Thirty-Four | Colson
The thump of two-stepping pulses through the scuffed-up wooden floor of the saloon with an intensity that vibrates through my bones.
Neon lights flash across the mob, overtaking the dance floor, their bodies moving to the country music blasting through the speakers at a volume that threatens to blow my eardrums.
People are happy.
Dancing.
Smiling.
Not me. The scowl that is planted firmly on my face has been there for the past thirty minutes, and there’s no sign of it leaving if Brian Sanders continues to smile the way he is at the girl I shouldn’t be considering mine.
Dalton Carroll is at their table, too, participating in the conversation, but I’m not focused on him.
They are at a different table across the room from where I sit with Matt and some of the other riders who have been chatting and making small talk about the last few events of the season before finals.
It’s not hard to miss the excitement and nerves that bleed into their tones, but their voices still sound muted as blood pumps angrily in my ears.
I’ve never considered myself a jealous man, but fuck if I don’t want to punch that damn grin off Brian’s face hard enough to see if his mustache would fall to the floor.
I know they have gotten close over the season as Harlow and I keep our distance in public, but I want all her smiles.
She tips her head back, brightly laughing at something he says, and my fingers pulse into my beer glass like I can shatter it.
Yeah, I want her laughter, too.
I inhale a deep breath, attempting to calm the thick pool of jealousy stirring behind my sternum, but the stale beer and the lingering scent of smoke that has soaked into the walls of this old bar do nothing to dissipate my possessiveness over a girl I’ve only slept with once.
Yet it feels like so much more than that now.
She’s been living with me. Infiltrating my life in more ways than one, which leaves me despising this distance between us because we are worried about what people will think.
There are no rules, but as her coach and competitor, I could get us both disqualified if we aren’t careful.
Besides the event this weekend, we have one more in Albuquerque, New Mexico, before we head to Fort Worth for the finals.
Which means my time with her is ticking away as she prepares to leave for good, and that hollow feeling I’ve lived with will come back in full force the second she leaves.
The unknowns of what happens next terrify the hell out of me.
I was truthful when I said I’m falling for her, and I wish I weren’t.
It leaves room for new complications, considering all the things that could happen next.
My life has been one uncontrollable mess since my sister’s accident, and Harlow is another addition to the things I’d never be able to control.
She came along with her sharp tongue and fearless spirit, and my world caved in, forcing me to reopen wounds I had stuck a Band-Aid over.
The walls collapsed, and watching Harlow’s every ride was a special form of torture.
She may have been trying to prove to millions that she can keep up with us, but I couldn’t shake the fact that the universe sent her to torture me.
The moment she told me that I said, “Stick to the women’s circuit,” to her at the Ember Ridge Rodeo years ago, I froze. I recall that rodeo, but I don’t remember Harlow, let alone the other tens of fans who would crowd around me after every event.
And when those blue eyes searched my face with an intensity that held me still, all the pieces started to fall into place. It made sense why she instantly despised me the “first time” I met her at the season kickoff, her first year. It made sense why she always tried to avoid me at events.
If I said those things to her, I’ll admit that I was a dick.
But as I said, it’s not her, it’s just the reminders she gives me.
The way she doesn’t know her presence is like claws digging into my soul, ripping me apart and forcing me to acknowledge the fears I’d done such a damn good job of burying before her.
She’s started to bleed into all the broken parts of me. Has me rethinking life, even though there’s still a big fucking promise I made to Paisley hanging over my head. That is the only thing I can control.
Harlow lifts her beer to her mouth, and I watch intently as her tongue darts out over her plush pink lips that I’m craving to sink my teeth into again. The only thing keeping me from marching over there and staking my claim on her is that this is what she wanted.
Not that I have any right to claim her when we’ve only fucked. I know we should talk about where this is going with the end of the season creeping up on us, but I don’t want to ruin whatever this is. Because whatever it is feels good.
But it could feel better if she’s thinking about you the same way you think about her.
We practically shot straight past the middle ground and are lingering on the other side. We aren’t quite friends, but we aren’t … in a relationship either.
I don’t know what we are, but the way I’m eyeing her is anything but friendly.
And since she is with Brian, the happy-go-lucky bull rider who ropes everyone in with his happy fucking smile, and not me, is provoking me in the worst ways.
Taking a pull from my beer, I down the rest of the warm contents.
Even if it were ice cold, it wouldn’t cool the whirl of jealousy spinning in my stomach.
I place the bottle on the table with more force than needed and fold my arms over my chest. I should look away from them, distract myself with another drink at the bar, or participate in the conversation flowing around me.
As I said, I should look away.
But now I’ve found that whenever Harlow Hartt is in the room, my eyes gravitate toward her like she’s the fucking sun I’m starting to revolve around. She must notice me staring because the second her eyes land on me, the pulse in my neck pounds as if it wants to burst out of my body.
The music shifts into something a little less country and more upbeat.
I glance at the dance floor, watching as the two-stepping turns into a jumbled mess.
It’s not late by any means, but since it is eleven o’clock, there are plenty of people letting the alcohol fuel their movements as bodies start magnetizing toward each other.
When I glance back at Harlow and Brian’s table, she gives me this look across the bar that can only be described as pure mischief by the way her mouth tilts at one corner before she turns back to Brian.
Maybe it’s the beer flowing through my veins, but whatever that look was that passed through her eyes, I’m not sure I like it.
