by J. L. Leslie
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
“She won’t have access to any of the photos, obviously, but we’ll let her do her story. I’m sure you have fans where you’re from.”
“They’re pretty supportive in Chapelwood.”
“Well, after these ads are launched, you’ll have a lot more support, and definitely a lot more fans.”
She points toward a chair where a stylist is waiting for me. My hair is on the short side, so there’s probably not much that can be done with it, but I’ll do as I’m told and get this day over with. I need to get on the road to Missouri.
When the stylist is done with me, I’m shown to wardrobe, which consists of three pairs of jeans and five pairs of underwear. There are no shirts or shoes in sight.
“We’ll start with the jeans to get you warmed up to the camera,” Laura says. “Then, we’ll get you out of them.”
Her voice is playful, almost flirty, but I don’t play into it. As far as I’m concerned, she’s my sponsor, and I’m not about to mix business with pleasure. Even if she didn’t work for Wrangler, I wouldn’t be interested. Only one woman has my attention right now, and she wants nothing to do with me.
Promising myself I won’t dwell on Brynn and the fucking disaster that is our friendship, I strip my t-shirt off and toe off my boots.
“Oh, um, you’re going to change right here?” Laura asks, her cheeks tinging pink.
I can’t help but to smile. “You’re about to see me in my underwear. I don’t think changing into a pair of jeans in front of you is a big deal but feel free to turn around if you want.”
“I’m going to go see if the photographer is ready.”
Her eyes drift over my body a moment before she leaves. I push my jeans down my thighs and grab a pair off the rack. I suppose it doesn’t matter which ones I wear first. I step into them and pull them up, somewhat shocked that they’re a perfect fit, although I gave them my size, clothes don’t always fit as expected. I walk out of wardrobe, buttoning the pants as I go, and find my way to Laura.
“Didn’t see any shirts or shoes back there,” I say.
“No need for those. We’re advertising jeans.”
Her composure is back, and she’s all business as she lets the photographer know I’m ready. As she’s instructing me on where to stand and what she’ll be photographing, Brynn walks in. She looks the part of a journalist with a small tape recorder, ink pen, and notepad in hand.
Laura approaches her, and I watch them shake hands, being cordial to each other. The photographer positions my hands, looping my fingers through the belt loops of the jeans, and begins snapping away, and she shouts out commands on how to turn my head.
Brynn and Laura head over, the two of them chatting quietly while the photographer continues to shoot shots. She avoids looking at me, like she often does lately. When I change into the second pair of jeans, she’s using her recorder with Laura, no doubt getting the story on my sponsorship. By the time I put on the third pair of jeans, I’m annoyed ‒ no, I’m pissed ‒ that she can stand there and ignore me.
She’s the one who came to this. I sure as fuck didn’t ask her to. Why couldn’t she simply go home? Doesn’t she realize she’s torturing me?
I close my eyes a moment, taking a deep breath, and when I open them, Brynn’s blue eyes are fixated on me, on my bare chest, and I watch them travel down. When they reach my naval and the trail of hair that disappears into my jeans, she licks her lips.
I was arguing with her last night, furious at her for dating my boss, my friend. Furious at her for not giving us a chance. Furious at her for ignoring her feelings for me.
Her eyes on me does something to me. Makes me want to remind her of what she’s missing. Remind her of what she can have ‒ if only she says the word.
46
Brynn
I shouldn’t be staring, shouldn’t look, but I’m unable to resist as Kipton is on full display. He’s shirtless and wearing a pair of jeans that hug in all the right places, accenting his powerful thighs and tight ass.
I’ve watched him walk away to wardrobe and change a couple of times now. I’ve made sure not to stare, not to draw attention to my gawking, and not to let him see me looking.
But when he walked back in, I caught a whiff of his scent. I know he doesn’t use the hotel soap but brings his own, and it’s a homemade soap he gets from one of the church ladies in Chapelwood. It’s a spiced, woodsy scent with a touch of citrus and one you just want to breathe in.
I dart my tongue out to lick my lips and realize he’s caught me. I expect him to stare blankly, ignore my gaze, but a slight smirk plays at his lips. He moves his hands from the belt loops and begins unbuttoning the jeans.
“Oh, that’ll work. That’s nice,” the photographer murmurs.
Yes. It’s definitely nice.
“He’s a natural,” Laura says. “The camera loves him.”
And so do I.
Kipton unzips the pants and shifts his feet, spreading his legs slightly, and it’s obvious he’s going commando. He pushes his hands inside, cupping his dick, and flashes the camera a signature smirk.
“That’s incredible,” the photographer encourages him and then looks over her shoulder to us. “You wanted sexy for the ads, right?”
Laura clears her throat. “Yes, he’s…it’s perfect.”
I glance over at her, and she has the same look on her face as I do. Lust. Desire. She is the one who made that tacky caption. I fight back a pang of jealousy.
Laura’s a pretty woman with her thick, blonde hair and green eyes. I’m sure beneath that crisp business suit of hers, she doesn’t have an ounce of fat or stretch marks. Her boobs don’t have a bit of a sag to them. She doesn’t have any imperfections. Unlike me. Most importantly, I can almost guarantee she can give Kipton the family he deserves.
