Seventeen | Harlow
“You good?” A voice breaks through the fog clouding my head.
I blink, releasing the inside of my cheek from being smashed between my teeth—another nervous habit I find myself becoming painfully aware of.
The dirt arena around me comes back into focus, the metal chutes, bull pens, and neon flashing lights from the early introduction of the start of the event caging me in.
The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, the lively cheers and country music assaulting my ears.
“Harlow.” I look to my right to see Brian Sanders’ mouth, which is usually lifted into a smile, pulled downward into a frown. The lights above cast a dark shadow over his cowboy hat, hiding his deep brown eyes. “They are starting the lineup for the introduction.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I shake my head, attempting to wipe away the thoughts running rampant. However, my focus remains on one individual near the gate that has been opened to allow all riders to walk through the dirt arena in a single line for the big introduction, with fireworks and fire.
Brian follows my gaze, landing on the man I’m staring at. Colson’s broad arms are folded over his chest, one of his boots propped up on one of the fence rails in a cocky way that has my blood rushing. He’s so damn intimidating in this way.
Brian starts walking that way to get in line, and I follow behind. He surprises me when he says, “He’s not as bad as you think. He can be a decent guy once you get to know him.”
“Who?” I know who.
He side-eyes me with an unconvinced look.
I sigh, wiping my sweaty palms on my chaps—they’re brown tonight with light pink detailing. “Easy for you to say; you have a dick. I’m the only rider without one, and Colson Payne has made his stance on women riding in the professional league perfectly clear.”
“You can’t blame everyone for still getting used to it; it’s rare to see a woman competing at this level.
You should be owning it. It’s cool as shit.
” He waves a hand, gesturing to the herd of riders in front of us.
“If it makes you feel better, I consider you as much of a competitor as the rest of them.”
God, he is so kind and handsome in a way that I wish I were more attracted to him.
I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that he is a little younger?
There’s a block there for some reason, and I can’t identify the issue.
And with that mustache hovering above his dark lips that only ever speak nice words …
He’s a one-of-a-kind man, that’s for sure.
“You should come out with us tonight to the bar afterward. Colson invited everyone,” he says.
My lips twist to the side. “I know. I’m in the group chat.” When he stays silent, I add, “He probably just wants to show you that he can outdrink you all and still ride like a god the next day.”
Shit, did that sound like a compliment?
Honestly, pretending that Colson isn’t coaching me is uncomfortable as hell.
I feel like I have this secret that’s carved into my chest that I’ve been wearing around since we arrived, and it’s making me uneasy.
My nerves are sizzling beneath my skin more than usual, leaving me even more vulnerable than I already feel coming into this event.
I have only one training with Colson under my belt.
When we arrived at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, Colson and Matt took an Uber to the hotel, leaving me scrambling to book my own.
Don’t get me wrong, I travel so much on my own that it isn’t an issue—independence is knitted into my DNA.
I didn’t mind since parting ways was my idea.
What was throwing me off was the sour, bitter tone that seemed to blend with any words Colson spoke to me the moment I suggested we keep acting like we’re rivals.
We are rivals. That hasn’t changed.
I’ve only had one simple and easy training day with him, so I don’t expect to ride any differently this weekend than I have been.
Besides some pointers he gave me in the truck when we left the ranch to catch our flight, we’ve barely spoken since we got here.
I’ve typed out too many texts to him to count, all of which have been deleted the moment I finished writing them.
Just because we aren’t interacting in person doesn’t mean we have to cut off all communication. Right? He’s my coach. He offered to coach me through this season.
“Plus, I don’t particularly feel like subjecting myself to being swarmed by buckle bunnies all night, considering those girls are chasing a completely different ride than I am,” I joke. Brian laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “That may be your guys’ thing, but it’s not mine.”
His mouth curves. “Don’t worry, it’s not mine either.” Brian’s eyes roam the space, his stare landing on someone in the line of riders getting ready to walk out into the arena.
The line that we should be in, but are taking our sweet time.
At first, I think Brian is looking at Colson, but then another rider’s head turns our way. Dalton Carroll’s soft smile appears when he notices us staring. I practically feel the shift in the air from Brian next to me as he releases a sharp breath.
When he turns back to me, I realize there’s a deeper meaning behind that comment, one that blazes like allure in his eyes. I scan his features, his mouth tilting in a way that makes me think he wants me to catch on to something.
Something jumps to the forefront of my mind.
Whenever he travels to and from an event, he’s always with Dalton Carroll, another rookie rider from Brian’s hometown.
From what I know, they grew up together, their family ranches sharing the same property line.
They are always together. I thought it was for convenience, since they go to the same events and have to be in the same places whenever we are required to be somewhere, but now I see it clearly.
I can’t stop my excited gasp as I lift my hand to cover my mouth. “Holy shit. You and Dalton?”
He chuckles. “I thought we were being obvious about it, but maybe not.”
Damn, Brian and Dalton are both extremely attractive. Just picturing them together is enough to warm my skin and make me feel like I need to shed layers.
I hope my question doesn’t make him uncomfortable, but I’m curious. “You said you thought you were being obvious. Have you told anyone else on the circuit?”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he shakes his head. “Dalton and I have only been officially dating for a few months, so it’s still new to us. We’re still figuring us out and need to know what that looks like first before the media gets involved.”
