Chasin' Eight (Rough Riders #11)(44)

Her gaze finally snapped to his. “Are you?”

“No, I’m—”

“Fine, right? Acting like it’s no big deal you got thrown on your ass half a dozen times. Or that you got stomped on by a bull at least four of those times. Oh, and that’s just today. That’s not counting the first two days I watched. And taped. And wanted to…”

“Wanted to what?”

“Hide,” she said softly.
“Why?”

“So I didn’t have to watch you getting hurt over and over. Record you getting hurt over and over.”

Chase wasn’t expecting that. He climbed on the mechanical bull, so they faced each other, knee-to-knee with their legs draped over the sides. “All this fuss is about me? Really?”

Ava nodded, but still wouldn’t look at him. “In my head I knew climbing on a bull was dangerous, but seeing it firsthand scared the living piss out of me, Chase McKay.”

Such sweet honesty bowled him over.
“The last bull today that threw you into the gate? I was really glad you were wearing a helmet.”

“Me too. I’m getting used to the damn thing. But I still got my bell rung pretty good.”

“Were you scared?”

“To be honest, I don’t remember.”

“Don’t brush my concerns aside, Chase. You almost—”

“Almost don’t count in bull ridin’, Hollywood. Staying on eight seconds is the only thing that does count.”

“Watching you sometimes…? God. A couple rides seemed like eight hours.”

Chase murmured, “Seems that way to me too sometimes.”

Ava’s eyes were filled with frustration. “Why do you do this?”

“Why do you walk onto a fake set and pretend to be somebody you’re not?” he volleyed back.
“Not the same thing.”

“Yes, it is. We both take risks in our jobs, they’re just different types of risks. We’re both professionals.”

Ava checked the guard on the electric clippers. Better to leave it a little long than trim it too short. She bent down, letting the ends of his dark hair tickle her cheek as her lips grazed his ear. “You ready?”

Chase released a shudder and she smiled. He wasn’t the only one who could send mixed signals.
Standing above him, she wedged his knees between her thighs as she wrapped the fingers of her left hand around his jaw. Keeping his head at the proper angle, Ava warned, “Hold still,” and clicked on the clippers.
The first strip of hair to go was dead center, front to back. Then she moved to tackle the right side and finished with the left side. She brushed the hair from his shoulders, wishing some had landed on his arms, giving her an excuse to feel those bulging biceps. “Have a look.”

He stood and meandered to the mirror. Ava watched him smooth his hand over his scalp. “Wow. That looks different, huh?”

“Ever worn your hair that short?”

“Nope.” Chase slanted this way and that.
“Is it good? Or bad?”

“Good, I guess.” Chase’s vivid blue eyes met hers in the mirror. “What do you think?”

I think cutting off your gorgeous black locks just increased your hotness by a factor of ten million.
“I like it.”

He mugged in the mirror. “I like it, but I think I wanna go just a hair shorter—ha-ha.”

“Fine. Stop admiring your handsome self and sit so we can get this done.”

He plopped back on the chair.
Ava straddled his legs and held his head in place. The second trim didn’t take as long as the first. She shaved the hair on the back of his neck. Her hands took one last lingering sweep over his shorn hair, down his beautiful face, to his broad shoulders. She scooted back. “You look good with short hair, Chase.”