31. Callie
Chapter 31
Callie
“Olé, Olé, Olé, Olé… O-lé… O-lé.”
Beer sloshes over the edge of Luke’s glass as he belts out his fifth celebration chant of the night. He’s clinging to Marco for support, though judging by Marco’s equally wobbly stance, neither of them is doing much stabilizing. Luke landed the best score of the night, and he’s decided to celebrate with the full obnoxious joy of a frat boy who just discovered tequila.
I laugh along with them, the silly chant catching like wildfire across our corner of the pub. I’m pretty sure the song’s from soccer, but no one seems to care. It works.
We managed to land ourselves in a proper pub tonight, not a country bar, for once, and it’s a nice break from all the twang and two-stepping. Not that I mind cowboy bars, but after weeks on the road with the same crew, the change of scenery feels like a vacation.
Well… not much of a break, considering this place is still packed wall-to-wall with riders from tonight’s event. Luke’s a wild staple of the circuit, and the loyalty shows. The way people have gathered around him tonight, it’s clear he’s earned their respect. He’s magnetic when he wants to be and surrounded by a rotating orbit of friends and fans.
My eyes drift toward Maverick and Colt.
Colt’s been practically glued to Maverick’s side all night, not that either of them would admit it. There’s still a hint of nerves clinging to Colt, like adrenaline hasn’t fully let go yet. Their gazes keep catching, lingering longer than usual. There’s a weight to the silence between them. A shifting.
Then Colt’s shoulder brushes Maverick’s, and Maverick doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he leans in to say something, closer than he needs to be, voice low against Colt’s ear. My chest tightens not with jealousy but with something quieter. Warmer. The resistance they’ve clung to for so long is dissolving right in front of me. Not all at once. Unraveling.
They catch me watching.
Their attention slides to where I’m sitting with a few of the guys, laughter vibrating through the table as empty glasses pile higher. I don’t break their gaze as they approach. Something about this moment feels important.
Maverick reaches me first, hand outstretched. “Come here.”
Before I can ask what for, he tugs me gently to my feet, only to switch our positions. He drops into my spot on the bench and pulls me down beside him, dragging me close until our thighs touch. Colt slides in on my other side, the wood creaking beneath his weight as he brackets me in.
Neither of them says anything.
They don’t have to.
They just sit there, one on either side of me, shoulders brushing mine, chatting casually with the rest of the group as if this is normal. As if this is always how it’s been. Warmth builds in my chest, slow and steady. This moment mirrors that first day I saw them again. But now, the tension that once simmered between them is gone.
In its place: ease.
Familiarity.
Like something old and beautiful settling back into place.
They’ve still got things to work through, things I’ll make damn sure they talk about but tonight? Tonight, we’re just us.
I press my palm to the center of my chest, trying to ease the ache that’s been creeping in more often lately. Time’s speeding up. When I first got here, it felt like I had all summer. Now, it’s slipping through my fingers like sand.
Colt leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “What’re you thinking about so hard, Sunshine?”
His voice wraps around me like velvet, and the ache in my chest is instantly replaced by something hotter. He doesn’t wait for an answer. His hand is already sliding beneath the table, warm fingers wrapping around my knee, then moving slowly higher.
Not casual. Not comforting.
Intentional.
I take a sharp breath, my thighs tensing. We’re surrounded by people, music pulsing, glasses clinking, laughter all around us, but all I can feel is Colt.
His thumb traces the soft skin just above the bend of my knee, back and forth, slow and steady. The kind of rhythm that feels practiced. That makes my stomach flutter.
Then, he drags it higher.
Up, over the curve of my thigh. Just under the hem of my shorts.
He’s not touching me, not really. But it’s everything. Every pass leaves me twitching, breath shallow, hips angling ever so slightly toward him. The ache in my core builds with every stroke.
I grab my drink with both hands, hoping no one can see how flushed I am. How hard I’m gripping the glass. How much I’m trembling.
