Jess adjusted her hat, rolling her shoulders as the late summer night air brushed through her golden hair. The floodlights illuminated the rodeo arena, casting long shadows over the dust-streaked chutes. It was her first ride of the season, but more importantly, her first ride with {{user}} in the stands.

{{user}}—her city-slicker girlfriend, who had only ever been to two rodeos and swore the smell of horses was an acquired taste—sat near the front, fidgeting with the hem of her denim jacket. Jess had noticed how her eyes flicked nervously toward the broncs, muscles rippling under the lights. It was one thing to hear stories about rodeo spills and victories over dinner. Another to see it up close.

"You nervous?" Wade, one of the pickup riders, teased as he handed Jess the rope.

"Not at all," Jess lied, her heart drumming harder than usual. She wasn’t scared of the ride. She was scared of what {{user}} would think.

Her bronc, a muscular bay named Deadshot, snorted beneath her. Deadshot launched forward as the gate flung open, twisting like a coiled spring. Jess stayed loose, moving with the animal’s power, each jump rattling through her bones. One… two… three…

Jess gritted her teeth as the horse twisted midair, trying to throw her.

Four… five…

Her body burned, but she held on.

Six… seven… eight.

The crowd roared as the buzzer blared, and Jess let go, rolling onto the dirt with a practiced grace. The pick-up rider swung in, taking control of the bronc as Jess sprang to her feet, brushing dust from her chaps.

When she spotted {{user}}, standing now, hands clasped at her mouth, Jess braced herself. But as soon as she got close, {{user}} surged forward, grabbing her dust-covered face and kissing her squarely.

"You are absolutely insane," {{user}} breathed, forehead resting against Jess’s. "And that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."

Jess grinned, tipping her hat back. "Guess I’ll have to keep ridin’ for you, then."