5. Colt
Chapter 5
Colt
The air’s already brutally hot, the kind that sticks to your skin and saps your energy. The breeze doesn’t do a damn thing to help as I stand on the motel’s second-floor walkway, one arm braced on the railing, the other wrapped around my coffee like it might keep me sane.
My memory of last night is hazy, alcohol smudging the details, leaving behind blurry impressions. But the flashes of Callie dancing between Maverick and me have me in a chokehold.
I told myself she was still the same girl I’d grown up with even as I obsessed over how her Daisy Dukes hugged her ass, how her shirt clung to her curves, the swell of her breasts teasing through the fabric.
The girl who left came back a fucking goddess. Untouchable. The thought feels criminal. Like any second, she’s going to come stomping out here and ream me out.
Groaning, I slap a hand to my forehead and drag it down my face. “Jesus, Colt. Get your shit together.”
“Morning,” Callie says, her voice rough with sleep, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
I turn and freeze.
Shock punches the air from my lungs. She’s standing in the doorway of my motel room, her hair a wild halo around her shoulders like someone dug their hands through it, but that’s not what knocks me flat.
She’s wearing my shirt.
Only my shirt.
It hits her mid-thigh, covering all the important parts, practically a damn dress but that doesn’t matter. Because it’s mine .
I think I could die happy.
Noticing my gawking, she raises a brow with a teasing smile and lifts the hem to reveal her shorts underneath. I ignore the slight sting of disappointment.
This is better. Of course this is better. She shouldn’t be wearing just my shirt… right?
She pads onto the outdoor walkway, snatches the mug from my hand before I can react, and takes a sip.
Immediately, she grimaces. “What the hell is this?”
“My coffee,” I manage, still recovering from the visual. “Also known as cowboy fuel.”
She lowers the mug, nose scrunching. “You have serious issues,” she rasps.
That earns another laugh because she’s fucking right.
“You feeling okay?”
“Been better,” she sighs, leaning her weight against the doorframe. “I can’t exactly remember everything from last night.”
“Me neither. Some parts are a blur.” Not a lie. Not entirely the truth either.
She gestures toward the room. “So I slept here?”
“We didn’t know which one was yours. Figured this was safest.” I shrug, biting my lip, because it felt damn good seeing her curled up in my bed… even if I didn’t sleep in it.
“You could’ve shared with me,” she says casually. “You must be sore after riding last night.”
“Nah, the pullout was fine. Nothing I’m not used to.” Which is a lie and a half. There’s no way I could’ve handled waking up next to her. Her warm body tucked against mine, my morning wood digging into her hip. Just thinking about it has me shifting, trying to hide the reaction she always pulls from me.
If she knew, would she hate me? Would she still look at me with those soft eyes?
“Still,” she murmurs. “I could’ve taken the couch. I’m the one who got drunk and passed out.”
And what a cute drunk she was.
“You calling me old? Saying I can’t handle a pullout?”
She scoffs. “We’re the same age.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the one saying you’re old and sore.” I roll my neck, and it cracks loudly, undermining my point.
Her brow lifts like she’s saying, See? “I’m just saying—we used to share a bed all the time. It’s not a big deal.”
Not a big deal? Right. Maybe not for her. She’s not the one who is secretly obsessed with her childhood best friend.
I’ve spent too much time thinking about her over the years, missing the piece she took with her when she left. Now, she’s here again, smiling that sunshine smile and lighting up the dark hole she left behind. Anyone would be twisted after that, right?
Knowing she’s leaving in a few months has the tender spot beneath my ribs aching at the thought, and my sternum hollows out. It’s one of those things that’s hard to judge: is it better to have had a taste or to have stayed hungry?
Nah… definitely better to take whatever I can, no matter what happens to me.
It felt good to be with my old friend. One of the only people who’s ever really understood me.
“You don’t know. I might snore,” I say.
Her lips twitch, curling in the corner. “You say that like you didn’t always snore.”
“Hey, at least I don’t drool,” I fire back.
Her mouth drops open in faux offense, almost spilling her coffee. “That was one time. And I had a sinus infection.”
