Thirteen | Colson
Iknew this was an awful idea, but now the situation is fully sinking in. I’m pulling up to the airport, damn near ready to blast past the pickup area and leave the girl behind who I should never have asked to come here in the first place.
I have never lived with a woman who wasn’t blood before. Sure, I’ve had plenty of women stay the night, but they have never infiltrated my home like Harlow is about to.
For five months.
Fuck.
As I see a blonde tapping her foot impatiently on the baggage claim curbside, basking in the early morning sun with a pair of aviator sunglasses on, two things are clear: she’s going to give me hell for being almost twenty minutes late, and I should’ve thought about this decision more than I did.
There’s no turning back now, no matter how much I want to thrust the pedal to the floor and zoom past her as if she were never there in the first place.
I pull up to the curb, letting my eyes travel down her frame, clad in a long-sleeve shirt and tight-fitting black leggings that hug her ass in a way that has me crushing the steering wheel in my fists.
I’ve always seen this girl in bootcut Wranglers, and here she is, in a layer of clothing that appears painted on her body, clinging to parts of her that I’ve tried very fucking hard not to notice.
But there’s no harm in taking a second to admire her—she can’t see me behind the tinted windows. I’m proven wrong when she steps toward the passenger window, giving me a smug smile that grates on my nerves.
“Are you going to help me get my bags in the truck or keep ogling me, cowboy?” Harlow’s sass is muted through the glass, but frustratingly enough, I can hear her perfectly well.
Off to a great start.
I throw open the door and hop out, moving toward the back of the truck where she meets me with two full-sized bags in tow—one looking like the butt of an axe was taken to the hard exterior. Repeatedly.
I point to the bag. “Did they accidentally drop that in flight?”
Harlow huffs. “Sorry if I don’t have sponsors for everything like you do. We can’t all afford expensive luggage.”
Her attitude quirks my mouth. “Rough flight?” I drop the tailgate and reach for the nicer bag.
She slides her sunglasses onto her head and rubs an eye as if it will clear the exhaustion pulling at her features. “You could say that. The old man beside me played Candy Crush with his phone sound on the entire flight.”
I can’t withhold the chuckle that leaves my throat as I toss the suitcase into the back of the truck.
When I reach for the battered one that looks like it’s been through a war, she tugs it away. “I can get this one.”
Harlow grasps onto the handle and crouches, trying to get a good grip on the suitcase. When she finally does, she struggles to lift it to meet the height of my truck bed. I’d help her, but I’ve learned that Harlow doesn’t often accept help unless she wants to. She’s stubborn like that.
It only takes about a second before she loses her balance with the massive bag cradled in her arms. I instantly reach out to catch it, but it’s too late.
It falls from her arms, bursting like a grenade the moment it contacts the concrete.
Her clothes and contents spill out onto the road at our feet.
“Shit,” she curses under her breath.
We both crouch, frantically gathering everything into our arms. I start tossing her clothes into the truck bed carelessly, my skin prickling in annoyance, knowing that cars will start getting impatient if we don’t move, since there’s a fresh flood of new people who have arrived and are waiting to pick up their passengers.
Harlow, on the other hand, is trying to shove stuff back in the bag like we have all the time in the world.
My tone is sharp. “That bag is done for. We need to get moving before we start getting honked at or security comes.”
She grumbles in frustration, shoving a flannel inside aggressively. “I’m going to have to rewash all my clothes if I let you throw them all in the back of your truck.”
“Scared of a little dirt, dust bunny? You ride bulls for a fucking living.”
I don’t have to see her eye roll—it grates against my skin like microscopic blades.
As I crouch back down to gather more things, a flash of purple catches my attention.
I reach for it absentmindedly, but the second I feel the smooth texture of silicone against my skin, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t help but glance down.
Fuck. Me.
My heart thunders as I take in the large purple vibrator searing through my flesh.
This could be worse, right?
It could be a large silicone dick I’m grasping in my hand. Still, no matter how hard I try to get a hold of myself, I can’t create a barrier to block out the unstoppable rush of questions and images assaulting my imagination.
What does Harlow look like when she uses this?
Where does her mind go when she holds the vibrator between those toned thighs?
