Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (22 page)

Rodeo. The road. Stolen moments with Greer. Late night talks with Maggie. Drinking. Raising hell. And classes. Those definitely take a backseat when you’re an athlete, though. My job here is to be the best rodeoer on the college circuit. Not that I’m not doing well in school. It’s just not what takes up the majority of my time.

These are the things that have consumed me for the last few weeks, and I’ve loved every minute. I almost feel like I’ve invented a new life for myself. Becky and Amber shoot me spiteful looks as often as they are able, and I grin as big as I can when they do. Other than them, everyone has been incredibly good to me. Asking my advice. Seeking me out to hang with. At first I thought it was Maggie, but when she started spending most of her time with Pete, and they were still coming around, I had to revise that opinion. Everything was good. Everyone was good.

Except Ransom.

He hadn’t spoken to me since that night in the back of my truck. It was odd. Before that night, he sought me out constantly, even if it was in a small way. And here I thought he got me. Thought he was interested in me. Yet he hadn’t spoken to me in three weeks. Or even so much as looked at me. We’re a small, tight-knit group, traveling together, eating together, partying together, so he’s had to have some interaction. It’s how I learned that people could talk to you and even look at you without
really
talking to you or looking at you. I was used to people ignoring me, but this is different. He’s fucking fabulous at making me feel like I don’t exist while subjecting me to his larger-than-life personality. Even in our team meetings where he has to address me—he may as well be talking to the fucking wall.

I tried to convince myself this was a good thing. If Ransom isn’t talking to me, I wouldn’t be tempted to screw up things with Greer. And he had become a temptation for me, but Greer is nothing but
good
for me. It’s become pretty clear that he’s everything I want him to be, everything I need him to be. And he assures me constantly that he feels the same way about me.

The prospect of building something real with him excites me. I daydream about our future together, something I haven’t let myself do since we were sixteen, when life was beautiful and bright and shiny. Well, the most beautiful I’ve ever known anyway.

So why then, does it haunt me knowing that anything I could’ve had with Ransom died that moonlit night?

The answer to that question comes as easy as the whore who springs to mind. No matter what, I’ll never be able to let down my defenses. My whore gene is alive and fucking well.

It doesn’t help that, for weeks, I’ve watched Ransom dominate the bull riding circuit everywhere we go. Texas, Oklahoma, Missouri … no one can touch him. Other cowboys can stay on their bulls sure, but Ransom does it with such ease, yet such intensity. It is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and the Baby Buckle Bunnies agree with me. Every city we rodeo in sees its own share of fangirls who are more than willing to forgo their morals for a night with one of our guys—Ransom being on the top of their lists. And, from what I’ve gathered, he has done his fair share of sampling what each city had to offer. He is the manwhore that I suspected. And, of course, that bothers no one else. So it sure as shit shouldn’t repulse me. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. I can’t quite explain the why of it to myself.

As for Greer, he continues to amaze in the arena and out of it. He is fabulous, and don’t think for a second he doesn’t have his share of girls trying to get with him. He is so adorable about it. He does his meet-and-greet, takes pictures, and signs autographs. I’ve watched girls shove scraps of paper in his pocket, but as soon as they walk off, he reaches in, balls it up, and chucks it. Doesn’t even look at them. He caught me grinning about it once, threw me one of those irresistible grins of his and mouthed, “You’re my girl,” while I was posing for a picture with our mascot for the team Facebook page. That’s the prettiest picture I’ve ever seen of myself.

His parents come to most of the events. His mother still doesn’t speak to me outright, just kind of talks around me like I’m not even standing there. His dad isn’t so bad. He at least says my name and tries to make some conversation until Mrs. Tanner gives him a “What the fuck?” look, and our would-be conversation dies an awkward death. My mom may have the whore-market cornered, but Greer’s mom is the biggest bitch I ever met. Greer assures me that they’ll come around once I’ve proven I am nothing like my mother. In my head, that translates to—they will never like you; you are your mother.

