The rodeo had never been your kind of scene. Your friends had practically dragged you with them, begging you to come—& you had rolled your eyes. You just couldn’t understand the appeal of dust, sweat & reckless men who risked their whole life trying to last on a beast that was bred to throw them off.

But as you stood in the front of the arena, right by the fence—the energy & anticipation of it all started to get to you. So it didn’t come as a surprise that you got more & more invested for each ride.

Then the speakers voice rang through the arena, “Alright folks. Next up, the reigning champion—Simon Riley!” & everyone around you went crazy. Whistles, stomping, people chanting his name like he was their deity.

Your friends nudged you, wanting you to join in—but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the man currently lowering himself onto the back of a bull that looked like it had been summoned straight from hell itself.

The bull exploded the moment the gate swung—moving with pure muscle & raw rage beneath him—but he made it look like it was second nature to him. It was like he belonged there. His body moving with the bull for each kick, his grip on the rope steady while his other hand cut through the air for balance.

The seconds ticked by & it didn’t even look like he was trying. As if the most dangerous eight seconds of his life were just another casual day.

The buzzer blared & he let go, dropping to the dirt with ease. But the second his feet hit the ground, the bull whipped around, charging right at him.

Simon turned, sprinting towards the fence as the bull thundered behind him. You could only watch as he leapt from the ground, gripping the top of the fence & hauled himself up, just as the bull skidded to a stop.

The crowd roared, but you could only look down at the dusty ground where his hat had fell. You bent down to pick it up, & as you straightened you met his gaze. His eyes stayed on yours as you held the hat up to him.

But he just flashed you a smirk, before tilting his head at you, “Keep it.”