What sounds escape those plush lips when she comes?
My cock thickens in my jeans, those visions of her having me in a chokehold.
I don’t know how long I’ve been gripping the toy, but it’s long enough for a hand to whizz out and snatch it from me.
“Ugh!” I can’t tell whether Harlow’s disgust is at me for touching a very personal item or at the situation itself.
Probably both.
“Goddammit,” she snaps, and my attention shifts to the flush of mortification spreading across her smooth skin.
I raise my hands in self-defense. “Hey, I didn’t know what it was when I grabbed it.”
“Right,” she mutters incredulously. She shoves it back in her bag and picks up the suitcase, haphazardly tossing the entire thing into the bed, giving up on keeping things orderly.
I close the tailgate as she picks up her purse, marches to the passenger side, and climbs in.
Bracing my hands on my hips, I shake my head. “Lord help me.”
After seeing Paisley in that hospital bed, clinging to life, I was sure I’d never make it into heaven. Hell has found me early, and the devil is punishing me in the form of a blonde, bull-riding beauty with a tongue as sharp as her tenacity.
At the end of the day, I only have myself to blame for being in this situation.
I hustle to the driver’s side and climb in, pulling away from the curb.
Harlow’s eyes are glued to the side of my head. “I have a hard time believing that Colson Payne has never seen a vibrator or used a sex toy before.”
I scoff. “Don’t need one, dust bunny. A real man needs only three things to make a woman come correctly.” I raise a finger. “His tongue.” I lift a second. “His cock.” I raise a third, turning my hand over suggestively to drive the point home. “And his fingers.”
She gapes at me and swallows, rubbing her palms timidly over her thighs. “You’re insane,” she breathes, a hint of a laugh escaping with her exhale.
My eyes settle back on the road. “I don’t hear you saying I’m wrong.” I break the silence when she worries her bottom lip and doesn’t respond. “Better be careful when you use that thing,” I warn. “If you plug it in and the power goes out, I’ll know exactly what you’re doing.”
Honestly, the thought of her using it at all in my house casts a red sheen over my vision.
“That only happens in movies or shows. Mostly in romances,” she responds. “Have a soft side, cowboy?”
“I have a sister.”
“And you watch those with her?” She peers at me inquisitively.
I briefly glance at her. “Over the years, as we’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to appreciate any time with her I can get.”
She searches my eyes, like she’s seeing something in me that maybe she’s never noticed before. Then it disappears just as fast. “Also,” she adds, “it has a rechargeable battery. I could go all night with that thing if I wanted to.”
Jesus Christ.
Harlow flushed and coming all night is the last thing I need to be thinking about while she’s sleeping in the room across from mine.
She changes the subject. “So, do we start training today?”
I turn onto the interstate and head toward home.
“Nope. You had a red-eye and are exhausted. That kind of distracted state is how you get hurt.” She gives me a pointed look.
She knows I’m right, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.
“Today, I’ll let you settle in and get some sleep.
We’ll start tomorrow in my home gym with your new workout plan. ”
Her head bobs, but I know she’s having an internal battle and wants to fight me on the decision, since she will have only one training day before we head to Tacoma, Washington.
I’m thankful when she doesn’t try to.
Instead, she stares out the window, watching Chattanooga pass by in a blur of cityscape before it shifts to valleys and farmland. I don’t know what’s going on in her head, but there’s already a strain between us, and I can’t help but hope it dissipates soon.
At the end of an event, I could always leave our competition behind when I went home. Now, it’s going to thread through every aspect of my life.
Deep down, a part of me knows that’s not entirely true.
She’s unforgettable, both in the best ways and the worst ones that can haunt a man.
Harlow crept into my mind in ordinary moments where she shouldn’t belong.
She crawled under my skin and burrowed deep, branding me in places where I’ve never been able to reach the scar tissue.
There’s always been a trace of her torturing me.
Harlow Hartt torments me the way a rival should, testing me in ways none of my other competitors ever could.
Now, she’s my roommate.
Harlow’s here because she doesn’t want to be enslaved by her trauma anymore, but little does she know she’ll be staying on the property where mine still thrives.