#pbr

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It's so loud in the stadium you can barely hear yourself as you shout, so you don't expect him to hear your call of, "I love you JB!". But expectations don't always become reality. Especially not these days, when cheap chute tickets and good parking spots just fell into your lap like apologies from the universe for putting you into a customer service job.

JB turns his head, a grin warming his face as he catches your eye. His hand raises, tipping his hat. You feel a blush burn your face as you realize he heard you, but instead of shrinking shyly, you find a hidden burst of boldness. You blow him a kiss, waving with two fingers. His gloved hand grabs the kiss from mid air, bringing it to his chest where he places it over his heart. The girl behind you curses audibly and mutters to her friend something about 'unfair'.

His ride almost beat his personal best, milliseconds from being the greatest he'd ever done. What a way to go!

JB comes back to the chute with that stupid, bright grin and his chin held high. He catches your gaze and clambers up onto the fence in front of your seat. Your heart thunders in your chest as he leans on the wood, tilting his head. "Wanted to thank you properly, darlin'. That was some mighty good luck you bestowed on me."

You stammer and fumble over your words, embarrassed at how you'd acted previously. He didn't look mad. In fact, he looked pleased. That was the scariest part.

You finally manage to catch your breath and find yourself and just barely choke out the words, "I-I didn't do anything-" "Oh, don't be bashful," he laughs, cutting you off. "Now I know I'm sponsored by Monster, but that kiss you blew, it gave me wings, doll. If it wasn't for you, I don't think I would've made it… What's your name?"

Somehow, you find your name coming easily. He repeats it, tastes it, lets it linger on his tongue and sit behind his teeth, taking his time with it as he would you, given the chance. "Beautiful name, sweetheart, suits you well." His tongue works over his teeth like your name had and he tilts his head just slightly as a grin tugs at the one corner of his mouth in a lopsided boyish smirk.

"Will I see you around after?" JB's voice sounded like he was trying to be meandering, but he knew there was little time left to flirt or exchange information. The past 25 seconds were already pushing it.

You smile shyly, just barely mimicking his head tilt by a few degrees in the opposite direction. "Do you want to?" He nods once, shuffling his feet on the bottom fence rung. "I would truly like to. Can I get you a drink later?" "I'd really like that," you admit. His lopsided grin evens out on the other side. "Wonderful." He reaches up, taking off his hat before leaning over and placing it on your head. "Now I'll be able to find you easier," he murmurs.

Before you can respond in any way other than gasping or blushing, he's gone and you're left with the girl sitting behind you who was softly cursing you out to her friend.

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"There you are," a murmur comes from behind you. A tap of a knuckle tips the borrowed cowboy hat down over your eyes. Your name spills into your ear from those same murmuring lips. It's a voice you'd recognize in the dead of sleep. You turn quickly, nearly smacking into JB in your haste as you smile.

"Hey," you breathe. "Hey, yourself. I'm glad to see you kept my hat safe." "The girl behind me almost snatched it," you admit, laughing softly.

You wonder if that was almost mean of you, implying jealousy in another person, like you were someone to be envied. Shit, you were already messing this up, weren't you?

"I saw her face, and boy she looked like that witch from Sleeping Beauty, nearly bright green in her envy," JB laughs with you. His hand rests on the small of your back, gentle and almost not even there. If you weren't so on edge and aware of every nerve ending in your body, you could have possibly missed it.

His touch guides you through the lingering after-crowd, down the strip of food trucks and stands to a section of picnic tables. He helps you step over the bench, as a proper gentleman would, then sits beside you facing the wrong way.

JB leans back against the table, his elbows resting on the wood as he glances at you. He repeats your name, catching your attention as he notices you looking around at the thinning crowd. "Don't worry about the tofu-turkey legs," he says, tapping your thigh just above your knee with his middle and ring finger. "Just worry about me… How old are you?"

"19…but I'm turning 20 soon," you tell him. You catch his eye, noticing his expression changing in a complicated way. He sits straight upright, turning to face you more.

Something akin to denial- as if you must be lying to him- flashes for a brief moment, but it's quickly replaced by a deep pinch in his eyebrows- as close to anger as he would let himself get towards a young lady-, followed by a quick sweeping gaze over you in a way that you perceived as trying to make this situation better- or "bargaining".

