Thirty-Three | Harlow #2
She gives me one last smile and plops her hat back on her head, turning to her mom. I watch them walk away, my heart going out to that young girl, who I hope I’m paving the way for.
When she gets to this point, I hope she’ll have to deal with fewer assholes than I do.
I turn back around, and Colson is walking around to the side doors, avoiding the massive crowd headed out the front. Calli and her mom may not have caught his grumble, but I did. It might not have been words, but I felt that sound in my bones.
Annoyance crawls across my skin, digging into my flesh until I realize I’m speedwalking toward him. My quick footsteps fall behind his as he turns a corner where we are tucked away from wandering eyes, between the edge of the bleachers and the side of the building.
“You going to tell me what that was about?” I snap.
“Nothing, Harlow. Drop it.” Frustration is laced in his tone, but he doesn’t look back at me.
I grasp lightly onto his arm, feeling the muscles in his forearms solidify under my palm. He halts, his frame hardening further under my touch. “No. Just tell me what pissed you off during that interaction.”
His jaw flexes, his eyes avoiding mine by flicking to a large trash can against the wall.
I bite the inside of my cheek, releasing an exasperated breath. I thought he might be over this after coaching me, but I guess not. “You’re ridiculous. And here I was thinking that maybe you’ve started to change.”
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” fits this situation perfectly, because apparently, you also can’t teach an old bull rider to accept change in a sport that was initially built on masculinity.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s because Calli is a girl, isn’t it?”
His chest deflates, but he doesn’t say anything. The muscles in his jaw tighten under the lights.
I cross my arms. “How about we go back in time to when we met six years ago in an interaction that was very much like the one we just had.” The hardness in my tone has his brows knitting together.
He swallows, curious eyes bouncing between mine. “What are you talking about?”
“The first time we met wasn’t the season kickoff party, my first year in the Pbr, Colson.” My heart strains painfully as the memory floods my vision. “It was at a small-town rodeo in Ember Ridge, Arizona.”
The gears turn, turning and turning until I think that smoke might billow out of his ears from him shifting into overdrive, trying to remember me. But he doesn’t. Those turquoise eyes bore into mine like a deer in headlights.
I wait longer than I should, longing for that switch to flip.
Nothing. Nada.
That was six years ago. One instance. One blip in time.
To him, I was just one of the countless fans he had trying to get his attention.
I mean, can I blame him? Honestly, I don’t think I even have a right to hold it over his head in the way I have, but that one encounter has been my motivation. It has pushed me until I’ve been exhausted, grappling to hold onto a goal that everyone always said would be out of my reach.
But still, I hoped he’d maybe at least recognize me.
I take a tense step toward him, keeping my arms knitted over my chest. “‘Stick to the women’s circuit.’ Do those words sound familiar?
Because you didn’t just say them in interviews with Kickin’ Up Dust, you told them to a seventeen-year-old Harlow Hartt six years ago after you won your first buckle and decided to compete at a small-town rodeo in your off-season.
” I was a girl who looked up to you like you were a god of beasts.
His face pales. It’s like every ounce of blood in his body has seeped through his boots and pooled beneath them on the concrete floor. “Harlow, I don’t rem—”
I let my arms fall with my exhale. “I know you don’t. And I’ve been hoping all these years that you would. But I remember enough for both of us.”
He winces, taking his hat off his head, pulling his fingers through his tousled hair. I can see the war in his eyes, as if he isn’t sure what to say but is flipping through his memory box trying to locate the moment I’m talking about.
A moment that led us here.
Because it did.
I stand before him, peering up into those gorgeous eyes that have me internally melting despite how angry I am.
I lift a finger to his chest, feeling his hardened muscles flex under my fingertip as I tap him.
“You may hate that I’m in the Pbr, Colson, but you’re the one who lit the fire under my ass. ”
His chest stills. “Why didn’t you say something before? All this time, and you never thought to bring it up?”
“Because I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out yourself. Because I was stupid enough to think you might apologize for what you said all those years ago when you realized that you were wrong—that I could belong in this circuit as much as you and every other rider chasing the same ambition.”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “It all makes sense now. I always wondered why you hated me from the moment we met.”
I shouldn’t ask it, but I do. “Do you still think those things?”
“God, no.” He sighs. “Harlow, it’s not because of you or that girl we just met. It just—It’s personal things that I deal with that I can’t explain. At least not right now.” His jaw clamps shut, like he isn’t sure if he wants to say more.
“I just want to know why you said those things to me! After all this time we’ve spent together with you coaching me, how do you feel about me now?”
Something in his gaze shifts. He keeps his hat off, but the way his gaze darkens has my stomach fluttering differently. I try to reach in and grip their wings in my imaginary fist because I cannot find this look on him attractive right now. Not when I need answers.
“How do I feel about you?” he repeats, taking a step toward me, and I retreat a step back until I hit the concrete side wall of the arena.
He cages me in with his hands, one of them trapping his hat against the wall.
“I think you are gorgeous.” His words penetrate something profound that I didn’t know existed until now.
“Fucking resilient. Bold. Beautifully wild in ways that I never wanted to notice. You take my shit and drive me goddamn crazy.” He cups a hand gently around my throat, enticing my eyes to flick up and meet his.
His tongue whips out to wet his mouth, his fingers pulsing into my flesh.
“How do I feel about you?” he repeats, dropping his mouth to the shell of my ear. “I feel like I’m starting to fall for you despite how hard I’ve tried not to.”
The weight in my chest drops into my stomach and explodes with the fervor of a million fireworks sparking to every nerve ending. The butterflies pick up again, the tips of their wings sparkling in a way that sizzles to my core with fervor.
And then his mouth is on mine, his expert movements eliciting a whimper from my chest. His hard body presses mine into the wall as his hand on my throat holds my head in place so he can deepen the kiss in a way that has me melting through his fingers.
His tongue slips into my mouth, the soft touch of it tangling with mine, making the world around us fall into nonexistence.
He pulls his mouth back, but I chase him, gripping his button-down shirt in my palms, our bodies colliding as I crave him closer than he already is.
Colson pulls away slightly. “I was wrong.” The words float across my lips, but I feel them everywhere.
I go still against him, gripping his arms to steady myself.
I didn’t expect to hear those words.
Not like this.
Honestly, when I pictured this moment, I expected a slip of sarcasm to attach to the words. But there’s no hint of that here. He’s sincere. And I find myself letting my barriers fall just a little bit more.
His hand splays across my rib cage as he moves it back to cup my ass.
My head tilts, his mouth finding the crook of my neck.
He nips me lightly, making my toes curl in my boots, before soothing the spot with a kiss.
“And while I’m being honest, I never thought I’d see a day where something else on the circuit holds my attention more than the buckle. ”
We leave for Reno, Nevada, tomorrow morning for our next event, and the thought of continuing our charade of not talking at events has dread pooling in my gut. Would it be so bad if people found out about us?
Well, I guess it’s hard to come out when I’m not even sure what we are, other than the coaching aspect.
I’d tell myself that I’m being irrational and it’s the mind-blowing sex that altered my brain, but even I know that whatever it is I feel toward him has been growing day by day.
There is still so much we need to discuss, things that we can’t keep brushing under the rug like dust if we want this to go somewhere.
I should turn around before it’s too late, and this ends worse than how we started, but as he presses his lips to mine again, he clears all the questions but one.
This chemistry between us could go up in flames when everything comes to light.
But what if it doesn’t?