She leans in and says something to him, and he laughs.
Then Brian leans in and says something to Dalton on the other side of him.
Dalton smirks and nods at whatever he said before Harlow and Brian move off their barstools and stand, turning toward the dance floor.
She’s in her hat, the bar lights casting a shadow over her face that does nothing to obstruct the playful smile she throws over her shoulder at me.
Oh, fuck no.
She reaches for his hand, and they shuffle onto the floor, starting to move to the pounding beat that’s as loud as the one behind my rib cage.
Harlow twists her hips, drawing my eyes to her ass in those jeans that are skin-tight over her curves that I’ve held in my hands. That I’ve tasted with my tongue.
God, she is a beautiful thing.
Dancing with Brian. Fucking. Sanders.
A rough hand claps on my shoulder.
“Shit,” I hiss, trying to catch my breath from the scare Matt gave me.
His manic chuckle scrapes sharply against my skin. “Damn. I thought you were out of it, but I didn’t think you were this gone. Might as well have another drink then.”
My eyes roll and land right back where they were before. He must follow my line of sight because I see him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.
“Ahh, you are a goner.” He sighs. “But it’s not because of the alcohol.”
Of course, because the universe wants me to break, Brian pulls out his swing dancing moves, twirling Harlow and making her laugh.
I can't hear her, but it cuts straight through me all the same, making me dig my nails into my biceps. It’s more painful than when the needle was piercing my skin when I got my tattoos.
I keep my arms folded and lean in closer to Matt, so the others don’t hear. “What do you think would happen if people found out about us?” I’m genuinely curious. Because if Brian keeps dancing with her like this, I’m about to say fuck it and take his place, not caring who’s around us.
People have seen us bicker and be unfriendly before, but this would be on an entirely different level. Maybe I could make them think we are starting to be civil.
When I glance back at Matt, his brow is arched. He lowers his voice. “Find out that you are coaching her or that you are dating?”
I swallow. “We aren’t dating.”
“No? Because it seems like it. You’ve been smiling so much lately that I’m almost concerned.”
“Fuck off.”
He grins at that.
Matt and I turn our eyes back to the dance floor, my focus settling on Brian’s hand as he places it gently on the small of her back while they sway side to side with the beat.
I absentmindedly move to stand, and Matt claps me on the back. “I don’t know why you’re asking me what you should do when you made up your mind before I walked up.”
Brian’s hand starts to drift lower to hover above her ass. I release a growl, my annoyance carrying my feet across the bar as I march to the dance floor. Harlow sees me coming before Brian does, and I soak in the flicker of excitement in her eyes.
Harlow was challenging me.
She should know by now that I never walk away from one. It doesn’t matter if it’s a one-ton beast or a five-foot-three blonde bull rider with a sassy personality and hot mouth that mine craves to silence.
I place a hand on Brian’s shoulder, feeling the way his muscles tense under my palm. He looks over his shoulder, his brows pulling together in confusion when he sees me.
“Mind if I step in?” I say it to him, but keep my eyes locked on Harlow’s.
He looks at Harlow first as if for permission, and she nods. “It’s fine, Brian. Thanks for the dance.”
Brian flattens his lips like he’s battling the urge to tell me no, but there’s also a hint of a smile there.
He knows the rocky history between Harlow and me, and I’m not surprised he’s protecting her, given that they are friends now.
At least I hope that’s the only reason he is doing it.
I grit my teeth, squashing the extra dose of possessiveness that creeps up my spine.
He points to the bar. “I’m going to go get another drink.”
Smart man.
The moment he turns, I waste no time putting my hand up. Harlow looks down at it curiously and suppresses a smile before glancing nervously around the bar.
I don’t need to observe our surroundings. I feel our competitors’ gazes searing holes into my skin. I’d happily burn under their gazes if it means I can dance with her.
“We’re in public.” The tremble in her voice has my lips tugging upward.
I grip her hand, tugging her into me. “Are we?” She gasps when my other hand drifts across her rib cage slowly to the small of her back, bringing her body flush with mine. “Don’t go shy on me now, dust bunny. I’m just accepting your challenge and leveling it up with my own.”
She huffs out a laugh, hitting me with those big baby blues that make my chest ache. “I wasn’t challenging you.”
“Are you lying?” I drop my head closer to hers, whispering in her ear as we sway. “Because if you are and tell me you want that soft, smiling cowboy, I’ll take you back to my room and remind you exactly how much you love it when I get rough.”
She chokes on her breath, holding my eyes as I spin her around and glide my hand to rest above her ass, not caring who sees us at this point because all I see is her.
Fuck the opinions. To hell with the backlash this might create when people find out what’s really been going on between us over the last several months.
She rolls her lips, trying to hide her smile. “I don’t remember that.”
“No?”
She shakes her head, amused. “I might need the reminder.”
I fight to hold back the groan that wants to escape. “Yeah?” My anticipation is palpable.
She nods playfully, this time drifting a finger down my abdomen to the waistband of my jeans, teasing the hem. “Are you just going to stand there and eye-fuck me or make good on your promise?”
Shittt.
Releasing her, I take her hand and pull us off the dance floor, ignoring the riders watching us exasperatedly at whatever is transpiring.
It’s pretty obvious what’s about to happen between us when I eagerly remove us from the bar altogether, not stopping to inhale the cool night air that washes over us.