#rodeo

He lets out a low chuckle. “No. Not an emergency. I just… I needed to-

“Steve? You sound nervous, are you okay?”

Silence stretches, save for the rustling of your sheets.

“Always the worrier,” he says quietly. “Ever since we were kids.”

A sleepy laugh escapes you “Oh says the guy who nearly fainted when I skinned my knee when we were nine.”

“There was a lot of blood, alright?” He protests, although you can hear his grin. “I thought you were bleeding out.”

“You say that, but now you get bucked around on horses all day long with no complaints.”

“Yeah,” he breaths, “but it’s different when it’s you.”

There’s a beat of silence

“Listen,” he starts again, voice low, “you can say no if this makes you uncomfortable or if it feels weird, it’s a big favor to ask of someone, especially you but I-

“Steve.”

He lets out a shaky laugh “Jesus, okay… will you be my girlfriend?”

You dont answer at first. Words getting tangled somewhere between your chest and throat.

Girlfriend?

Sure, you and Steve have known each other since you were kids, lived on neighboring farms, family friends, and sometimes you’ve thought about him at night, alone in your room, while lying in bed. Alone. But girlfriend?

You swallow, finger twirling the cord of the phone.

“Steve… are you sure you’re okay? This just—I mean this came out of no where, I—

He exhales on the other end, the sound soft, almost a chuckle.

“You can say no,” he murmurs, voice warm, but still nervous. “Really. It’s fine. Perry just said it’d look good—get folks talking—if I had a girl on my arm at the rodeo on Sunday.”

A small sheepish laugh escapes him, like he knows how ridiculous this sounds, yet means every word.

You shift in bed, moving to sit up against the headboard.

“So let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You want me to pretend to be your, what? Rodeo date? Just so Perry doesn’t give you hell?”

He laughs quick, almost embarrassed, like he knows how stupid it sounds. “I mean… yeah, kind of.”

The line crackles.

“But I rather it be you than somebody else.”

“You could’ve asked anyone.” The words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Didn’t want just anyone,” he says simply, almost like he means it.

Maybe he does.

On the other end of the line, he shifts. You can hear the faint scrape of his chair, maybe his boots against the floor.

“You don’t have to say yes tonight,” he says finally, “just think about it. For me.

“Your’e making it sound like a big decision,” you tease, though your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to.

“Feels like one,” he admits. No laugh this time, no sheepish cover. Just the truth, laid bare.

—

The late afternoon heat beats down on the arena, sweat and dust clinging to your skin. You’re leaning against the chute, boots dug into the dirt, watching Steve with a proud smile, trying to hide that half terrified feeling you always get when you watch him compete. Since you were kids he was always the one daring fate. He’s grinning up at the stands, hat tipped just so, showing off his sun tanned skin, the crowd eating him up.

Perry sidles up beside you, arms crossed over his chest, voice carrying his usual matter-of-fact tone. “Boys riding better than ever. Guess having you out here’s got him all fired up.”

You blink, caught off guard, “what do you mean?”

Perry glances at you like you should already know. “Well he’s been wantin’ to call you his girl for years, wouldn’t shut up about it when I told him appearances matter. Said if folks thought he was taken, it’d keep the buckle bunnies off him. Didn’t need much convincing once he figured he’d get to bring you. Hell, the kid hasn’t stopped smiling since you agreed to come. Been tellin’ everyone about his girl.”

The words land heavy, rattling around in your chest, making your pulse jump. “Wait—” you shake your head, trying to catch up, “Steve told me you thought it would look good, that it would be good for publicity. That you told him to.

Perry chuckles, already back in business mode. “Darlin’, that boy played me as much as he played you. He didn’t want you sittin’ in the stands as his ‘friend’ he wanted you down on the dirt as his girl. Always did.”

The crowd roars as Steve sticks another wild run, and you can barely hear yourself think. Your heart feels like it’s trying to buck harder than the bronc under him. Because suddenly, it isn’t just dust in the air, it’s the realization that he’s been wanting this all along. And maybe, if you’re honest with yourself, so have you.

—

The crowd is still buzzing boots stomping against bleachers, music and the announcers booming over the speakers, when Steve stumbles out of the chute. His sweat soaked shirt clings to him, hair damp under his hat, but that grin—God, that grin—makes you weak in the knees.

His spots you immediately. Because of course he does. Like there’s not hundreds of people cheering his name, waving, calling for his attention. His eyes find yours, like they always have, and he makes a beeline for you.

“Did you see that?” His voice is rough, breathless, still riding his high. He tosses his hat to a kid hanging over the rail, then leans on the fence right by you, close enough that you can smell the leather and sweat that cling to him.

You force a smile, but Perry’s words still echo in your head. “Yeah, I saw.”

He tilts his head, reading you too easily. “What’s wrong?”

You let the silence hang for a beat, the noise of the rodeo filling the space between you. Then, softer than you mean to, “Perry, told me the truth.”

At that, his smile falters, just barely, but it’s enough. His throat works as he swallows, eyes darting away, then back. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you repeat, a little sharper now. “You told me that this was Perry’s idea. That he wanted you to have a ‘girlfriend’ for publicity.” You take a step closer, crowd forgotten. “But it was you, wasn’t it? You wanted me here, as your ‘girl’.”

He huffs a nervous laugh, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck. The cocky rodeo star facade crumbling right in front of you. “Y-yeah, guess I’m caught.”

You don’t let him look away this time, “why Steve?”

His answer comes out low, almost lost under the announcer calling for the next rider. “Because I wanted you here as mine. Not as my best friend. Not as somebody in the stands. As my girl. And I didn’t know how to ask you without screwin’ it all up.”

The air between you goes still, charged, like it does before the gate swings open.

—

You stare at him, chest tight, his words settling deep in your bones. His eyes—wide, nervous, hopeful—don’t look like the confident cowboy who just owned the arena. They look like the boy you grew up with, the one who used to fall asleep next to you on the porch swing, and catch lightening bugs with you in the summer. The one you loved in every way. Even this.

You heart kicks once, hard, and before you can second guess yourself, you move.

You grab his shirtfront, still warm and damp from the ride, and pull him down to you. His hats already gone, hair sticking to his forehead, and your mouth finds his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re meant to be his.

The world roars around you—hoots and whistles—from somewhere up in the stands, but all you feel is Steve going still before melting into you. His hands come up, tentative at first, then firm, cupping your face like he can’t believe this is real.

The second your mouths part, the crowd erupts. You thought they were loud before but this is different—this is whistles and hollers, boots pounding on the bleachers like thunder.

Someone even yells, “‘Bout damn time, Harrington!” And laughter rippled through the stands.

Steve’s cheeks flush crimson, but he doesn’t let go of you. If anything he pulls you closer, arm snaking around your waist like he’s staking his claim.

You bury your face against his chest, mortified yet glowing, but you feel him laughing, chest shaking against you.

When you look up his eyes are soft in a way that makes your stomach flip. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that.”

You laugh, still a little breathless, still holding onto him. “Guess you should’ve just asked, cowboy.”

He pulls you closer, if that’s even possible, “Guess I just did.” He says, before connecting your lips again.