“Okay, let’s get you in them underwear and wrap this up,” the photographer says.
Kipton struts off, casting a look in my direction. I know his little show was for me. Okay, I assume it was. He could’ve been trying to get Laura’s attention, and I’m making assumptions based on what happened between us.
“My word,” Laura whispers, and Kipton comes back, a tight pair of black boxer briefs sculpting his ass and doing nothing to hide the bulge of his exceptional package.
“Why did Wrangler choose him, basically an unknown, to be the face of the new line?” I ask, turning to Laura.
“The day I met him, I knew he would sell the line. He had the looks and the personality. He was rugged, but also a perfect gentleman. What woman wouldn’t want to see that kind of man in his undies? And if the women love him, they’ll buy the product in the hopes their men can live up to the fantasy that he provides,” she answers and then adds, “And off the record, I was dying to see him like this and was afraid to make a move.”
My fears of her attraction to Kipton are confirmed. I want to tell her he’s an awful person or that he’s gay, anything to deter her, but I can’t do that. I want him to be happy, whether he’s happy with me or someone else. He deserves that happiness more than I do.
“He’s a great guy,” I say. “One of the best I know.” This makes her smile, as though I’m only confirming what she suspected. “I think I have all I need for the story. I’m certain the line is going to do great. Good luck with Kipton.”
She thanks me, and I cast one last glance in his direction before I leave. He watches me, the playfulness from a little while ago gone. I’m going back home, back home to my daughter, and I pray the next time I see him, I won’t see the hurt in his eyes.
47
Kipton
Being at a bar, another woman in my arms, feels wrong. It should be Brynn in my arms. Should be her I’m spinning around on the dance floor. Should be her gazing up at me.
Not Laura.
After the photoshoot ended, she insisted that we go out and celebrate. Her idea of celebrating meant dinner and drinks. The dinner
we had was nice, some steakhouse she knew about. I thought when she said drinks, she meant drinks with dinner. No, she meant at a bar.
I should be on the road already. Should’ve left Virginia and headed out to my next event, but no. I let Laura persuade me to come and here I am dancing with her, wishing she were another woman.
“I think we need to call it a night,” I say.
I know she’s had more than enough to drink, and she’s a petite woman. I’m glad I chose to drive us, even if I can’t get her to leave.
“You did fantastic today,” she says, her fingertips making swirls on the back of my neck. “You didn’t seem shy at all.”
“It’s only underwear.”
She giggles at my comment. “You have no idea what effect you have on women, do you? You’re going to have more women on your hands than you know what to do with once those ads run.”
I frown, honestly not liking the sound of that. I drop my hands from her waist. “Come on. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”
I take her hand, leading her through the crowd. She grips my wrist with her free hand, struggling to keep up with my long stride. Once we get outside, I help her into my truck, anxious for the night to be over with.
Laura fiddles with my radio once we’re on the road. She changes it from one station to the next, singing for a moment before finding another song to listen to. It’s an easy distraction for her and keeps her from talking about the upcoming aftermath of those underwear ads.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” I say after parking.
It’s late, and I don’t want her stumbling around the hotel attracting unwanted attention. I’m not the type of man to send a woman out alone when it’ll only take me a few minutes to walk her to her room.
“Are you leaving tonight?” she asks, digging in her purse for her room key.
“In the morning,” I answer.
Laura finds the key and inserts it, turning the doorknob enough to crack the door open. She turns to face me, and I take a slight step back.
“You can come in if you want,” she offers, her voice somewhat nervous.
I consider her offer for about ten seconds. Maybe she can be a short-term distraction. Maybe being with someone else would help me get over Brynn. But then I know that isn’t possible.
“Laura, we work together,” I say. “I don’t want to screw that up.”
“It won’t,” she assures me.
“Yes, it would. I honestly respect you too much to do that. So, close your door and take some Ibuprofen before you go to bed.”
“You’re a keeper, Kipton Holt,” she says, stepping inside and closing her door.
I wish the woman I love would agree.
48
Brynn
My hands tremble as I find Kipton’s contact in my phone before, once again, clearing it out before I can call him. What would I say anyway? Are you fucking Laura right now? Why did you walk her to her room? Have you already moved on?
Frustrated, I toss my phone down and collapse on the bed. I can’t question him about what he’s doing when I made it clear I want him to move on. I want him to be happy.
So, why does the idea of him being with Laura – any other woman – infuriate me? It’s taking all I have not to go to her room and bang on the door. Not to demand she stay away from him because he’s taken.
Damn it! I thought I was doing a good thing by booking a hotel not affiliated with the rodeo. No discount. No room blocks. No Kipton.
I had no idea Laura booked at the same hotel and that I would see her and Kipton headed to her room. I want to be mad with her, scream and yell at her, but it isn’t her fault. She doesn’t know what transpired between him and me. He’s the one who knows that.
For the first time in a while, I feel completely alone. I miss the friendship I had with Kipton. How easy it used to be to call him up. How he always made me feel better. How he always made me feel worthy.
