“You’re not getting out of it, either,” Jett snapped at me, taking a bite out of the new popsicle with his front teeth like the psycho that he was. “You’re wound tighter than a bull rope. If you don’t do something to bleed off all that energy, you’re going to go feral.”
Ryder snorted. “And I don’t have time for that right now.”
I shot him a look, and he lifted both palms defensively. “Hey. Just stating facts.”
Jett tossed his empty popsicle stick into the truck bed. “Ride tonight.”
I blinked at him. “What?”
“Ride,” he repeated, slower. “You haven’t gotten on a bull in years. You need it.”
“No,” I said automatically. “I’ve got things to—”
“You need it,” Jett said again, stepping into my space just enough that my pulse sharpened. “You’re too keyed up to be touching human beings right