JB covers his face with his hands, leaning forwards so his elbows rest on his knees. You can hear a deep sigh pull from his chest, something heavy with emotions that had been stewing for longer than you'd been alive.

You knew his age. He had been riding since before you were born. He had scars older than you. You'd grown up under the parenting of two PBR fanatics, seeing JB Mauney on the TV since you could recognize faces. His reaction was everything you expected it to be, save for one detail- he wasn't yelling. Maybe that was to come later once he collected himself, though.

You finally hear something from him other than a sigh. A soft chuckle. He was laughing?

"Mr. Mauney?" You murmur, bending slightly to try and see his face. A grin stretched across his face, the same boyish smirk from earlier, as he laughed.

"Nineteen she says, nineteen… Oh, God, aren't I just an old pervert. Nineteen… Good Lord… And you're allowed to be out alone at a rodeo?" He sounds suspicious of you. His question is odd too, like nineteen is still a child needing adult supervision.

"Yes, sir, I'm allowed to be out alone," you say softly, defensive about your autonomy. He hisses softly between his teeth. "Agh, don't call me 'sir', makes this feel dirtier." "Dirtier?" You echo softly, confused and surprised. "Yeah. Power imbalance and all that…," he murmurs.

JB rubs his face once more before straightening and standing. "It was such a pleasure meeting you, young lady, but this is… quite inappropriate of me." He offers his hand, helping you to stand. "How is this inappropriate? I'm an adult," you remind him softly. "Barely. When's your birthday?" You tell him, kicking at the gravel like a little kid that knew they were in trouble.

"See? You've only been adult for a little over a year. And even though your birthday is coming up again, you'll only be a two-year-old adult then. This isn't right of me, kiddo." You wince at 'kiddo', making a face. "I'm still legal." He chokes out a sound that could be either a scoff or a laugh. "Legal don't mean it's right… And you got no business trying to convince me that this is okay!"

JB rescinds his hand, running his fingers through his sweaty hair before reaching back to you. He snatches his hat off your head, setting it back on his as he begins to pace in front of you.

"I'm 36 years old; you know what that means?" He doesn't wait for you to respond. "It means I've been riding bulls since before you were born. It means I know better… Or at least I should know better." He mutters that last sentence more to himself than to you, but you still catch it, and it makes your heart race.

"Do you?" You murmur. You stay sitting, but you lean forwards slightly, your elbows resting on your knees. "Know better, I mean?" JB meets your eye again. His lips are parted, a breath ready in his lungs to give you an answer, but he hesitates.

The 'yes' he was so sure about seems impossible to say now looking into your eyes. Wide and doe soft, like a prey animal, like you were nervous about his answer.

Fuck.

Caring about your feelings was dangerous, he knew. He shouldn't care. You shouldn't matter. You were too young, too vulnerable. Say yes, say you do know better.

The words don't come. Instead of letting himself continue to fumble his words, he kneels in front of you. One hand rests on your knee, the other on your cheek as he looks at you. He thought he was doing this to let you down easy, gently and kindly so as to spare your already fragile feelings. But then your tongue darts out to wet your lips and his mind is gone.

He catches you with a kiss, as gentle as his words had meant to be. You melt against him, surprised but quietly delighted at his decision.

It ends as quickly as it started and his expression turns almost scowl-like as he mutters your name sharply. "Tell me to stop." You shake your head quickly before you can stop yourself. He curses under his breath. "I mean it. This is wrong. I need you to say it."

"I don't want to!" You exclaim, petulant, like a child. "God fucking dammit-," he grunts. He kisses you again. It's not gentle. It's not fumbling like a boy your age would be. It's unapologetic and claiming with a deep need that ebbs into you with the sweeping movement of his tongue behind your teeth.

JB pushes you back against the picnic table, his hands moving to your waist. "Goddamn it," he whispers into your mouth. "This ain't right. You're so dangerous."

After a few long minutes of making out, you lean back for a breath and JB steps away, his fists clenched. "Hey, I-I'm sorry, Mr. Mauney," you say quickly, noticing his panicked expression. "No!"

