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I know exactly what he's talking about.

They call it the Underground. Riding bulls outside a sanctioned rodeo isn't against the law. Plenty of ranches host jackpots and practice pens every year. It's everything wrapped around these events that gets people into trouble. The cash bets. The buy-ins. The fact that nobody's answering to an association or an insurance company.

They've always existed on the fringes of the rodeo. Word spreads through text messages and phone calls instead of flyers, and by the time the sun goes down, somebody's pasture has turned into an arena with enough money changing hands to make people forget they're climbing onto bulls with nothing but pride to protect them.

I managed to steer clear of them all those years on the circuit. One wreck at an unsanctioned event would've been enough to jeopardize everything I'd worked for, and no payout was worth risking a career over.

"Private ranch about forty minutes outside of here," Wyatt says. "No sanctioning, no standings, and no paperwork. Bulls that'd never see a sanctioned pen. Riders that don't need anybody's permission to climb on."

He lets that sit for a second before adding, "The entry fee isn't cheap, but neither's the payout. Depending on where they're holding it, the winner can walk away with more money than he'd make all month on the circuit."

I look back at the pens, thinking that over. I’d never considered it before, but the small salary I’m getting from Eli for this trip won’t exactly pay my Nana’s bill. I was already trying to work out how I could make some cash on the side. I know it’s risky, but it might be the answer I need.

Wyatt doesn't know any of that, but he seems to read something on my face anyway. Maybe that's because he knows what it's like to watch someone lose the thing that made them feel alive. His older brother got wrecked a few years back. Never rode again. Last I knew, he'd all but disappeared into a cabin somewhere in the mountains, only coming to town when he absolutely had to.

That could've been me, but I got lucky. My shoulder took the hit, but it didn't take the rest of me with it.

"Come tonight," Wyatt says. "Don't ride if you don't want to. Just watch, see what it’s like."

I've been watching things from the outside for years now, itching for more. Watching from the fence rail. Watching Addie compete from the arena barrier. Watching other men ride bulls that I know in my bones I could cover with one hand tied behind my back if someone would just let me.

Watching has never been my strong suit. "Yeah, I’ll hitch a ride with you, if that’s good. What time?"

We settle on the details, and I tell him I'll meet him at his camp around nine. Which means I've got a few hours to come up with a believable excuse to give Addie.

Telling her the truth isn't an option. The second she hears the words underground bull riding, she'd start asking questions I have no intention of answering. Then she'd try to talk me out of it. And if that didn't work, she'd probably kill me herself.

I decide to swing by the horse stalls to make sure Dusty's settled in before heading back to camp, figuring there's a decent chance Addie's still hanging around. Instead, I find the horse standing alone, locked in what looks like a staring contest with his water trough.

Fuck, that horse is strange.

He huffs when I walk up to check his hay, ears flicking in my direction like he's debating whether I'm worth the effort. Apparently I'm not. I scratch him behind the ear anyway before turning back toward camp.

I hear her laughing before I see her. I'd know that laugh anywhere, and the second I round the corner to our campsite, I stop dead.

There she is, hands tucked into the back pockets of her cutoff jeans, a sliver of tanned stomach peeking out beneath her tank top. One boot's propped on the peg of a motorcycle while she smiles up at some tool who's got his bike parked at the edge of our site like he owns the damn place.

He's saying something I can't hear. She tilts her head and laughs again. He's looking down at her with a grin plastered across his face like she's the funniest person he's ever met in his life.

Give me a fucking break. Addie is many things — sharp, sexy, infuriating, occasionally terrifying — but funny isn't one of them.

He's leaning toward her with the look of a man who's already decided what he wants and is just working out the fastest way to get it.

Over my dead fucking body.

Something hot and immediate burns through my chest that I don’t care to acknowledge. I'm here because Eli asked me to keep an eye on her. I'm here because the circuit is full of guys exactly like this, and somebody needs to pay attention. That's it. That's the whole reason I'm crossing this campsite in six strides, pushing between them to reach Addie’s side.

Before I can think better of it, I slip an arm around her shoulders and tug her against my side like we've done it a hundred times before. Like it's completely normal for her to be so snugly tucked under my shoulder.

Her whole body stiffens, but I keep my arm exactly where it is, looking down at her with the most relaxed smile I can manage. "Miss me, Sunshine?"

I say it like I've only been gone twenty minutes and she's spent every one of them wishing I'd come back. I glance down at her. She's staring straight ahead, jaw locked tight, a slow flush creeping up her neck. I can't tell if she's embarrassed, pissed, or both. I give her shoulder a light squeeze before continuing. "Figure out what's for dinner yet?"

Only then do I turn my attention to him, like I’m just noticing he exists. "Hey." I extend my free hand. "I don't think we've met. I'm Chace."

He takes it and gives my hand a firm shake while looking me in the eye. “Ryder Cross.”

I let our gazes hold just long enough to make my point. "Huh. Would've taken you more for a Roger.” I glance down at Addie. ”Don’t you think, Addie?"