47. Callie
Chapter 47
Callie
We’ve been back on the road for a few days, from one small town to another, but this morning moves slowly. Warm. The kind that stretches and yawns before it ever thinks about starting.
I wake up smushed between Colt and Maverick, one of Colt’s arms draped across my ribs like a seat belt while Maverick’s thigh lines my right side. The motel AC is doing its best impression of a dying animal, barely rattling out any cool air, so we’re all a little too warm. A little sticky. But I don’t mind. Not even close.
Colt groans into my hair like he’s in pain. “Coffee or death,” he mutters.
Behind me, Maverick chuckles low, amused, already awake. Probably been up since dawn, scrolling the news or checking ride stats. He shifts behind me and reaches one long arm over my shoulder, helping Colt, who won’t admit his shoulder is still sore, sit up. Maverick passes over a mug to the half-asleep Colt, who grunts his thanks.
They think they’re subtle, but come on, Maverick refilling Colt’s travel mug before the man even opens his eyes? That’s not friendship. That’s a damn love letter.
I wriggle free from under Colt’s weight and pad barefoot toward the counter, stretching out like a cat. Maverick’s already crouched by the motel’s sad little coffee station, brewing more of what Colt calls “real coffee” and what the rest of us call motor oil.
He glances up at me with a resigned expression. “He better appreciate this.”
I smile. “He won’t.”
He shrugs, like he expected as much, and goes back to stirring. There’s only enough drinkable coffee for one more cup. I really freaking want it, but I’m not so shameless to steal it from him.
Mav pours it into the mug, and I watch, trying not to sigh. Now I’ll have to wait until Colt drinks his sludge before I can make more.
“You’re pretty cute, you know that?” Maverick says in that easy, peaceful tone I’m still getting used to.
I look down at myself, wearing one of their shirts. My hair is what I’m sure is a rat’s nest of a bun, and I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. “I think we’re going to have to examine your definition of cute.”
He stirs the coffee, adding the perfect amount of creamer and sugar. “Well, the way you were pouting silently over this was definitely what I would consider cute.” Then he holds it out for me. “It’s already yours. I made sure there was enough left for you.”
Bubbles pop as they fill my chest. This new lightness is something I’ve been trying to get used to. This man’s love language is acts of service, and it’s freaking working.
I hum, taking a cautious sip of the hot liquid. “You’re pretty cute too.”
The pink flush across his cheeks just proves my point.
That low, constant current between us crackles to life.
Colt strides out of the bathroom, shirtless, leg brace in one hand, towel slung dangerously low on his hips, and reaches between us for his own mug. “You two look intense.”
He’s halfway done with his drink before I’ve had a chance to really start mine.
“You’re welcome,” Maverick mutters.
Colt grunts and takes a long sip, trying to look annoyed. He’s not. He’s smiling around the rim.
“Thanks.”
Maverick turns to me, hoodie in hand. “Cold this morning,” he murmurs, then pulls it gently over my head. It smells like him soap and cedar, and I melt a little on the spot. He presses a kiss to my temple without thinking.
My heart? Does that stupid flutter thing it’s been doing for weeks now.
Colt drops onto the corner of the bed and starts fumbling with his brace, trying to fasten it one-handed. Maverick doesn’t say anything, just crouches down and straps it into place, movements fast and familiar. Colt doesn’t move to stop him, having given up on this particular argument weeks ago.
It hits me in the quiet between their banter how much I love this. Not the chaos. Not the fame or the arenas. Just… this.
The three of us, tangled and half-dressed in a too-warm motel room, moving around each other like we’ve done it a hundred times.
I’ve just thrown my hair into what I’d say is a semi-decent ponytail when Maverick calls from the front door. “Let’s go, you two.”
Colt grins conspiratorially at me and purposely slows as he finishes brushing his teeth. I swear these two will do anything to get under each other’s skin.
“Come on, Princess.” The rumble of Maverick’s voice is thick in the small bathroom
Colt chokes, his own blush happening. Not quite used to this new form of attention from his former nemesis.
He finishes brushing his teeth, sighing. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You’re acting like you’re heading to the gallows.”
“I might as well be. I’m going to a press conference while injured, only one ride away from the championship. The reporters are going to go for blood.”
We stop for gas just off the highway, one of those half-abandoned places where the pumps are sun-faded and the ice chest outside is held together with duct tape. Colt hops out to start fueling up, his ball cap tipped low over his eyes.
Maverick climbs out too, grabbing a squeegee, and starts scrubbing bug guts off the windshield with the intensity of a man avenging his family.
I leave them to their manly nonsense and head inside for slushies and Twizzlers, the kind of fuel I actually care about. The air-conditioning inside is working overtime, the cold biting after the sun, and the floor sticks a little under my sandals as I make my way to the candy aisle.
I’m halfway through the checkout when I notice the shift. I smile at the cashier after finishing paying and head out, pausing just a few steps outside with my bag of snacks, sipping my slushie like I’ve got all the time in the world, watching the whole thing unfold with the kind of calm that comes from dating two incredibly hot idiots.
