Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,46
had looked like she was twerking in the parking lot but, pish posh applesauce, none of that mattered to her right now because she had in her hands on a pair of the finest boots she could ever imagine.
“If I were Cinderella, I would wear these to the ball instead of glass slippers.”
“Expensive shoes to lose.”
“I wouldn’t lose them. Prince Charming would just never find me.”
“Oh, I would find you,” he growled.
The grit in his voice made her stop pulling her motorcycle boots off her feet and look up at him. His eyes sparked with intensity, and his smile belonged to a wolf.
“I have an admission,” she murmured, ducking her eyes before she chickened out of saying this.
“Lay it on me.”
The fine leather creaked softly as she slid on the boots. “I think you’re very very handsome.”
“And?”
“Are you fishing for more compliments?”
“Hell, yeah, I love compliments.”
“And you’re kind, patient, and you don’t make me feel less than you just because I’m a girl.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked, a frown drawing his eyebrows down as he knelt beside her.
“Because you’re a big, badass bull shifter who has this amazing job and all these fans and your animal is just a monster in the best of ways. And I’m a cow shifter.”
Dead rolled his eyes. “Cow shifters are the shit. You know how hard it is to find one of you? You’re like a goddang unicorn. Look.” He held up his phone in front of her. Already there were 2400 likes and 169 comments on the pictures of her that Cheyenne had posted.
“And look at this asshole.” He pointed out the last comment.
Atta boy, but also knock her up quick before she figures out you’re a turd. That’s quite a lady. Trap her fast. Love you, boy.
It was from a commenter named LuckyBeast.
“That’s my old man, telling me to trap you.”
She belted out a laugh and read it again. “Oh, my gosh, that’s your dad? Okay, he sounds funny.”
Dead clicked his tongue behind his teeth and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “He thinks he is. We’ve gotten off track. Back to the deal I’m gonna make you.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” Raven stood and stretched her leg out, posing for him as he shoved the box back into the big bag. “What’s the deal?”
He pulled the black cowgirl hat out of the other bag and slipped it onto her head. “You wear your new boots and hat to the rodeo this weekend, and I’ll wear the outfit you picked for me in the interviews.”
“Really?” she asked in a higher pitch than she’d intended.
Dead swatted her on the butt as they started walking toward the truck again. Raven was back to prancing around—because new boots.
“Really, really. I don’t think I’ve ever worn all black or dressed up before. Sometimes I don’t even put a shirt on for interviews.”
She laughed and opened the back door for him to put the bags inside. “And that’s probably why ninety-nine percent of your fans are of the female variety.”
“So you’re saying I look sexy with a shirt off,” he said as he led her around the truck.
Dead opened her door and helped her in. Dang, this thing was lifted high off the ground. As she buckled, she spouted off, “And you have great hair and a great beard and I love your tattoo, and your smile makes me blush lots, and I like the way you look at me, and the way you talked to my parents like you’ve known them for years, and the way you drive when you’re muddin’, and how comfortable you make me, and how much fun you are, and your jokes make me laugh, and you radiate positive energy, and it’s impossible for anyone to be in a bad mood around you.”
“I put Cheyenne in a bad mood all the time,” he teased.
“It’s impossible for anyone but Cheyenne to be in a bad mooooood around you.” She grinned brightly. “Cow joke.”
“Perfectly executed,” Dead told her with a nod.
They grabbed lunch at a drive-thru fried chicken joint and made another four-hour trek toward a park the next state over where they were supposed to stay the night. They filled every one of those hours with a constant, easy chatter. Sometimes it was joking and lighthearted, and sometimes they talked about the real stuff. Their pasts and childhoods, triumphs and losses. And sometimes a song Dead liked came on the country station, and he would turn it up and sing along,