He grimaces at your flinch, hating the nervous expression on your face. "No… don't call me that. I'm just 'JB'. And don't be sorry. Lord Almighty, please don't be sorry. You got absolutely nothing to be sorry for."

He looks at you for a long few moments, the storm in his eyes making it impossible for you to read his true emotions.

"Get up," he says finally. He offers his hand again. "I'm walking you to your car." "I took an Uber here," you murmur. "Goddammit, kid," he groans. You feel like a child again, like you inconvenienced your friend's dad and now he didn't allow you to come over when he wasn't at work.

"It's fine, I'll just call another one," you offer, bringing out your phone. "No, Ubers are bullshit. Too dangerous these days. Don't you watch the news? Didn't you hear about that girl that got taken?" "Yeah, of course, but-" "I'll drive you home." His tone is firm and final, like a father's. It's embarrassing to be spoken to like this by someone you had such big feelings for. Exhilarating too, but you'd never admit that, and especially not to JB. He'd probably be mad that you find that hot.

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His truck isn't far, but it's a good enough distance away that he was worried about being seen with you.

The last thing he needed was a picture getting out on the night of his last ride of him with a girl 20 years too young for him. Of course, you didn't look so much younger. If you did, he never would have approached you after the show. Maybe no one would notice.

At the truck, he opens the passenger door for you, as a true gentleman should. You hesitate, turning to look at him over your shoulder. You start to say something, then hesitate and turn to face him fully. "Mr. Mauney, I-" "Don't." The word is strangled with tension and emotion. "I said call me 'JB'. And you will do just that. Understand?"

Your throat feels dry at his words. You manage a nod, trying to ignore the warmth in your face at his commanding tone. "Yes… JB, I understand." "Good… now what were you saying?"

All thoughts seemingly vanished from your mind, the quiet and unexpected intimacy of the moment swallowing up your rationale.

JB had one hand on the top of the truck cab above your head, the other still holding the door open and effectively caging you in. His hat was tipped down, nearly covering his eyes, but the way he tilted his head gave you a sliver of a view of his intense gaze. His jaw was set, cords in his neck standing out under the collar of his shirt.

"I… I, uh…" "Can't remember?" Your words fail you once more as you shake your head. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth in a nervous gesture that has his heart racing. "Don't do that, darlin', you're killing me. I'm trying to be responsible for you. Trying to be the adult, since you clearly ain't." "I'm sorry, I can't help it! I've had a crush on you for as long as I can remember!"

"Stop it! I don't need this right now!" He shouts, stepping back. You flinch at his raised voice, your own anger growing for reasons you were unsure of. "Don't need what, the truth?" JB kicks the gravel, his hands resting on his hips.

"Jesus H, you're making this so difficult." "Why can't you just listen to me?"

He steps closer in a flash, his hands holding your cheeks, standing between your feet. "I need you to understand," he starts. The brim of his hat pokes into your forehead. "It's not a question of 'can I', it's 'should I'. Its ethics… Morality… Is it right to accept and return the feelings of a girl 20 years my junior? Am I in the right to court someone with an undeveloped frontal lobe?"

You stare at him with the soft, undeniable innocence of someone who truly didn't understand the problem with such an age gap. If you consented, what was the matter then?

"Please don't look at me like that," JB murmurs. His heart aches at the sweet, petulant confusion in your eyes. "Have you ever watched Jurassic Park?" The question takes him aback. "'Have I ever'… Yes, I've seen Jurassic Park." "You know Ian Malcom?" You murmur. A glint of understanding flashes in JB's eye. "Yes, I do… Did I remind you of him?" "Yes." He sees the smile you're trying to stifle and it makes him smile in return. "Lemme guess- you had a crush on him too?" "Christ, who didn't!?" Both of you laugh together, the tension ebbing for a moment.

"You're right. But that doesn't make this right."

You huff a sigh at his continued denial. Curse him for being so moral. Why couldn't he just accept that he was hot, even in his growing age.

"JB, you don't have to return my feelings," you say, a pout almost forming, but you manage to curb it, trying to make yourself look older. "That's not the problem!" He lets go of your face like your skin was burning his palms. "God, you are so dense, doll… I do return your feelings, that's the problem!"

A gasp pulls from your chest, your posture becoming almost defensive in your state of shock. "Stop it, don't joke like that," you say, reflexively.