Colt leans back like nothing’s happening, like he’s not slowly unraveling me in front of a crowd. He’s still chatting with the guys across the table, voice smooth and steady as ever.
Maverick notices. He always notices.
His eyes track Colt’s hand beneath the table, then flick up to mine. I’m caught in his stare, dark, unreadable, and I swear I stop breathing. His gaze drops to my parted lips, then lower to where Colt’s hand still rests, stroking slow circles against the inside of my thigh.
Maverick’s jaw flexes… and then he moves.
His hand slides beneath the tabletop and wraps around my other thigh.
A full-body shiver races through me.
His grip is firm, anchoring me in place as his fingers inch higher. My legs are trapped between them now. Colt’s heat on one side, Maverick’s steadiness on the other. I can’t move. Can’t hide. All I can do is sit still and try not to come undone in the middle of a packed bar.
When I shift just slightly, chasing the pressure, their knuckles brush.
Colt’s breath catches, and Maverick’s hand freezes in place.
I watch Colt’s fingers twitch, a faint tremble betraying the tension in his hand. He doesn’t pull away.
A pause. A heartbeat.
Maverick doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
Then gently, like he’s afraid to startle him, Maverick slides his finger along the seam between Colt’s.
A silent question left hanging between them.
I don’t dare breathe as I wait for what happens next, my skin tingling beneath their palms and my chest tightening with anticipation.
Kissing is one thing. It’s fire and heat and lust. It can be blamed on the moment, on instinct.
Holding hands is sweet. Caring. Tender.
Maverick’s left himself wide open, vulnerable as the moments tick by. But he doesn’t push or pull away, just keeps running his knuckles over Colt’s, making his intentions clear.
Giving Colt the room and the power to decide what happens next.
Colt stays frozen, caught in the moment, then slowly opens his fingers.
Welcoming.
The air catches in my lungs as Maverick threads his fingers between Colt’s.
No teasing. No swagger.
Just quiet, trembling closeness.
It’s somehow more intimate than anything we’ve done.
Maybe I’m drunk. Maybe the alcohol has made me too soft, too open, but I swear the whole world shifts in that moment.
Because I know what it cost them to get here.
And even more. I know what it means that they’re reaching for each other now.
Not because of me.
But because of them.
Because maybe, somewhere deep down, we’ve always wanted this.
Their hands move in tandem now, trailing higher, deeper. My head tips back as their pinkies sweep up, grazing the sensitive seam of my shorts pressing into me.
I choke on a breath. My eyes dart to the crowded room. No one’s looking, not really, but we’re far from alone. Marco’s laughing with someone two tables over. Luke’s still shouting victory songs at the bar.
But under the table?
They’re ruining me.
I squeeze my legs together, trying to contain it to hide the frantic pulse building between my thighs, but it only makes it worse. Their hands bump again, this time fully pressed against either side of my heat. The pressure, the contact, the heat of their fingers so close to each other. It’s unbearable. Intoxicating.
Then Maverick presses in, deliberate, certain, sliding his thumb down the line of my core.
Colt follows suit.
When their thumbs meet over my clit, pressing lightly, dragging together in unison, I break.
A quiet gasp escapes before I can stop it, too soft to carry but loud enough to draw Marco’s eyes.
I still. Colt’s hand stops. Maverick’s too, their gazes hot on the sides of my face.
I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles go white. I should stop this. I should push them away. I should say something. Anything.
“Let’s dance!” Luke yells, slamming his empty glass down on the table like a gavel, his face flushed with alcohol and triumph. The sound snaps through our little bubble, shattering the spell with all the grace of a car crash.
Reality hits hard.
The bar comes rushing back, laughter, music, the crush of bodies. A dozen pairs of eyes that could turn this secret into something public.
I’d been so lost in their touch, so caught up in the slow, torturous buildup, I forgot where we were. Who was watching.
Forgot I was two strokes away from a full-blown orgasm in the middle of a goddamn pub.
