22. Colt
Chapter 22
Colt
The thick strap cuts into my palm as I haul the heavy bag over my shoulder and carry it the twenty feet between Jimmy’s door and his truck. When the guys knocked on my door promising beer in return for help loading their trucks, I was all for it. Have some drinks, joke around, and maybe even stretch out some of my sore muscles. Instead, it feels like I’m being baked alive by the sun.
This area’s normally dry, but the oncoming storm has the air heavy with humidity. It’s that uncomfortable feeling where everything clings to your clothes, hair, sweat mixed with dust. It feels like there’s a film of dirt coating my skin.
Normally, any rider who’s not set up with people to haul gear is in charge of getting their own equipment in and out of their room. It would be nice if they could leave their trucks loaded, but even in these small towns, it’s easy to get your stuff stolen that way. I hate to admit it, but it’s the other riders you’ve gotta watch out for.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had to worry about it. My gear’s now controlled by the company, and I don’t miss lugging around my shit. Let’s face it, the real reason I’m out here helping is because I still remember how much it sucked when nobody helped me.
The truck shakes as Maverick dumps a large gray steel box into the bed. Speak of one of the devils who never helped me out. I may not like him, and he may not lift a finger for me which probably just pissed me off more but he’s a good guy to the rest of the crew. So I wasn’t surprised to see him already out here helping by the time I came down.
This is how it is now, our truce firmly in place, both of us wanting Callie to be happy.
We’ve got a routine going where Maverick’s asleep before I get into the room and gone before I wake up in the morning. It should be like sleeping alone with him firmly on his side and me on mine. It definitely shouldn’t be keeping me up at night.
The way my heart races, threatening the structure of my ribs, is because of the upcoming rides. Definitely not his soft, steady breaths or the heat that always seems to seep from his side, invading mine.
Cheeks hot, I look anywhere but at Maverick. That’s how I notice the large black smear running from the hem up the side of my shirt.
“Motherfucker…” I hiss under my breath and grab the edge, pulling it over my head. Scrunching it like a makeshift towel, I wipe it along the top of my shoulders to the hollow of my neck before flipping it over and using the other side to mop my brow, cleaning the dirt and sweat that stings my eyes.
Another large bag is dropped into the truck. Maverick’s looming presence at my side has me pulling my shirt away.
Dark, hooded eyes brand my chest. I suck in a breath, only to have Maverick turn without meeting my gaze.
There’s a tingling electric current where I can still feel the weight of his stare. It has my chest growing tight and my breath shallow.
Shake it off, man—you’re losing it.
I use the physical task of lugging gear, loading each rider’s truck, to keep my mind blank. Not that I have any reason to think of someone… nah, no reason at all.
My shoulder aches where the two thin straps cut into my muscle, and I start to regret all my life choices. The short distance to the truck might as well be a mile.
Stacking it on top of the rest of the equipment, I sag in relief, pressing my palms on the tailgate while I catch my breath.
I don’t notice Jimmy approaching from behind until he shouts, “Oh shit.”
I turn in time to see the large box he’s barely got control over, barreling toward my chest. I brace myself, muscles tensing for the inevitable collision.
Fuck, this is gonna hurt.
A wall shoves in front of me. Maverick grunts, stomach caving in and shoulders hunching over as he takes the full force of the impact. He clutches his side and winces from the strain.
“Be careful,” he snaps, more like an accusation than a warning.
I glare at him, a smart retort on the tip of my tongue. My pride wants to keep its footing, wants to snap back with venom, but damn if it’s not hard to stay angry at the guy who just saved my hide.
I swallow a sharp breath and mutter, “Give me a break, man.”
“Oh my God. I am so sorry,” Jimmy says, running his hands through his hair, his shoulders dropped low.
Maverick doesn’t even look at him, still focused on me. “If you were paying attention, it wouldn’t happen.”
“Whatever,” I murmur under my breath, having no idea what to say to the guy.
Jimmy’s face is an open book, confusion scribbled all over it. He runs a hand through his hair, the wild red tangle falling back into place as if used to the abuse.
“Oh my God,” he blurts, eyes jumping between me and Maverick. “I am so sorry. Wait…what the hell is happening here? Are you guys getting along? I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Just because I’m not yelling at this asshole doesn’t mean I don’t still hate him. We’re coexisting. That’s it.”
I ignore the way my voice is a little too defensive, a whisper at the back of my head saying maybe we’re doing a little more than coexisting. There’s been a shift between us, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Maverick ignores him, not bothering to waste words on what should be obvious.
Jimmy throws up his hands, backing away with the same helpless gesture he uses in poker games right before he folds.
“Fine, fine,” he says, palms out like he’s holding off a stampede. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. Again.”
Several moments of heavy silence pass after Jimmy’s gone before Maverick cuts in.
“What? No thank you?” His words are sharp, cutting.
It’s all the reminder I need to snap me back to reality.
“You can fuck off,” I spit out, still not sure what just happened but happy to go back to ignoring each other.
Curtis approaches, three beers in his hand, condensation sweating down the bottles.
I swallow hard, my throat dry just looking at them.
“That’s it. All loaded up. Thanks for helping out.”
Gratefully taking the beer he’s holding out to me, I don’t waste time popping the top and chugging the first half.
The shock of earlier hits me again: Maverick putting himself in danger to haul me out of it.
Why? Why would he risk himself like that, for me? After everything?
Confusion trickles in, weaving its way through the new cracks that have been gradually forming since Callie’s arrival.
Maverick’s already walking away by the time I lower the bottle from my lips, leaving me stranded in the thick of my own confusion.
“Hey,” I yell after him, my voice raw and insistent. “It’s fucking hot out here. Just get over yourself and hang out for a minute!”
