Rider’s Block

10. Chapter Ten

Chapter ten

“Beer Never Broke My Heart,” Luke Combs

T hey say that there are two things in life that expose you for what you truly are, removing the facade of a filter and putting your best or worst faults on display—money and alcohol.

Money, for example, is not inherently a bad thing, but it can bring out the best or the worst in any human being. Someone who’s generous at heart with money will steward the resources in a generous way. It doesn’t matter how much money a greedy, tight-fisted person has…it will never seem like enough.

And alcohol? Turns out alcohol can turn a brooding, tight-lipped cowboy into a stupidly endearing, happy son-of-a-bitch who is slowly making me question all the reasons why I shouldn’t pursue a brief summer fling with a ridiculously attractive cabin neighbor.

And that just kept me going. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass, I really couldn’t.

Once I knew that I was theoretically drinking Eric under the table, I wanted to see how far he’d actually go to continue his chivalrous charade. Turns out, he’ll go pretty damn far. He’s now downed three more drinks since I caught him adding water to mine, and if I’m keeping count correctly, I’m surprised he’s not completely gone.

No, instead I find myself out on the dance floor with him. Again. His movements aren’t nearly as smooth as they were three drinks ago, but even intoxicated out of his mind, he is my favorite dance partner of the night.

“Is your family also in California?” Drunk Eric is also a much more talkative Eric, as it turns out. He’s been peppering me with a slew of meaningless, adorable questions the whole dance and I’m gobbling up every conversation starter he sends my way.

“Nope, my mom and my brother live in Idaho.”

“Is that where you grew up?” Each word is a bit of a slur, but again, adorable.

“Yep, grew up in a lake town in Idaho that is pretty picturesque.”

“Why did you leave?”

Not wanting to go down the path of explaining the aftershock of my sperm donor of a father, I let out my well-rehearsed, simple answer. “My dad’s job. But then I went to college in LA and decided to stay.”

“Are you and your family close?”

“My mom and I are, and my brother and I are as close as you can expect. He’s got a family of his own now and I spoil those kids whenever I get a chance. Do you think you’ll be in Colorado forever?” I don’t think he’s sober enough to notice my careful dance around the topic, but best to steer clear.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” His sincerity comes through fiercely, as if the thought sobers him up a bit. “I wish they weren’t such worrywarts, but that just means they care.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure someone around here has opened their mouth up and blabbered about my accident.” He looks at me to affirm, I nod, and he continues. “Roughed me up pretty good, but you have to get back on the horse. You have to.” He repeats the comment more to himself than to me, so I don’t interrupt. He continues to talk, and his downcast gaze makes me feel like he’s entering into an internal battle he doesn’t really realize he’s vocalizing out loud. “The last thing I need is another person worrying about me.”

The pieces start to fold together for me, and I get it.

The side of me that’s constantly out to prove people wrong recognizes the need in him immediately, and the pained look on his face causes my bleeding heart to reach back out. “I know my opinion doesn’t mean much—seeing as I’m under-researched and all”—at that he gives a small chuckle—“but I think the way you move on a horse is one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. Like, ever. I loved every second of it.”

The look of gratitude that passes over his eyes makes my small token of vulnerability worth it. It was a small compliment anyways. Not like I was asking to bear his children or something ridiculous like that. Even though the way he’s looking at me right now makes me kind of want to re-question my stance on things at the moment.

His grip on my waist tightens just a bit, and I watch as his gaze dips down to my lips for a split second. But right as I think he might actually lean down and kiss me, the song comes to an abrupt halt, and we almost tumble into the couple next to us.

The scuffle effectively breaks the tension, and I watch as the wall that was briefly removed for a moment is sent right back up, and Eric seems like he might as well have just dunked his head in a bucket of ice water for how much he sobered up.

Even with his wall, he’s as polite as ever. We walk back to the table, and this time it’s Christine and Trevor who immediately pull me into a conversation. I watch over Trevor’s shoulder to see if Eric keeps up with drinking my next drink, and he doesn’t bat an eye before concocting his own watery version of my personal cocktail. This time, though, he throws it back with a little more punch.

The night is starting to dwindle down, but I get pulled out to the dance floor two more times before I finally hear Christine tell Trevor it might be time to call it quits.

“How are you driving-wise, Amelia?” Christine asks, tucked under Trevor’s arm. It’s only then that I realize I rode with her, and she would likely prefer I find a different truck to go home in.

“Yeah, how on God’s green earth are you so sober right now?” Dean pipes into the conversation with his hands on his hips.

I lean in so only Dean can hear me. “You might want to ask your brother that question.”

We both turn to see Eric’s eyes locked on us, a scowl firmly set on his face…but his hat is crooked. Not by much, mind you, but for a strait-laced guy like him, it’s enough to indicate he likely won’t remember much of tonight. At the realization Dean busts out laughing with a boom so loud everyone turns to look at us. He can’t get ahold of himself, and his laughter is so contagious I can’t help but join in. And just when I think I can finally wrangle myself in and stop, I look up to see Eric’s knowing scowl and the laughing starts back up again.

“How long have you known?” Dean manages to ask between breaths, still keeping the conversation between just the two of us.

“After the third drink, I think.”

“And you let him keep doing it?”

“He made me look like a champ, I wasn’t going to back down from that. Besides, I was curious how long he’d keep it up.”

“How’d he do it?”

“I looked over as he threw back a third of my drink and refilled the glass with water.” This sends Dean into another fit of laughter that he’s desperately trying to contain, but just can’t.