Sadly, I get where he is coming from.
The second my fist flew at Colson’s face, I solidified our rivalry in blood, and since that night at the bar, not once has the media let it go.
They hungrily wait for more. They followed my rise back in the minor leagues after my injury, gauging Colson’s response to my increasing scores whenever they could.
Even when he was in the professional league and I was in the minors, they still followed us, keeping the rivalry alive.
I can’t imagine what buzz and rumors would circulate if they found out he’s coaching me.
I thought our hatred for each other was the pinnacle, but this news of Colson and my arrangement might trigger an explosion of chaos neither of us could recover from.
It could end both of our careers if we aren’t careful, which is why we’ve injected this distance between us.
I smile but then furrow my brows. “You guys are always so supportive, cheering each other on when you compete. How are you not insanely competitive with each other?”
“Oh, we are.” Brian nods. “But unlike your rivalry, ours thrives behind closed doors. It makes for one hell of a time when we’re alone.” He smirks.
His easy admission has my core throbbing as I think about how beautifully intense their intimacy must be.
“Not that I’m suggesting that’s what should happen with you and Colson,” he exclaims. I nervously laugh. I don’t want to even entertain that idea. “Your rivalry is on a completely different level than ours is. Even just the way you look at each other is dangerous.”
“I thought you were trying to convince me to go out with you guys tonight. You’re just proving my point now.” I chuckle.
“You still should. If you’re worried about it, I’ll put Dalton and me between you and Colson,” Brian encourages as we walk toward the line of riders waiting to walk out.
“The only way to make this situation feel less awkward is to prove that it can be normal. I didn’t make it into the Pbr the first year you did, but I’m assuming it was just as weird then as it is now. As I said, just—”
“Own it,” I finish for him.
He gives me that handsome grin that entices my own. “Exactly.”
“I’ll think about it.” Going out with them may not be the worst thing.
Colson and I can be around each other without our little secret getting out. This doesn’t have to be as hard as I’m making it out to be. It’s going to be a long season if each weekend is as awkward and tension-filled as this one.
At the end of the day, this pressure isn’t good for my riding.
Colson can fill my mind with everything he knows over the next several months, but if I can’t relax on the weekends and am worried about us avoiding each other the entire time, those two things will clash and leave me permanently at the bottom of the ranks.
I need points—lots of them.
Brian takes a step, and I blurt, “Thank you for sharing that side of you and Dalton with me.”
He gives me that big smile and a friendly tip of his hat before he moves to his spot in the lineup, and I go to mine, squeezing between two other riders.
I lean forward, looking up and down the line, my breath solidifying in my lungs when I catch Colson staring at me from the back of the line since we’re in alphabetical order.
He gives me a wicked grin, shouting over all the noise.
“Probably a good thing you drew the bull Easy Rider, Harlow.” I ignore the tightness in my muscles that he used my real name instead of Dust Bunny, like he always does.
It feels less intimate for some reason, as if there’s a valley of distance between the two.
“Maybe this crowd will think you can keep up with us, even though each ride, you’re securing your place at the bottom. ”
My stomach drops at the uncalled-for remark. A few of our competitors snicker, including Jax Bowman, who is near the front of the line. It’s not like Colson was trying to keep his voice low. He wanted it to be heard.
One of the crew members yells out something, and the front of the line starts pacing out into the arena as they introduce us all to the crowd.
I twist my hands in front of me anxiously, blowing out a long breath before I inhale the heavy scent of dust and manure lingering in the air.
I do that over and over again all night, but it doesn’t calm the thudding in my chest as I lower myself onto the back of Easy Rider, trying to ignore what Colson said.
I can’t shake his comment. It bounces around my skull as a shoe does in a dryer. It continues to stick with me when I get tossed into the dirt by the red-haired bull that has a reputation for being soft—but not to me.
I march off, clinging to my bull rope and helmet as if I can inject my irritation into both and give my body relief after failing to get a scoring ride.
A reporter tries to stop me, but I blow past them and head to the locker room to grab my phone before heading to the back of the bull pens at the edge of the stadium to get my bearings.
I lean against the fence, deciding to hang out with a brown bull named Buttercup.
I don’t want to face anyone. I’ll feel like they’re scrutinizing me, wondering how I even made it as a professional bull rider to begin with.
Buttercup is lying in the dirt, watching me with steady eyes that make me feel more comfortable than I did before.
Sure, out in the arena, they are relentless and unpredictable—strong forces of nature testing our limits. But back here, when they aren’t put to work, they’re just big hunks of pure muscle that want to bask in the peace they are given.
I take my phone out of my back pocket and decide to text Colson for the first time this weekend. There’s no hesitation in sending this one.
Me: What the hell was that?
I toe the dirt with my boot. I expect to have to wait a while for his response since he should be riding soon, but the second the three dots appear, my stomach lurches into my throat.
Colson: Just playing my part.
Colson: Do you think that was loud enough for Ariat to hear? Maybe they’ll give you that sponsorship now.
Me: You’re an ass.
Colson: As you’ve said. Glad to know I’m still living up to it.