Read Wild Child for Free Online

long night,” I mutter to myself.
    Jenna is grinning from ear to ear.  “All right, now that I’ve got your attention, who’s gonna be the first to ride the bull?  We gotta get some use out of this thing before the operator gets bored and goes home,” she says, gesturing toward the clearly unenthusiastic plaid-clad old man who’s sitting on a stool in the corner, leaning over a small console.  He probably came with the mechanical bull. I think he might be asleep under the wide brim of his enormous hat.  I can’t be sure.  “Come on, ya bunch of pansies!  Who’s gonna pony up and ride it first?”
    There’s lots of shouting and whistling and general loud-mouthing, but no one steps forward. I can see several people trying to get Trick to go first, but he’s resisting, content to sit by his hot fiancée.
    I hear Jenna’s name above the fray, called once, twice then multiple times.  In a few seconds, everyone is chanting for her to give that bull a ride.
    With an exasperated shake of her head, she turns toward the bull.  “Fine.  I’ll show you how it’s done. I just hate to make the rest of you look bad,” she teases with a cocky grin. 
    The old man, awake and alert after all, slides off his stool and hobbles over to Jenna to lend her a hand as she climbs up onto the bull.  When she’s seated on its wide, leather back, I see her frown.  “Something else is missing,” she muses loudly, pausing for a second before she shouts, “Music!”
    The lights over the stage come on in a burst of color.  Standing with their instruments, and one member sitting behind his drums, are the members of Saltwater Creek, the band I used to play in.  I glance over at Trick.  He’s howling happily, his arms raised into the air. He used to play with us, too.  He looks at me and smiles. I know this probably makes his night that much better.  I return his smile then look back to the stage.
    “Something’s still missing,” Jenna yells.  “Oh, I know what it is.  We’re gonna need more bass.” 
    Heads start turning toward me and I finally look up at Jenna where she’s sitting atop the bull.  She’s looking right at me, grinning.  She tips her head toward the stage and I look back in that direction.  Everyone in the band is watching me, smiling, and Sam, the bass guitar player, is taking the strap of his guitar off his shoulder.  He walks to the front of the stage and holds it out to me. 
    Quitting the band was a tough decision, but it was the right one. Business at the garage started picking up and it was a matter of growing up and facing my responsibilities, laying the groundwork for my future, or playing with the boys. 
    Adulthood won out.
    But getting a chance to get back up on stage still holds a special lure.  And Jenna knows that.
    I can’t hide my smile as I hop up on the platform and take the guitar.  Sam nods at me and I nod back, slipping the leather strap over my shoulder and taking the pick from his outstretched hand.  I lay my palm against the body of the guitar and curl my fingers around the neck, settling in to the feel of the cool metal against my skin. 
    I look out at Jenna and her eyes tell me she knows I’m on top of the world right now.  It reminds me of all the things that I love about her that have nothing to do with her body, but with her heart and her soul.  She winks and calls out a question that doubles as a song request.
    “Who feels like makin’ love?”
    A rowdy bunch, pretty much everyone in the bar yells out in agreement, so I close my eyes and reach back in my memory for the chords to the song.  For a few seconds, everyone quiets and the world fades away as they all wait for me to start picking out the notes.  With the first one, I remember how much I love the feel of the strings under my fingertips. 
    After eight beats, the rest of the band jumps in. I open my eyes and look back out at Jenna.  She takes her hat off and gives her head a shake, her dark hair