Thirty-Two | Harlow
The breeze tangles through my curled hair, carrying the sweet scent of fried food and oil that I inhale greedily, letting it calm the child in me who wants to run chaotically through the small fair that sprawls out in all directions.
The sun is starting to kiss the horizon, making the bright, vibrant lights of the rides a focal point. The happy sounds of chatter and laughter, along with the bluegrass music of a band somewhere, drift through the grounds, a sweet welcome to summer right around the corner.
Which is more terrifying than it should be.
May is creeping up on me, and at this point, the anxiousness about finals nearing has threaded around my bones like an invasive vine, tightening with each passing day.
As long as I continue to score, I could be competing with the top riders in the championship round at the World Finals in Fort Worth, Texas—along with the man who is starting to invade my thoughts as much as the goal I’ve been chasing since the moment I realized it might be possible to be one of the top bull riders in the world.
At the same time, I can’t ignore that my reasoning for riding has become clouded.
It was always about chasing the thrill to prove a point.
To show that I am as capable as the men out there putting their lives on the line for a few thrilling seconds.
For the praise. For the chance to be rewarded with glory.
Our goals are equivalent.
Our mindsets and ambitions are the same when we hit the dirt.
The only difference is that I have a vagina, and that somehow makes people look at me like I’m made of glass every time I’m flung out in that arena on the back of a bull.
But every time I get out there, I feel like I’m shattering expectations. That I’m stirring conversations about the limits we shouldn’t label others with.
In a way, maybe I feel like that with Colson. That I’m showing him each day that I am strong enough. Capable enough to hold my own in a world that was built on masculinity.
However, I’m starting to realize that Colson has been in the Pbr for the last sixteen years. Change is never easy when you’re hit with something that tilts your world completely off its axis. Maybe I was the weight that made everything off balance.
He no longer throws jabs at me or has the blaze of hatred behind his words.
And because of it, my riding has become more carefree.
I find myself enjoying it again, as I used to, without the need to prove anything, and my scores are starting to show it.
I almost feel like that fourteen-year-old girl again, whose obsession runs so deep because she loves the thrill—the unpredictability each time those hooves dig into the earth.
My eyes drift around, watching kids run around like I used to, happy and without a care in the world.
“Let’s go, dust bunny,” Colson yells ahead of me as I take everything in. “Matt has good seats, but I’m not sure how long he’ll be able to keep them if we’re late!”
I speedwalk to catch up to him as he heads for the front doors of the small indoor fairground arena, where the Big River Rodeo is taking place. We wait in line, and when we get inside, the announcer is already hyping up the stands for the event.
It doesn’t take us long to find Matt. He has saved us seats right up above the floor, where we have a perfect view of the events—barrel racing, bull riding, and roping. We move through the row to our seats, apologizing when we have to make a few people stand so we can move around them.
Matt is lounging in his seat with a beer resting on his knee. “About damn time,” he picks up his voice to yell over the roar of the crowd. “I almost gave your seat to two hot cowgirls.”
Colson laughs in that dark way that pools in my toes. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”
He tips his beer to him before taking a sip. “Me too.”
Colson takes his seat next to Matt, and I plop down next to Colson.
It’s hard to ignore the eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
We are in our court, most people here will know exactly who we are, and Colson and I are together in the same general vicinity.
I should’ve thought about that more, but I push the unease budding in my chest about being seen in public with him aside.
The barrel racing event flies by, those women and their horses racing around the barrels in such a graceful way that you’d almost think they are flying.
The bull riding event is up next, and I feel that twinge of thrill twisting in my gut in anticipation for these athletes, several of whom are undoubtedly trying to work their way up to the big leagues just like I had to.
It brings back the rush of adrenaline—a shock that penetrates your system in a way the professional league doesn’t.
In the minors, the only way to make a name for yourself is to conquer all the steps outsiders deem small and insignificant.
However, it’s moments like these that are mere dots that build the bigger picture.
Colson lifts his hand off his thigh, looking like he’s about to place it on mine. He pauses, remembering where we are, flexing his fingers in a way that has me mesmerized by the ripple of the tendons. He pulls his hand away, and I don’t miss the twinge of disappointment that blooms low in my belly.
He stands and clears his throat. “Beers, anyone?”
