly handsome face anywhere.

  He’s leaning against the rails, elbows resting, and head bent forward slightly watching the action in the middle of the arena with another guy beside him, both pointing out different things and deep in discussion. The black vest covered in sponsors, the leather chaps . . . oh, fuck.

  Be careful, heart. He’s dangerous.

  “That’s him,” I say to Haylee, pointing in Grayer’s direction and giving him a whistle.

  He hears the whistle, his head jerking toward the sound. His eyes search the crowd and then land solely on me. He traps me in his gaze immediately and I take a deep breath, swallowing over the sudden lump in my throat. For a moment, I think I see disappointment, or maybe it’s relief?