Chapter 18
18
Colt Bishop
I t’s Friday night, and the free clinic is in the morning, which means I probably shouldn’t be out at the bar, but I am. My friends are finally home from the circuit, and we’re celebrating everyone being back home again. It’s something we do every year.
My buddy, Cope, just got us all a round of beer, and we’re crowded around the pool tables, about to play a couple of games. There’s not a whole lot to do in this town as far as nightlife goes. This bar is pretty much the only place we go when we want to get out, aside from Conrad’s ranch. When we were all teenagers, we’d head down to the lake late at night when we were supposed to be spending the night at each other’s houses. Bonfires and getting wasted down there are some of my core adolescent memories.
“So, how’ve you been, man?” Shooter asks. “You’ve been one tough fucker to get ahold of lately.”
Arching a brow, he hits me with a look that has me filling with guilt immediately. How do I tell him it was easier to dodge their calls and texts than pretend everything was peachy?
“Oh, you know, hanging in there.” I shrug, trying to be cool about it. “My shoulder’s doing a lot better now than it was.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” His sincerity never fails to take me back. Shooter and I have been friends for years now, but like me, he tends to lean more toward the cocky, fun side of his personality rather than tapping into his emotions. I know he cares about me, but it’s an odd feeling hearing him express that. “Although, you don’t have to deal with all of this shit alone, you know. We’re all here for you.”
“Thanks, bud. I know that and appreciate it.” Taking a long pull from my beer, I ask, “How’d the season go? Sterling kick your ass again?”
If I was a better friend instead of wallowing in my self-pity, I would know how his season was going. It shouldn’t be a question I have to ask him. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice or mind. I can’t help the chuckle that comes out of me as Shooter scoffs loudly. He and his boyfriend, Sterling, are bareback bronc riders. They started out as rivals who couldn’t stand each other, but that quickly changed. For how overly competitive Shooter is, they seem to have a playfulness to them when it comes to competing against one another now. They both very much want to win, but in the same breath, it’s clear to anybody who pays attention that they’re also fiercely rooting for the other as well. It’s kind of a beautiful thing to witness.
“Psh, he wishes,” Shooter drawls, downing some of his drink. “More like I kicked his ass.”
“Ha! Keep telling yourself that, baby!” Sterling hollers from the other pool table.
Shooter flips him off, and I can’t help but laugh.
“We missed you on the road,” Cope says as he and his boyfriend, Xander, sidle up beside Shooter and me. Cope’s a saddle bronc rider, and the only one in our friend group.
“Aww, you missed me?” I tease, throwing him a smirk.
Rolling his eyes, he chuckles. “I take it all back.”
We dive into a couple of very heated games of pool, the conversation staying light and fun, and the drinks continuing to pour. The more beer we throw back, the louder we all get. Right here, in this bar, we’re the definition of rowdy cowboys, but I fucking love it.
It’s nearing eleven o’clock, and my head is feeling the right amount of fuzzy to want to stir up some shit. Placing my drink down on the edge of the pool table, I reach into my pocket and grab my phone. After I find the number, I know I probably shouldn’t message, but I can’t help myself. I open up a text thread, smirking to myself as I type out a message,
Me: Question… do doctors stay up this late?
Much to my surprise, it doesn’t take but a moment for the message to show read.
William: Yes, Colt. I would imagine some of us do, indeed, stay up past our bedtimes.
I chuckle, picturing his bored expression. The way his jaw tightens when I do something that really annoys him, or the slight way his eyes narrow. After the close call with my dad on his birthday, I told myself I’d back off—and I did, for a little bit—but there’s something about William that makes it impossible to stay away. He’s sexy as fuck, especially when he’s feigning annoyance with me, but more than that, I’m intrigued by him. I enjoy his attention. Yeah, I shouldn’t go there because of my dad, but we’ve already crossed the line, so what’s the harm in crossing it again?
At least that’s what I tell myself as I thumb out a response to William.
Me: Yeah? And what’s this doctor doing up on this fine Friday night?
William: Not anything as exciting as you’re thinking.
Me: And what exactly do you think I’m thinking, Doc?
William: With you, you never know. Your mind always seems to be in the gutter.
Me: Only with you. ;)
William: I find that hard to believe.
“Who’s got you smiling at your phone like that?”
Locking the screen, I glance up, meeting Shooter’s questioning gaze. “Nobody.”
“Fucking liar.” He laughs.
I shrug innocently, raising my glass up to my lips, and downing the rest of the beer inside. I’m sure at some point, I’ll spill to Shooter about my hookup with William, but for right now, I’m enjoying keeping it to myself. The only one of my friends who knows about it, aside from Whit, is Boone, the other bull rider in my group, and that’s only because he was struggling with his feelings for his now boyfriend, Grady, because at the time he was his brother-in-law. I admitted my secret to him in an effort to make him feel better about his. Maybe not the healthiest method of cheering my friend up, but hey, pretty sure it helped.
“Next round’s on me,” I mutter, holding up the empty glass and smirking at him. He knows I’m dodging the question, but as he empties his glass, he doesn’t press any further.
Up at the bar, I pull my text thread with William back up as I wait for the bartender to finish pouring the next round, my heart pounding in my chest as I notice he sent a second text when I didn’t reply to the first .
William: I’m just at home, having a glass of whiskey and reading. What are you up to?
Me: I’m out with some friends. They got home from the circuit this week.
Me: …What are you wearing?
I chuckle when he sends back an eye rolling emoji. Testing my luck with him tonight, I thumb out another message, pressing send before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: That night in Seattle, you had whiskey on your breath, just like I bet you do now. Tasted so good. What I would give to indulge in it again…
William: You never quit, do you?
Me: Why would I quit when I know you enjoy it so much?
William: Who said I enjoyed it?
Me: Oh, come on, Doc. I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way your breath hitches when I get close. The way your body reacts to mine. You may not want to admit it, but you want me just as badly as I want you. The only difference is I’m not afraid to admit it.
William: Well, you just think you got it all figured out now, don’t you?
Me: Oh, I know I do, and if you were in front of me, I’d prove it to you. But you’re too scared to do that, aren’t you? Too scared to have me prove you wrong.
Pocketing my phone, I pay for the beers before bringing them back over to the guys. We’ve moved from the pool tables over to a regular table. Glancing around, I realize we’re nearly the only ones in here. I check my phone a few times, but as I figured, there’s no response. If I had to guess, he’ll probably ignore the message all night, pretending I didn’t say all of that because he’s afraid to face it. I get it; the fact that we hooked up probably isn’t the most ideal, but it happened… and it was fucking great. Why deny us that? Nobody has to know. Too bad William is far too by the books for that type of fun. The fact that it even happened at all is pretty shocking, considering who he is as a person.
But he definitely kissed me back at my dad’s birthday party. There’s no denying that. He was an active—and enthusiastic—participant. It’s only a matter of time before he cracks.
The guys and I stay at the bar for another hour or so before deciding to call it a night. We stopped drinking after that last round, and we all shared a couple of appetizers, so I feel comfortable driving home. As I get into my truck, I pull my phone out, wanting to turn some music on, when I notice a new message. From William. My skin tingles as I tap the notification, my pulse racing as I read the four words waiting for me.
William: So, come over, then.
Holy shit. I knew it. I fucking knew it . Sending a message back, letting him know I’ll be there in five, I drop the phone on the seat beside me, and put the truck in drive as I pull away from the curb and head in the opposite direction of my house.