"I'm not joking, baby! I wish I was, Christ Almighty, l wish I could say I was, but I want you, even though its wrong. I want to be selfish, but it's wrong, darlin', it's so wrong. I'm supposed to know better. I do know better. I've got 36 years under my belt of knowing better. I can't love you, doll, but I do, goddammit, I do."

He drops to his knees, taking your hands. Your name gets repeated a few times in his rich, rasped tone.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me to leave you alone. I'll drive you home and that'll be that. No, stop it, don't pout." You huff, now more annoyed than upset. "I don't want you to leave me alone. God, how many times do I have to say it? The last thing I want is for you to stop."

JB rests his forehead against your stomach, sighing heavily. "Fuck…," he murmurs, his lips touching the waistband of your jeans. A shiver runs up the back of your body. Your hairs stand on end across your arms and the back of your neck. He lets go of your hands, letting his fingers trace the outside seams of your jeans. Down the swell of your hips, the plush of your thighs to your knees where he stops and lets his hands fall into his lap.

His head lifts, tipping back as he meets your gaze once again. He looks resigned, like he knows this is it. After all his whining and morality speeches, he finally came around and accepted it.

"Do you want me to drive you home?" JB asks you, lifting to sit up on his knees. "No, I don't," you tell him. Your hand moves before you can think your actions through and you pluck his hat from his head, propping it on your own. His tongue presses in his cheek, then sweeps over his top teeth. "Okay… What do you want me to do then?"

Slowly he stands, a small groaning breath exhaled through his nose at the strain on his bad knee.

"…You know the rules," you murmur, folding your arms. You've been trying to seem mature this entire conversation, to appear older and more prepared and worthy to receive his affections. Now that he was ready to finally return your confession, you felt that you were able to be a little more petulant, a little pettier and child-like with your attitude.

"What rules?" He stands over you now, the few inches of height difference seeming amplified with the look on his face. "…You know… about taking a cowboys hat…"

JB brings his hands to your face, holding you gently. He eyes his custom hat perched above your brows. "You know the hat rule?" "Of course I do. I'm not a baby," you scoff, a grin beginning to warm your face. His own smile matches yours. "I suppose we gotta honor the rules then… Tradition and all that…" "Definitely," you whisper.

Every inch he neared closer was another breath stolen from your lungs. "I'd really like to bring you home with me…," he murmurs, saying your name against your own lips. It tastes even sweeter in his voice. "What a coincidence. I would really like to go home with you," you giggle.

He swallows the rest of your laugh, finally giving in to the desires he fought so hard against. His lips never leave yours as he lifts you, placing you in the passenger seat of his truck cab. You knew he was strong- he had to be to tangle with thousand-pound beasts for a living- but that knowledge didn't do anything to dampen the shock of him easily lifting you.

JB keeps his hands on the swell of your ribs for a long while, enjoying your rapid heartbeat under his fingertips.

It reminded him of the days he spent catching rabbits and the very, very few times he managed to catch one by hand. The animal, so pure and sweet, happening into his sky-turned palms in sheer poor luck, his fingers closing around it like a mouse trap. He recalled how he could feel its heartbeat under his fingertips, just as he could now with yours, how fast it was going and how it gradually slowed as the rabbit understood it wasn't getting out of his grasp.

Your eyes were nearly as wide as the rabbits had been, but yours held adoration and excitement, not fear. He could almost see the gears in your head shifting, clicking down as you realize he could maneuver you and manhandle you easily. But still, you showed no signs of anxiety. So, tentatively, he continued.

"I'll be careful with you, darlin'," he murmurs. One hand moves from your ribs to your face. He cradles your jaw, his thumb on your chin and his middle finger resting just above your pulse. "But you gotta make sure you tell me when I'm going too fast or doing something you don't like." You nod quickly, your agreement as easy as breathing. "I will," you promise.

"Good girl. Now I'm gonna buckle your seat belt then we're gonna go to my ranch, understand?" "Understand," you echo. Your thighs squeeze together preemptively, anticipatorially. He notices the movement and pats your thighs gently.

"Good. Try to relax, doll. It's a forty-minute drive. Don't want you sore from all that muscle tension when you can be sore from me instead."