I am thankful that my mother hadn’t shown up at any of my events. I just have no desire to be around her. She’s sent me a few text messages, mostly asking about different things for the ranch. No word on whether or not I am going to be a big sister. I wonder, if I don’t go back, will she eventually forget that I even exist? Both are a real possibility because, once I got over not being on my ranch on a day-to-day basis, the thought of returning made my stomach twist. Me, the one who dreamt of nothing but running it one day. I’ve started seeing other options for myself, and it’s freeing.

Greer’s hand in my hair brings me back to the here and now. He runs it through his fingers for a few minutes while I close my eyes and delight in his touch. “Hey, Denver?” he calls eventually. “We’re almost there.”

I clear my throat and turn my head toward him as he drives, his hand resting on top of the steering wheel. Looking at him never fails to resonate with me. He’s just that beautiful. His long, blond curls rest in charming disarray around his strong features. Those bright blue eyes, those thick eyebrows and long eyelashes, his long, straight proud nose. You could cut diamonds on those cheekbones. And that mouth. I happen to know how soft and warm and incredible it feels. My own mouth waters, and I’m beyond tempted. I unbuckle and scoot to the middle, buckling quickly before I curl one arm under his chin to thread my fingers through those soft curls. My touch elicits a groan from him. I nudge his hair up with my nose as I plant a lingering kiss behind his ear, which earns me another moan.

“Baby, you better quit if you don’t want me to lose control. The horses would not be too happy if I just whipped off the road.”

“No, but I would,” I purr.

“Ah, Denver, I wish. We’re, uh, kinda in a caravan. We’ll be in Laramie soon, though.”

“Good,” I whisper, as I continue to torture him. I run the tip of my tongue down his neck, and on my return path to his ear, I taste the tiny goose bumps my touch has erected. Moving my hand from his hair, I circle his thigh and squeeze. I lay my head on his shoulder and breathe in his familiar scent—horses, leather, and Greer. Warmth spreads throughout my being, and I feel … content.

“Maybe we’ll sneak off and find a quiet spot before the madness begins,” he breathes, as I make little circles on his jeans.

“I’m in,” I rush out. He just chuckles at me. I move my hand to his chest so his laugh moves through me too.

Our rodeo here is a big deal. They’re our rivals in every sense of the word. We are continually swapping places with them—we’ll be first for a while and then they’ll take over, and we’ll trade places again. Currently, we are number one. Mostly because of Ransom and me, but everyone plays a part in making sure we bring it home. This weekend is an event stretching over three days, and then we’re off until the spring. I can’t even imagine what I’ll do with all that free time. I’ll have to work my horses, of course, but that still leaves a lot of time. Ransom has warned us not to get complacent, and we’ll have a ton of charity events too.

I hear my phone buzz. Pulling it from the holder, I grin as I read the first little bit and click to read the rest.

I’m DYING…to be alone with Pete. You’re DYING to be alone with Greer, so I made it happen. You and G can have our room to yourselves for a while. I’ll be with P. ;)

You read my mind. You rock! :D You’re not gonna…

No! Even though I really, really want to!!!!!! Are you?

No!!!! Greer still won’t give it up.

OMG! A guy who won’t give it up. What a refreshing change!

Shut up. I don’t feel refreshed. :P

I slide my phone back in the holder next to Greer’s, just as his lights up. Pulling it out, I smile at the picture on his lock screen. I flash it toward him. “Your favorite girl?”

He laughs and squeezes my thigh. “Not my favorite girl, but one of them.”

“Do you miss her?”

“More than you know. Frisco’s a slobbering, snoring mess, but she’s my mess.”

I bite my lip, trying hard not to say it. “Good thing you have a penchant for … ‘messes,’” I quip.

He gives me a warning look.

I slide his phone back in beside mine before turning back to him. “Guess what?” I tease.

“What’s that?” he asks, as he plants a kiss on my cheek.

