10. Colt
Chapter 10
Colt
My beer’s bitter on my tongue as I crush another one, adding it to the small pile at my side. I’ve hidden myself behind the building, not feeling up to playing my part—the playboy, boy next door, always ready with a smile.
Nights like these make me wonder why I ever put on this mask at all.
Not that I don’t know. Half the money in bull riding is in sponsorships, and the TV loves the guy I show them.
I don’t have it in me tonight, too many thoughts flying through my mind. How good Callie looked in my jacket, her warm thigh pressed against mine, so cute I just wanted to bite into her. My head drops into my palm, holding me up when I start to sway.
There’d been something else… As the night went on, her smiles grew brittle, and she stopped meeting my eyes. I let her play off her shudder as just being cold. It was easy to see she didn’t want to talk about it but it took everything in me not to ask.
While Callie wasn’t looking, Maverick lifted his chin in an upward nod, asking if I knew what was wrong. All I could do was shake my head.
The silent language we used to speak came back easily.
If there’s one thing we still agree on, it’s her, and if anything’s wrong, we’re going to fix it.
The years of not knowing what she’s been doing have twisted protectiveness into outright possessiveness.
That’s not quite right though. I don’t want to own her. I want her to own me. I want her to let me do everything for her. To let me be the one she relies on.
She’s playing it off, but I know her too well not to see it that she’s guarded. Holding herself back. Still got one foot out the door, ready to walk away at any time.
The knowledge sits under my ribs, cutting into me when I breathe. A permanent ache, chewing away at my sanity.
Surviving her leaving once was hard; doing it again would be impossible.
Not that I’d let her get away. There’s nowhere she can go that I won’t follow and bring her home. And as much as it kills me to admit it, Maverick belongs with her too. So long as he keeps his distance from me, we’ll work it out.
I want her so tied up in what we have she won’t even think about going back to the city.
Maverick may be the biggest asshole around, but I don’t hate him enough to want him gone.
It pisses me off, but I have no intention of getting between them.
Callie wants to go back to how we were as kids. I can’t give her the impossible, but I’ll do my best not to kick his ass while she’s around.
I tell myself it’ll be easy enough that if she’s happy, I can live with it. But a sick feeling’s already coiling low in my gut, warning me it’s going to be a hell of a lot harder once reality slams into me.
A slow, crooked smile twists my lips. Fuck, it’s been a while since we had a good fight. Wonder if we can set that up while she’s asleep.
Sleep … fuck.
The back of my skull connects with the stone wall, and I wince. It’s numb now, but shit’s going to hurt in the morning.
I do it again, trying to rattle the thoughts loose, but it’s no good.
Sooner or later, I’ll have to crawl my drunk ass back to our room and face him head-on.
I haven’t seen him in a few hours. With any luck, he’ll be out cold.
We sprang apart the second Callie’s door closed behind her, so fast you’d think we were contagious.
Whatever little truce we had going while she was around terminated the second she was gone.
He watched me from a safe ten feet away.
The moment stretched between us, and when his mouth twitched, I thought he was going to say something. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away.
I’d take being buried six feet under before I admit I stood there, gaze locked on the flex of his shoulders as he left.
It would be a lie to say I’ve been able to ignore him.
No…he’s always there, buzzing at the edge of my sight, a little alarm going off: Look at me .
Blaming it on us both being bull riders would be easy, but it’s bullshit.
I’ve never been able to ignore that subtle electric hum that pulses through me whenever he’s near, like he’s some kind of live wire I should know better than to touch.
I hit my head against the wall one more time for good measure, then peel myself off the ground, stumbling to get my balance.
I don’t usually get tanked like this, but something tells me I’m better off blacking out tonight.
Rounding the corner, I’m relieved to see most of the guys are already inside.
It’s after 2:00 a.m., and even cowboys have to sleep.
My stomach twists the closer I get to my room and I know it’s got nothing to do with the alcohol.
I can only pray that bastard’s asleep.
Like a prisoner walking to the chair, I take my time making my way to the door.
Come on, Colt. Pull yourself together.
You’re a grown-ass man. This isn’t a big deal. Just get in there and pass out.
The pep talk barely helps, but combined with the liquor in my system, it’s enough to get me inside.
It’s dark.
The only light comes from the moon, casting soft shadows through the window, making it hard to see but there’s no mistaking the large shape on the bed.
I bend down, pulling off each boot slowly, dragging my feet as I make my way to the edge of the mattress.
The air catches in my lungs as I strain to listen, hoping for the rhythmic sounds of breathing.
But I can’t hear anything over the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Hell, I’m more nervous now than getting on a bull.
The couch looks ancient, the cushions sunken like battle scars from a thousand asses.
Just looking at it makes my back hurt.
“Don’t be a child,” Maverick rasps without rolling over.
I curse under my breath. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was. You aren’t exactly quiet. How much did you drink?”
“Judgmental fuck. I wouldn’t be wasted if you hadn’t suggested this stupid sleeping situation.”
Or was I the one who suggested it?
“Get in or fuck off, but stop hovering over me like a psychopath.”
He yanks the blanket up higher, effectively ending the conversation.
“Don’t fucking kill me in my sleep.”
Grumbling, I crawl into bed, not even bothering to change.
Normally, I sleep butt-ass naked, but like hell that’s happening now.
“Don’t give me ideas.”
“You always couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”
He grunts. The fact he doesn’t even reply pisses me off more.
I picture booting him out of bed and wonder how badly he’d kill me.
I shift so my back is facing him, trying to get comfortable, but it’s no use.
Every molecule in my body is tuned to him.
The rough sound of his breathing.
The faint cologne still clinging to his skin.
The covers rustling when he moves.
Everything has my pulse racing and my heart clawing at my ribs.
What the absolute fuck is happening to me?
“Your thoughts are too loud,” he huffs like I’m an annoying dog.
He shifts again, and this time, the sheet pulls low across his hips.
Something about the movement is lazy, and unguarded makes my mouth go dry.
“You’re breathing too loud,” I mutter under my breath.
Real mature, Colt.
He doesn’t answer. His favorite move: complete, infuriating silence.
I’m listening so hard I hear the exact second his breathing deepens into sleep.
He’s relaxed.
I’m trapped, choking on his heat traveling the distance between us.
He makes a low sound in his sleep, something between a sigh and a growl, and it shoots straight into my brain, flipping all my circuits.
I don’t know what I’m feeling and I’m too drunk to figure it out but I know I don’t like it.
And I know it’s his fault.
Smothering my head with the pillow, I force myself to breathe slow and deep.
Mav’s right.
It’s going to be a long-ass night.