“I can forgive you now for your Pendleton comment. You don’t insult that shit around here. Your penance is going to be driving him home, though. You guys are both in the cottages anyways, should be easy.”

“Are you not?” I assumed since Eric was out there that Dean was too.

“Nope, I still live in the main house. Mom got sad when Trevor and Eric left, so I let her fuss over me a bit longer.”

“How selfless of you,” I deadpan, I can’t imagine living in that house to be anything other than glorious.

“I know, it’s no easy feat to wake up to bacon every morning, but I do it for her.” I’ve heard of momma’s boys, but I’m assuming the Randall brothers take that to a whole new level. “Alright, let’s get Eric to the truck. I’ve never seen him like this, so it should be interesting. He normally can hold his liquor, but I was trying to figure out your limit. I know his, and he probably hit it two drinks ago.”

Eric eyes us both suspiciously as we walk up. “We heading out?” I can hear him trying to manage his slur, and he does an impressive job at it. If I didn’t know he’d been taking my drinks all night I wouldn’t suspect much.

“Mia’s going to drive your truck back, sound good?”

“I thought we agreed that wasn’t my name.” It doesn’t hurt as much to hear the nickname from Dean, surprisingly, but I don’t want him to get used to it. Old wounds are starting to heal up, but I can’t imagine after a while it wouldn’t get at me.

“Right, West Coast over here is going to drive you back, alright?”

Eric nods and moves to stand up, but as he does, he wobbles just enough to completely get thrown off balance, and I just so happen to be the closest person to him, so suddenly I find myself supporting the weight of a very, very large man. Tall and muscular might be a winning combination aesthetically, but when all of that optimized weight hits me at once I almost buckle under the weight.

Surprisingly, I hold my own as he drapes his arms around my shoulder, and I continue to support what I assume to be a third of his body weight. He seems completely unbothered by our position. I, on the other hand, am trying very hard to not notice how nicely I fit in the crook of his arm. Or how his leather and whiskey scent might be my new favorite combination.

Using his momentum to get us moving, I hightail it out to the parking lot. Dean follows, helping me out when Eric’s weight gets to be a little too much, and we both manage to get him sprawled out in the front of the cab, draping over the bucket seat in the middle.

“You going to be able to handle him?” Dean’s as out of breath as I am from the effort.

“I should be fine,” I lie easily. “Besides, I kind of feel responsible for his current state. I could have stopped him ages ago.”

Dean holds his hands up in surrender as he steps back to his own truck. “You said it, not me.”

I hoist myself up into the driver’s seat and start the trek back, eternally grateful that I have enough cell service to map my way back to the farm.

We’re halfway back to the ranch when Eric finally stirs, semi-awake. Sprawled all the way across the middle seat, he pops his head, looks me in the eyes for a brief second, and then lies back down… placing his head on my right thigh.

He lets out a contented sigh, and I’m momentarily struck frozen. I’m in the midst of debating how to best skootch him back to his own seat when I feel a hand at the top of my cowboy boots, tracing the lining. “Did I tell you I really like your new cowboy boots?” Eric mumbles below me.

“No…” I answer cautiously.

“Well, they’re pretty fucking hot. And I don’t have time for that. I couldn’t stop looking at them all night. At you all night. I don’t know if you can wear these things to a rodeo again or I’ll think about them too much. I can’t be distracted, you know?” He continues to mumble as I listen to the ping-pong match of him complimenting me and simultaneously continually turning me down. “My family already worries too much about me, the last thing I want is to feel like I need to quit competing to keep my woman happy. And I would. I would do whatever the woman in my life asks, so I can’t have one until I’m done. Until I win the big one.”

He keeps swiping his thumb up and down my calf, casually. So casually. He has no idea of the goosebumps erupting under the trail of his path beneath my jeans…both at his touch and the words he is subconsciously spitting out. “I’ve never even been tempted. Not once. Until I pulled up to the sorry excuse of a car you managed to almost crash with no other cars around you. The sun hit your hair when you looked at me and I knew you were trouble. No ma’am. Not for me. Don’t need that. Then you had to show up in these fucking red boots.” Each word is trailing off and I can feel his head start to dip in a way where I know he’ll be asleep in no time. A few minutes of silence and I think he’s actually asleep, but he pipes up one more time. “I’d give you more than my hat…” And then he’s out cold.

***

The next morning I’m headache-free and feeling good. Well, as good as I can feel after tossing and turning all night thinking of what Eric drunkenly confessed. My goosebumps never went away. Oh no, not even when I had to haul his heavy ass into his cottage and throw him on his bed. Literally throw him. I put my back into it and used my freakishly strong thighs with all my might to launch his well over six-foot frame onto his mattress.

How he landed likely wasn’t all that comfortable, but it was the best I could do.

I left him a water and found some Advil to leave by his bedside table…the least I could do for him making me look like a whiskey-drinking champ last night.

And can I think about anything other than the fact that he admitted to being as attracted to me as I am to him? Nope. Absolutely not. That’s all I could think about. Besides his hands. And his shoulders. Thought a lot about those, too.

But the worst part? I get it.

Am I not thinking the same thing? That the worst thing I could do would be to get involved with anyone right now? And what I’m doing is low stakes by comparison.

I hate being logical. I want to be illogical.

I want both of us to be illogical after last night, but I just can’t ask that of him because I can’t even ask it of myself. And I will never, ever get in the way of a man and his ambition. I grew up too familiar with the aftershock of what that can produce.

Not to mention I have no idea whether he’ll remember any of last night at all. It would be better if he didn’t, probably. But I kind of wish he did remember.

Just a little.