Ride

It's the chance of a lifetime: photograph the World Rodeo Championships.

There are only a couple of rules: don't get in the way, don't get trampled, and don't get frisky with the cowboys. 

As if I need to be told. I tried that once when I was dumb, drunk, and eighteen, and no matter how good it felt I'm not about to make that mistake again.

I'm here to make a name for myself, not become another buckle bunny.

I'm a professional, and I don't care how charming Jackson Cody, two-time World Rodeo Champion, might be.

Even if it turns out he does remember our brief encounter all those years ago when I was dumb and drunk.

And especially not if he wants to re-start right where we left off.

It's a terrible idea. This gig is the beginning of the rest of my life. A foot in the door. A way to prove I can be taken seriously, and Jackson is nothing more than pretty eyes, a cocky smile, and a mouth that makes the phrase yes ma'am sound absolutely filthy.

Problem is, I know what else that mouth can do.

I've got a five-year plan. He barely thinks more than eight seconds ahead.

But when he rides? 

It's perfect.