“No sneaking around. No backs of trucks. No feed trucks,” I finish with a laugh at the thought of that ingenious spot he found for us in Texas. “Maggie’s going to hang out with Pete in his room for a while, so you can come to my room with me.” I resume what I hope is my slow, sweet attack on Greer’s resolve.

“Mmm … sounds perfect. Are, uh, Maggie and Pete …”

“No, everything but. She wants to wait. And he’s being crazy-patient.”

“Good for them,” he grins.

“Kinda like you and me, except reversed,” I groan.

Frowning, he runs his hand between my thighs as he teases, “Mmm, hmm, but I’ve been taking care of you, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you have,” I admit, as I continue my assault on him.

A
FTER THE NATIONAL
anthem, the fireworks, and the team introductions, we get down to business.

Maggie takes first in Pole Bending. Greer’s second in Calf Roping. He and his rival from WSU are always swapping places. The rest of the guys and girls hold their own.

Liberty and I finally beat our record-holding tie. I’m over the moon. Of course, she and I end up with bunches of flowers and take lots of pictures and sign tons of autographs. Liberty gets spoiled with her loot of carrots and apples and sugar cubes. They adore her.

Once we’re caught up with our duties, Maggie and I crawl up in between the bull chutes and the fences so we can get an unfettered view of the bull riders. One of the coaches tries to run us off, but we’re not having that.

When Pete slides down on his bull, Maggie grabs my hand and holds it tight. “I get so scared, Denver. We’ve had such a good season so far. Very few injuries, very little drama.”

“I know,” I agree. It is scary because it’s not
if
we will get hurt, it’s
when and how bad.
And bull rider injuries are the worst of them all. The thrill of danger is in our blood, but actually dealing with that chilling reality is not something any of us focus on.

Pete wraps his hand up tight and pounds it closed with his fist while the men struggle to keep him from getting crushed in the chute before unleashing Holy Terror. Yes, that’s the bull he’s drawn.

Pete looks up, catching Maggie’s gaze and winks before pulling his white straw hat down tight over his shaggy brown hair.

After Pete and his bull get situated, Pete gives the call, and they’re off. Holy Terror rips from the chute, his hind legs immediately thrown into a ninety-degree angle in an extreme dive-bomb, and Pete is quite unceremoniously catapulted over the head of the bull to face-plant in the dirt. “Oh, ladies and gentleman, not even a full second on Holy Terror. Holy Terror 1. Pete Ford 0,” the announcer quips and hits play on “Another One Bites the Dust.” Asshole.

Maggie and I stand up to watch for Pete as the bullfighters get the bull shooed out of the arena. “He’s not moving,” she whispers and turns her face to mine. Her normally cheerful grin and sunny demeanor slip behind the gray cloud that is the eventuality of getting hurt in bull riding.

I grasp her hand tighter and look back at the scene for her. He’s so still. “I know. He’s probably stunned. They’re checking on him now.” I can’t see what they’re doing, so I stand on my tippy-toes and crane my neck. When I do, I catch Ransom’s eye, as he is sitting atop his chute, waiting for his bull. He’s looking at Maggie, concern evident on his face. When his eyes drift to mine, they crystallize, and he turns away.

Finally, after what seems like forever, the little crowd clears, and I see Pete stumbling to his feet with the help of the trainers. “Maggie, he’s OK. Look, he’s getting up on his own.”

She lets out a startled cry before finding him with her tear-filled eyes. “Oh, Denver, cowboy up,” she whispers. “Look at him. He’s just so …”

“So?” I ask with a grin.

“Mine,” she says with a smile. “I need to make him mine.”

That cracks me up, causing everyone to look back at us. “Well, nothing like a close call to get your libido going, I suppose.”

She slaps at my arm while waving to Pete with the other. He snatches his hat from the ground and waves it around at the now cheering crowd. The announcer calls for everyone to give him a hand, and one of the bullfighters drapes his bull rope over Pete’s shoulder. Pete finds Maggie with his eyes and winks and kisses at her. “Oh, I’ve always wanted him, Denver. I’m just more highly motivated now than ever before.”