Three girls hover by the pumps now, trying for casual but giving themselves away with every wide-eyed glance and whispered nudge. I clock the recognition the second it lands before they’ve even made it halfway across the lot.
They’re cute. Confident. The kind of girls who know how to turn heads without breaking a sweat. Crop tops and glossy lips, denim shorts and practiced ease. Not a single one of them looks flustered to be standing in front of Colt and Maverick.
I don’t blame them. They’re both stupid hot. It’s practically unfair.
But when one of them steps forward, all lit up with excitement, and lays her hand on Colt’s arm, that’s when something in me tightens.
I’m not the jealous type. I swear I’m not.
Still, the way she leans in, lashes lowered, full of soft-lipped flirtation… yeah. That’s the exact moment every molecule of my girls’ girl energy ends.
“You’re even hotter in real life,” she says, her voice going up half an octave.
Colt blinks, startled. He shifts his weight and glances around like he’s trying to be polite about it, but I can already see the tightness in his neck.
Maverick spots me over the hood, frozen mid-swipe, his eyebrows hitting his hairline. He tilts his head like, You seeing this shit?
I lift a single brow. Handle it.
Oh, he does.
He drops the squeegee with a clunk , walks straight across the lot like he owns the pavement, and before I can even breathe, he’s got a hand curled around Colt’s neck, pulling him in.
The kiss is… emphatic. Slow. Territorial in a way that’s not even a tiny bit subtle.
Colt’s eyes go wide for half a second, and then his whole body sinks into it, hands fisting in Maverick’s shirt like instinct. Like home.
Gas pump forgotten. Flirty girls officially invisible.
I make my way over, enjoying the view, and place myself between them and my guys.
A shocked gasp bubbles up from behind me. “Wait… are they dating?”
I turn, lean against the wall, and take a long, loud sip from my straw. “Jealous?”
The girl startles, blinking like I’ve caught her shoplifting. “Uh. Yeah.”
“You’re out of luck. He’s super taken.”
Maverick finally pulls back, breathing a little harder, and Colt—God bless him—is red from the neck up but still dazed enough that his lips part like he might go back in for another.
I stroll up and hand over the bag of snacks to Maverick, ignoring the girls who are now staring wide-eyed with mouths half-open. One of them is, unsurprisingly, filming this play out. They’d better saddle up because I’m about to give them an even bigger show.
I step in close and tug Colt down by the front of his shirt. His lips are still warm from Maverick’s, still parted like he’s caught between a breath and a laugh.
I kiss him slowly, like he’s mine to claim.
He exhales against my mouth, one hand finding my hip, holding me close.
Then I shift toward Maverick, slide a hand into his curls, and pull him in next. He doesn’t hesitate. He kisses me deep, with that kind of anchored certainty that still undoes me, even now. His thumb brushes my jaw like he’s grounding both of us.
When I pull back, they’re both looking at me like I hung the stars and handed them the moon.
A soda can clatters to the pavement. Someone gasps loudly enough to draw a few stares of their own.
“Oh my God. Are all three of them?”
“Did she just kiss both of them?”
“Wait. Are they, like… together?”
Maverick slings an arm around my shoulder, deadpan as ever. “Think we broke ’em.”
I sip my slushie. “Good.”
One girl blinks at me, stunned. “I mean, wow. Are you… like… is that a thing?”
“Apparently,” I say, breezing past her and back to the truck. “And it’s a damn good one.”
Colt exhales a laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Y’all could’ve warned me.”
“You needed the reminder,” I say, popping a Twizzler into my mouth.
“I so did not need a reminder. Hell, I can promise you that I will never need a reminder.” He huffs, but he’s grinning now, wide and unrepentant, then winks. “But feel free to give me one anytime.”
Once the dust settles and the fans disperse, we climb back into the truck. We left Maverick’s at Colt’s parents’ house in favor of the fold-up center console making a bench seat that works perfectly for us.
I climb into the middle. Colt passes me my slushie without looking, Maverick slides the aux cord into my lap, and our hands find each other without even trying. It’s second nature now.
Colt’s thigh presses against mine, warm and steady, and none of us says anything for a while.
The engine hums low, gravel crunching beneath the tires as we pull back onto the road.
“We’re a little obvious, huh?” I say finally, glancing out the window at the open stretch ahead.
Colt chuckles, low and smug. “They’ll get used to it.”
Maverick smirks, rubbing a thumb across my knuckles. “Or they won’t. Doesn’t change a damn thing.”
The gas station fades in the rearview, slushies half-melted in the cup holders, Twizzlers passed back and forth between bites of protein bars and road trip silence.
Maverick’s hand is still in mine, Colt’s thigh pressed warm to my other side. The windows are down. The wind tangles my hair. We don’t say much.
But it’s not quiet.
Not really.
Because Colt hums low to the music, and Maverick’s knuckles brush my thigh. Because this truck smells like leather and sweat and the sweet, syrupy mess I spilled earlier, and somehow, it smells like home.
I glance over at them, Colt squinting into the sun, Maverick stealing a Twizzler from my lap, and my chest aches with how easy it all feels.