Jenna is my best friend, but at one point, I had become closer with Kipton. His support of me reuniting with Willow never wavered. Not once did he make me feel that I didn’t deserve to be her mother.
I pick my phone back up, but instead of calling Kipton, I call my mama. The moment she answers, I’m unable to hold my tears at bay.
“Brynn, sweetie, what’s the matter?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Mama, I messed up.”
The last time I said those words to her, I had left my husband and daughter. I didn’t tell anyone I was going when I decided to leave Kaler, only contacting them after I’d left. We hadn’t been home from the hospital very long, only a few weeks.
I tried to be happy, tried to stay. Every part of being a mother was agonizing. I tried breastfeeding Willow, but it hurt so much. My milk ducts were blocked, and pumping didn’t work. I winded up wrapping my boobs with an ace bandage and putting cabbage in my bra to draw the milk out, trying any of the home remedies the church ladies offered to me in help. I cried in the shower every night when I would unwrap them and massage the sensitive mounds. The only thing that would run through my mind was that if Kaler hadn’t gotten me pregnant, if I hadn’t had a baby, I wouldn’t feel like this.
“Okay, take a breath and tell me what happened,” Mama says.
I know she wants me to talk to her, is desperate for that, since I didn’t come to her before. When I left Kaler and Willow, I left everyone else. It was weeks before I contacted my parents and told them where I was. Weeks after that before I contacted Jenna and told her what happened. It was a long time before I found out what was wrong with me. Even longer before I was able to talk about that diagnosis.
“I love someone, Mama, but I can’t be with him,” I sob into the phone. “I can’t tell him everything.”
“Does he love you, too?”
“He says he does, but if he knew everything, he wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.”
My mama is the only person on this planet who knows I got my tubes tied. She wasn’t happy when I told her, and we cried together over the fact that she would not have any more grandchildren. While she doesn’t fully understand my reasons, she has been supportive.
“Baby, if he loves you, he’ll love you through that. There are other ways to be a family. Tell him the truth.”
I knew talking with my mama would make me feel better. I wish I would’ve confided in her five years ago. Maybe then I wouldn’t have missed so much of Willow’s life. I decide I’ll take her advice now. I’ll tell Kipton the truth. If he can love me through that, we can make it through anything.
49
Kipton
Although I was warned about the possible outcome of the Wrangler ads, I had no idea the full impact they would have. When I see the photos, I immediately regret putting on the show I did for Brynn. At the time, I was only thinking about making her smile or blush. I sure as fuck didn’t think about how those photos would look on a damn billboard or how Mama would react.
Needless to say, she isn’t very happy. According to her, the entire church congregation isn’t pleased and is praying for me. Good. I can use the prayers. The past two weeks, I’ve drunk myself to sleep, and in a week, I’ll be seeing the woman who’s causing my troubles.
“Can I get your autograph?”
The first time I was asked, this was right after the ads ran, and I had just gone through my usual pre-event vomiting ritual. It was a teenage girl asking me and she was too young to be as flirty as she was being, but I signed her cowgirl hat and sent her back to giggling with her friends, who then followed suit and asked for more autographs. I have those underwear ads to thank for this newfound fame.
“Um, yeah, sure.”
“Are you going to get the eight tonight?” the woman asks, handing me her hat and a black sharpie.
“That’s the plan,” I answer, scribbling my name.
“If you want a different kind of ride later, come find me.”
I simply smile politely and hand her the hat back before slipping around her. I
have an event to compete in, and I’m not concerned with that Buckle Bunny. If she’s into that, she can find Stuart or one of the other cowboys.
Like any other event, my focus is on making the eight and increasing my ranking. I have a goal, and that goal is to be number one. That has always been the goal. I may have thought about giving up at one point, walking away from this sport, but now that I’ve accomplished this much, I can’t walk away until I make it to the top.
When I’m on the bull, the crowd disappears, thoughts of Brynn fade away, and the homesickness I experienced is gone. It’s only me and the animal, and the driving need to be the best.
It’s when I’m alone that my thoughts run wild. That the idea of being back home, back to normal, consume me. My feelings for Brynn are overwhelming, and all I want to do is tell everyone I’m in love with her.
Obviously, I can’t be at an event every waking moment. I can’t constantly stay busy to keep Brynn off my mind. And I can’t keep drinking myself into oblivion every single night so that I don’t dream of her.
“Holt, you’re up!”
But for now, I can forget. For now, I can push her from my mind and put this first. Put this as a priority. Convince myself that it’s the most important thing in my life and not Brynn. She doesn’t trump rodeo. I can’t allow that.
50
Brynn
“Mama, it Kip! Kip!” Willow yells excitedly! “Daddy, Kip!”
We’re all at Angie and Neil’s house to watch Kipton’s performance at the Bad Boy Mower’s Mowdown. They set up a big-screen television outside in their backyard, and Neil grilled some burgers and hot dogs. Willow has been playing with her trucks and dolls, but the moment she saw Kipton on the screen she started yelling to anyone in earshot.
