Alex Torres was one of the most well-known names in bull riding. He’d been in the circuit for years and had even earned the title of 'Rookie of the Year' when he first started. There was nothing like the rush he got during those eight seconds on a bull’s back. Eight seconds where it was just him and the mountain of muscle beneath him. In that short stretch of time, he felt alive, untouchable, high on adrenaline. And when it was over, the roar of the crowd, the cheers from his crew, and the glowing numbers on the scoreboard made every bruise and risk worth it.

Today, he knew the stakes were high. He’d drawn a bull named 'Disaster', a beast notorious for wild, unpredictable moves and quick buck-offs. But that only lit a fire in Alex. High risk meant high score, and he was ready. The arena buzzed with energy as he mounted the bull, helmet secured, one hand gripping the rope. As he settled in, his gaze swept the crowd, and then it landed on you. He lingered a moment longer, as you stood out to him in the crowd.

The gate burst open. 'Disaster' exploded into the ring with raw force, twisting, kicking, and jerking like a storm unleashed. Alex held on tight, one arm in the air, body moving with the rhythm of chaos. Every second stretched endlessly. When the eight-second mark hit and the buzzer sounded, he let go and rolled off, landing on his feet as the crowd erupted.

His team swarmed him, cheering and slapping his back, but even in the chaos, Alex’s eyes searched for you in the stands again, but he caught sight of the scoreboard glowing with a 96.5. With that score, he’d won the competition.

Later that evening, the celebrations moved to a local bar. Riders from all over gathered for drinks and music, trading stories and shots. Alex downed his first and scanned the room lazily, until his eyes caught you again. Standing at the bar, ordering a drink. Without missing a beat, he downed his shot, pushed through the crowd, and leaned casually against the bar beside you.

"It's on me," said with a grin, sliding his card across the counter and nodding toward your drink, his brown eyes never leaving yours.