He doesn’t turn around, just keeps going, each step deliberate and infuriating.
I toss back more beer, a desperate attempt to cool down the fire inside me.
Why the hell would he do it? What makes him care so much?
My mind reels, spinning a dozen ways to make sense of what I can’t seem to.
I could chase after him, confront him with the questions that are gnawing at me, but I don’t.
The anger and confusion crash against each other, leaving a muddied wake of something far more unsettling.
“What crawled up his ass?” Curtis shakes his head.
“I don’t know how you haven’t laid him out over the years. He treats you like shit.”
My nerves snap.
“That guy just loaded your truck for you,” I shoot back. “You should worry about your own asshole tendencies.”
“Hey, I was just saying… ’cause I know you two don’t get along, and he just left without saying anything…” He stutters like he just realized he stepped on a land mine.
“Yeah… he’s like that.”
The bottle’s empty when I go to take another sip, and I groan under my breath.
This guy’s right. Maverick does normally treat me like shit. That’s the norm between us. So why did he take a blow for me?
Sparks prickle along my skin, the unfamiliar feeling out of place when thinking of him.
Grabbing the back of my neck, my fingers come back sticky with sweat.
But first, I need to shower.
“Thanks for the beer,” I mutter.
Curtis gestures toward where the parking lot wraps around the other side of the building.
“There’s more where that came from. You helped a lot. I owe you. The rest of the guys are around the back.”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got to wash the scum off me.”
My face twists. “I’m fucking disgusting.”
Just thinking about taking a shower has me almost forgetting about my unwanted roommate. Almost.
I insert my cordless earbuds, turning the song up until my mood starts to shift to match the raging beat as I make my way up the stairs to my room.
Nothing says don’t talk to me like music at full blast.
Key card lifted at the ready, I hesitate at the door.
The last thing I wanna do is come face-to-face with Maverick until I know what I’m gonna say to him. Thanking him will be like eating sand, and it’s gonna take more than one beer in the shower for me to be up to it.
He didn’t have to take that blow for me. It would’ve been easier, safer for him to just let it happen.
Instead, he jumped in front of me, pushing me out of the way like some kind of fucking hero.
Fuck it.
The lock beeps, and the door clicks open. I take a long, slow inhale, bracing myself, then walk inside.
The room’s small enough that a quick glance is all I need to know I’m the only one here.
I shouldn’t be this relieved, but that doesn’t stop my breath from flowing out with enough force to puff up my cheeks.
I kick off my boots, letting them land wherever they damn well please.
It’s a rebellion of sorts, though not much of one, considering how many times I’ve gone through this same routine.
Shirt, pants, boxers. They all come off in a careless heap, my skin glad to be free of the day’s grime.
I should be ashamed of how I’ve let the place go, but Maverick’s quiet, orderly presence has always been enough to goad me into a small, defiant disaster.
The thing that gets under my skin is I’ve been acting more like a slob than usual, but he hasn’t once given me shit for leaving my stuff on the floor even though I know it must bug him.
Every time I see that he folded my clothes and put them on the table, my gut twists.
He doesn’t even have to say anything to make me feel guilty.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
At least he’s not here right now.
Thank God for small mercies and all that.
This way, I can take my shower and get the hell out of here.
Maybe even drink those beers the guys were promising.
I haven’t taken out my earbuds yet, which is why I don’t hear the sound of the shower until it’s too late.
I freeze, feet planted to the floor, gripping the doorknob so tight my knuckles bleach white as I’m met with a view of water rushing over Maverick’s naked body.
His back’s to me, giving me the perfect shot of his broad shoulders, wider than mine, weaved with thick, corded muscles.
I follow the way they taper in at the waist and swallow hard.
I’ve never really looked at a man’s ass before. It curves down, connecting with wide, thick thighs.
I’ve seen him a thousand times, more than that, but not like this.
Never like this.
He’s leaning into his palm, braced against the shower wall, head dropped down.
My mouth grows dry, and I run my tongue along my bottom lip, biting the corner.
I know it’s wrong.
I should say something. Should call out, turn away, anything but stand here, frozen.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Time stops as the world tips on its axis.
The muscles in Maverick’s back begin to tense and flex. His arm movement is slow and deliberate, and my eyes follow with a kind of dread fascination.
All of the blood abandons my brain, and it short-circuits.
Fuck.
He’s fucking jerking off.
And I’m fucking watching him.
I can’t look away. It’s like I’ve been physically tied to this place.
My heart is thundering in my chest, bashing into my ribs, which heave with each of my shattering breaths.
I feel it then, the sharp stab of something primal and unwanted, and it hits hard, sending a jolt lancing down my spine.
Maverick’s muscles contract, spine arching, chin tipping to the ceiling.
His low, guttural groan rips out of him, shattering the haze that’s kept me chained here, replacing it with horror.
I stagger out.
The door closes behind me with a soft click as I sag into the wall, feeling it cold and unyielding against my skin, but inside…inside, I am molten and reeling.
The house I built in my mind. The one that keeps everything securely in its place threatens to ignite and burn to ash as I process what I just saw.
Each breath is ragged and unsteady, and my body, fuck, my body is reacting in ways I never saw coming.
There’s an overpowering need coursing through me, my abs flexing so tight they hurt.
This cannot be happening right now.
I am not turned on by that asshole.
I am not turned on by that asshole.
I am not turned on by that asshole.
I look down and an unrecognizable sound breaks from my lips and I thank God no one’s here to hear it.
My cock’s hard, the head pointed directly at me.
Precum pools at my tip, a visceral, humiliating confirmation that leaves me shaken.
All my walls, all my defenses, obliterated in an instant of naked, unwanted truth.
I’m fucked.
Utterly, completely fucked.