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OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
For anyone who’s always loved a bad boy in a pair of Wranglers. This one’s for us.
And for Ringo, the sweetest boy I ever did know and my best friend of thirteen years. You loved waking up early to write with me, so I suppose it’s only fitting that my new favorite book is also the last one I wrote with you at my side. Rest easy, little man.
OceanofPDF.com
Dear Reader,
This book contains mature themes including a brief on-page scene of involuntary drugging and incapacitation. To ensure that the subject matter in this book has been handled with the care it deserves, a clinical therapist was hired as an early reader and consultant throughout the writing process. It is my hope that I have handled these topics with the care and attention they deserve.
xo,
Elsie
OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 1
Emmett
EVEN A MANWHORE has to have some boundaries.
A line he won’t cross.
A thing he won’t say.
A reality show he has too much self-respect to sign up for.
“Georgia, the answer is still no.” I grumble the words without so much as looking up at the World Bull Riding Federation head of publicity. Instead, I focus on ripping off my gloves and trying not to overthink how fucking terrible my ride was tonight.
I’ve been a professional bull rider on the WBRF circuit for years now. And I’m damn good at it—one of the best in the world. And yet that championship still eludes me.
And this season is slipping through my fingers too. Which means I’m really not in the mood for this conversation. Again.
“Emmett, you should consider it. Maybe just hear them out. They won’t stop calling.”
“Then quit answering.” I toss my black cowboy hat down onto the bench in the dressing room and then roll my shoulder. Tilting my head to the side, in a stretch. Hoping to ease the pain in my neck.
It doesn’t help. So I continue undressing, turning to the silver buckle at the top of my chaps.
This is not the first time she’s brought the Romance Ranch bachelor offer to me. And it’s also not the first time I’ve been irritated by the suggestion. I don’t want to become a reality TV star. I want to win my championship and retire to my family farm in Emerald Lake where I can dedicate myself to helping keep the business in the black.
Because that place is bleeding money. Living in the red.
“Listen, you’re not getting any younger. We both know that you haven’t got a lot of years left on this circuit or at the top of your game.”
My head snaps up and I arch an irritated brow at the blond woman in the navy pinstripe pantsuit.
I do know it, but it’s still a bold thing for her to say to my face. She only tilts her head and crosses her arms, though, like she’s daring me to disagree with her.
“You should cash in while you can. Offers like these won’t be handed out to you forever.”
My molars grind against each other as I work to unzip the sides of my black leather chaps. The white and red fringe gets tangled, only adding to my agitation. I cuss under my breath, finally ripping them free and dropping them to the ground in a pile.
“Thank you for the input. But please tell them they can fuck all the way off.”
I tear open the pearl snaps that line the front of my shirt and start on my jeans. Undressing quickly because I want nothing more than to get the hell away from this conversation and from this arena.
When Georgia doesn’t respond with her usual bullheaded gusto, I glance in her direction. Her eyes are trailing down my bare chest, pausing where my thumb has flicked open my jeans. “You should leave. This is the men’s dressing room and I need to change.”
Her red painted lips roll together before she meets my eyes. “I could stay.”
I blink, somewhat confused by the offer. Because been there. Done that. Got to live through all the drama that came with it when she was wounded over me not wanting more.
“Georgia—”
She blinks once. Her bottom lip pressing out just a little farther than the top. “You used to call me Georgie.”
“That was a onetime thing.”
Three years ago.
“Two times,” she clarifies, lips twisting in annoyance.
I wince. “Okay. A one-night thing then. I’m not trying to be rude but I think I was very clear that I don’t do—”
“Relationships. I know.”
Do you though? That’s what I want to ask her, because in the wake of our hookup she certainly got the wrong idea about where we were headed. It was a lapse in judgment that taught me a lot of harsh realities.
But I don’t have the energy to console her while she cries about how good we could have been together. Or to endure several months of being snubbed by someone who is supposed to be working on boosting my public image.
No, if the Georgia experience taught me anything it’s that setting expectations is very, very important.
Now I make sure I tell women first thing what they’re signing up for.
It’s very romantic.
“You deserve better than what I have to offer, Georgia. We have a good working relationship now, let’s not—”
She barks out a laugh, shaking her head in amusement as she turns to leave. “God, you are just as dead inside as ever.” Her hand wraps around the door handle as she goes to strut out of the locker room. But not before she glances back over her shoulder and tosses out, “They’re offering you five hundred K and your family a very generous additional daily rental fee so maybe get over yourself and think it through.”
The door clicks shut behind her but I continue staring at where she stood just moments before.
Five hundred K. Five hundred thousand?
Before I can think better of it I stride across the room and rip the door open, projecting my voice down the hallway to her back, “Okay, fine. One call!”
Because for that kind of money, my boundaries can be adjusted.
“You fucking what?”
Five sets of eyes stare at me, varying degrees of horror shining in their depths, as I wait for something more than my sister’s disbelieving reaction.
As usual, the farmhouse smells like bacon, syrup, and cinnamon, but where the table is usually full of chatter and laughter, it is currently dead quiet. It would appear that I’ve plunged our New Year’s Day breakfast into utter silence.
My oma and opa, Tina and Leon, look especially shaken. From across the massive rectangular table, they gape in my direction. Oma’s eyes, the same blue as mine, are wide and unblinking while my opa’s brown ones pierce straight through me.