“Yes, please,” I respond.
Matt raises a finger. “I’ll take another.”
Colson nods and moves past me. He peers down at me as his knees glide against mine, the mere brush making me want to reach for him and say fuck it to whatever people will think.
Does it mean I’m falling for him if simple touches like this make me want to run my hands up his thighs and touch him in the way he wouldn’t let me last night, since my hands were tied?
I wanted to wrap my fist around his length just to see if my fingers would touch.
I know they won’t, but damn, I want his hands all over me as much as I want mine exploring him—every muscular plane and hard inch.
Is that honestly so bad, though? To want him in all the ways I told myself I never would?
The end of the season is nearing, and whatever happens between us after shouldn’t matter to anyone else but us.
Sadly, it’s not that simple. It never is.
Because the reality is that once it’s over, I’ll be moving back to Arizona.
Finding a new coach will become my priority, and he’ll likely view me as only a competitor again, plunging us back into that relationship where we were uncomfortably circling each other, waiting for the other to make a move before we attacked.
Colson’s presence fleeing snuffs out the flames washing over my body as he heads to the concession stand. A dark chuckle pulls me back to the present, and I snap my gaze toward Matt. The sinister smile on his lips has me narrowing my gaze at him.
“What’s so funny?” There’s a little too much spice in my tone.
He lifts his beer bottle to his lips and downs the rest of the contents—the kind of liquid that you’d think is warm by how little of it is left in the bottom of the bottle.
He leans down and sets it on the concrete floor, wiping his palms on his jeans. “I knew you two wouldn’t last long before tearing each other’s clothes off.”
My eyes widen at his bluntness. I turn in my seat, scanning the people sitting around us, grateful they’re cheering and smiling, watching the rodeo clown goof around as we wait for the bull riding to start.
“How did you—”
Matt sighs, leaning in toward me over Colson’s empty seat between us. “He’s my best friend, Harlow. It’s pretty damn obvious. You may be keeping your distance at events, but these last few months are the happiest I’ve seen him since—” His lips roll together, silence following.
It stretches on until I’m literally on the edge of my seat. My brows pull together, and I lean in closer over the arm of the chair, lowering my voice. “Since what?”
He pulls back, his chest rising and falling with an invisible weight that tells me there may be more to Colson than I’m aware of.
I mean, I’m not entirely na?ve; on New Year’s Eve, he resorted to alcohol to numb whatever the source of his turmoil was.
The image of him completely drunk and alone before I showed up unannounced thrives in my thoughts more than it should.
He was swaying side to side in the dark, like the thoughts wreaking havoc on his mind were too much to handle.
It was the first moment I no longer viewed him as a rival, but a man whom I was genuinely starting to care for.
I hated seeing him like that.
Matt’s jaw flexes. “His past isn’t mine to tell.”
He thinks he can say that, and it wouldn’t send me spiraling into a tailspin, wondering what the hell he means?
The first rider and bull are let out of the chute, and Matt and I’s attention drifts to the floor.
The animal and the athlete fly out so fast that the rider is off balance the moment the bull’s hooves hit the earth.
I’m watching intently as he tries to adjust his position and gain control, but it’s no use; he’s tossed off and rolls across the ground, with his shoulder being the first contact.
Usually, excitement for them would be bubbling under my skin.
It was. But after this conversation with Matt, they’ve popped and tainted my bloodstream with questions that I know Matt won’t answer.
I’m sitting on the edge of my seat with my heart hammering in my throat for an entirely different reason.
I look back at Matt, and he rolls his eyes, knowing I’m not going to let him go easy. “The only thing I will tell you is that, as much as I first hated your situation when I found out he was coaching you, I’m glad he has you around. I worry about him.”
“Excuse me, ma’am.” Colson’s voice over the crowd’s gasps has my heart stuttering. I glance over my shoulder to see him scooting through our row, balancing three beers in his hand.
When he sits back down in his seat, he releases a sigh, handing one beer out to Matt and the other to me.
He takes a long pull, settling into his seat. “What did I miss?”
Matt answers him.
At least I think he does.
The sea of people cheering around me and my internal questions, creating static in my head, are too loud to ignore.
I’ve been living with Colson since December, and that one comment has me contemplating whether I genuinely know him at all.