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The laugh that bursts out of me is immediate.

"Oh my God." I smack his arm.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"That's not a no."

"You're impossible."

"I've been told that."

Clint shakes his head. "Every day."

Tripp points at him. "Jealous."

"Of what?"

"My charm."

I laugh again before turning my head enough to look back at Tripp.

"You did good."

Something shifts briefly across his face then, a small softening around his eyes before the grin returns.

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah."

For once, he doesn't have a smart comeback.

The announcer's voice booms through the speakers before the moment can stretch any further.

"Alright folks, let's hear it for our bronc riders!"

The crowd applauds while the final rider’s score goes up. They barely have time to settle before the announcer starts talking again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the event you've all been waiting for. Make some noise, because it’s time for some bull riding!"

Bull riding.

In my professional opinion, it should be illegal, or at least require a psychological evaluation beforehand.

"Thank God," I blurt before I can stop myself.

"For what?" Clint asks.

"That none of you do that."

The laugh that escapes him is short.

"Yeah."

The chute gate swings open before either of us says anything else. A bull explodes into the arena, all muscle and fury and dirt flying through the air. The rider lasts maybe four seconds before everything goes wrong. The bull twists, and the rider loses his seat.

"Oh God."

The bull spins back immediately, and while the rider tries to crawl away, he doesn't make it. The crowd gasps as the bull catches him with his head.