“Uh-huh. Sure . All those other times, too?” I nudge.
She’s just too damn cute. Too easy to tease. With everyone else, I put on a persona. With Callie, I don’t have to try. She pulls it out of me. Always has.
“What time are we heading out?” Callie asks, casual as anything, like this has always been the plan.
“Hm?” I blink, still not used to the idea that she’s actually staying. That this is real.
She strolls to the railing, dumps her coffee into the bushes, then turns toward me, so close her arm brushes mine. “Next event’s what, eight hours? We hitting the road soon?”
“You in a hurry?” Maverick’s voice cuts in behind us, and I flinch. Didn’t even hear him walk up.
She shrugs, unfazed. “Just trying to figure out if I have time to wash my hair before sitting in a truck all day. Smells like beer.”
“You’ve got time,” I say quickly before Mav can scare her off with whatever’s brewing in his head.
Maverick studies her. “You sure you’re up for this?”
She rolls her eyes. “You two aren’t exactly high-maintenance. I think I’ll survive.”
He huffs out a laugh, but it’s tight. “Not what I meant.”
She pauses then, just a flicker of something in her eyes. “I’m not here to be careful,” she says. “I came to make this count.”
The way she says it shuts both of us up.
She glances between us. “Unless you’re saying I can’t tag along?”
“Hell no,” I say.
Maverick echoes, softer, “Not a chance.”
She nods, like that settles it, but there’s still that flutter of nerves in her posture like she’s waiting for someone to tell her she doesn’t belong.
She doesn’t know we’ve spent eight years hoping she’d come back.
“You can ride with me,” we both blurt out, but I’m faster.
Maverick glares. I wink.
“I’m a better driver. She’s safer with me,” he says.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” I fire back.
We’re already arguing, and I’m gearing up to make my case when Callie cuts in.
“We can’t all ride together?”
“Hell no. You’re funny.” I bark out a laugh.
Her brow knits. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised after yesterday, but I was hoping it was some kind of ego-driven bull rider thing?”
“We haven’t been friends in a long time,” Maverick says evenly. “Whatever you thought we were… we’re not that anymore.”
There’s pain in her reddened eyes, and she hides it by looking at her feet. She doesn’t say anything for several seconds, and neither do we.
We tried to tell her yesterday; she needs to face it today.
Her hands open and clench at her sides, over and over.
Fuck, I want to take them in mine and uncurl each of her fingers.
It’s not how it was supposed to be.
But there’s no changing it.
She stares at her feet, silent. It’s brutal. Worse than any bull ride I’ve ever taken.
We’ve been this way for years, and I have no plans to change. Callie’s just not used to it, she hasn’t been around.
It would help if I explained it to her. Everything that went down, how winning got in the way. How she was the only thing that ever held us together, and once she left, whatever friendship we had cracked, revealing just how fragile it really was.
They say bull riders only care about one thing, and that’s winning.
We’re proof of that.
There’s only one way to win this thing, and that’s by beating the other.
When she finally looks up, there’s fire in her eyes. That stubborn Callie spark.
“Since you’re so determined to fight, I’ll ask Luke if I can ride with him. That way, we can keep it fair.”
“Like hell you are,” we say in unison.
She smirks, smug. But I know we’ve lost.
“We’ll take turns,” I say.
“Turns?” Her eyes narrow. “Am I some kind of shareable object?”
My mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water because wasn’t that exactly how I was treating her?
“It’s not like that. We both missed you, and we have our own trucks.” He glances my way, jaw tight, then says, “Switching back and forth will give us both time to hang out with you. Don’t you want that?”
Hell… did he just agree with me? Did Maverick Kane just compromise? I have half a mind to check his temperature. Still, it must’ve been the right thing to say because she softens.
I think we’ve won this but then her eyes grow misty, and I know in that second I’d do absolutely anything to make it go away.
“I don’t have much time here, and most of it will be spent on the road,” she says, voice trembling. “I don’t want to waste any of it.”
“We’ll take my truck,” Maverick says. “You ride passenger. He can sit in the back.”
“Why do you get to drive?” I grumble.
He grins. “Because I offered first.”