“Yes!” My voice shoots up an octave, loud and too bright. I lunge at the opening, desperate for a reset. “Dancing. Great idea.”
I shove Colt’s shoulder, nudging him out of the booth, my hands shaking just slightly. He lets me, thank God, because there’s no way I could’ve moved him otherwise. Maverick slides out right behind us, gaze heavy on my back.
I don’t dare look at either of them.
Because if I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight.
And I really, really need to.
I break for the dance floor, escaping the booth like it might catch fire behind me, because if I stayed even one second longer, I’d have climbed into their laps and begged.
Colt’s on me in an instant, catching my hand and pulling me into the pulsing crowd. The beat drops, some twangy remix that shouldn’t work but absolutely does, and I throw my head back on a laugh as he spins me around.
My skin’s already flushed, my limbs loose. I’m warm and drunk and dizzy in the best way. The alcohol has pulled all the tension from my muscles, and I let myself fall into the rhythm.
I glance over, and sure enough, Maverick stands off to the side, arms crossed, half-shadowed. I can’t read his expression, but the weight of his stare hits me like a body shot. It slinks across my skin, electric and hot, and makes me stumble right over the next step.
Colt catches me. His fingers tighten at my side, one hand skimming under the hem of my shirt like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.
The DJ cranks the volume, and the whole place shifts. Dance music kicks in louder, messier, a little dirtier. Less line dancing, more grinding. A low, rhythmic thump that goes straight to the base of my spine.
“Well, this is unexpected,” Colt mutters, and his mouth is at my ear, his breath skating across my neck. A shiver rolls through me, and I don’t even try to hide it.
I laugh and let my hips start to move, my hands lifted in a rhythm that could only be called drunk white girl chaos. Colt keeps pace with me, close but not pressing, and I let myself feel it. The heat of the crowd, the scrape of denim, the pulse of music humming through my blood like a second heartbeat.
I spin.
Colt’s there to catch me again, hands sliding down to my hips.
My body’s buzzing, my thoughts a slow molasses drip.
And I know Maverick’s still watching.
I can feel it.
That low hum beneath my skin? That’s him. That tension stringing tighter with every second he stands off to the side.
I shoot him a coy smile over my shoulder because if he refuses to dance, that’s on him. But he’s the one missing out.
Colt draws me back in, his hands stroking absentmindedly across my waist, through the thin cotton of my shirt. I let my forehead drop to his chest, soaking in the solid press of him, his heartbeat thumping against my cheek like a war drum.
Then Colt stills.
Just for a second before I feel the new heat at my back.
A hard chest presses against me. The scent of pine and leather surrounds me. Maverick .
“Fuck,” Colt breathes.
“Fuck,” Maverick echoes, voice lower, rougher.
I don’t move.
Can’t.
Colt’s hands flex at my waist. His pinkies brush the curve of my ass, and it punches the breath from my lungs. Behind me, Maverick grips my hips.
The three of us lock into place like we’ve always belonged this way. I’m not just standing between them. I’m cradled. Supported. Surrounded.
I try to shift for balance, but there’s nowhere to go. Colt’s chest to my front, Maverick’s thighs framing mine from behind. I’m caught, suspended in heat and muscle and want.
My fingers curl into Colt’s shirt. One hand drops to Maverick’s thigh, splayed wide across the muscle. He’s so solid it makes me ache.
Maverick lets out a hum that vibrates through my whole spine. I feel it in my teeth. My hips shift forward on instinct.
Colt groans, and suddenly, his hands are tightening again, grounding me as I rock between them. The air crackles. My skin buzzes. The crowd blurs and vanishes.
Maverick leans forward, lifting the hair off the back of my neck and blowing a soft stream of air there. I jolt like I’ve been touched with fire. My legs squeeze together instinctively, chasing friction, but Colt’s thigh slips between mine, holding me open.
My breath stutters. A whine escapes before I can stop it.
Colt’s mouth finds my ear. “Fucking adorable.”