Page 59 of Tame Our Wild

I roll my eyes. “We’re in the same lane, Payne.”

I’ve been in this room before, but it feels different this time as I take it in. There is a large window overlooking the skyline, letting in natural light. Two couches face each other, with two microphones propped up in front of each, a wooden coffee table between them, and a cowhide rug below. A few cameras and crew are positioned in front of the setup.

“Well, we were going to have you on the same couch, but maybe we should split you two up.” Heather’s eyes fixate on my coach, her voice hopeful. “Maybe I should sit with Colson, so we don’t have any brawls before the event this weekend.”

Moving to the couch, Colson plops down in front of one of the two microphones set up and gives her that smug grin that could instantly have her dropping to her knees. I, on the other hand, try to withhold signs of my irritation, which is definitely not laced with jealousy.

No jealousy here.

None. At. All.

Walking to the opposite end of the couch from him, I sink into the faux leather, propping myself in front of the microphone that’s set up. Put me on the back of a bull, and I’m fine. Sit me in front of a microphone, and I feel like I might throw up.

I swallow down the unease burning my throat, trying to ignore how unsettling this whole situation feels. “It’s fine. I’m sure we can get along for an hour.”

Mark and Heather move to their couch across from us and settle in before hitting us with the first question.

“We were both surprised you agreed to do an episode together with us, considering all that has transpired between you over the last few years.” Mark’s gaze bounces between us. “Everyone has followed along with this rivalry on and off the dirt, especially as you were working your way back up in the minors, Harlow, trying to make it back in the professional league.”

Colson’s eyes bore into the side of my head, but I keep my focus on the two podcast hosts in front of me. The lights feel hot against my clammy skin, though I’m not sure if it’s because of the studio lights or the man beside me. He may be on the opposite end of the couch, but it still feels like Colson is sucking the oxygen out of the air.

Mark continues. “But I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we are all curious how this rivalry started between you two.”

My voice carries a slight shake. “You’ve interviewed Colson countless times. You know where he stands on women competing in the PBR. Do you really have to ask that question?”

Colson’s deep, throaty laugh fills the space as he turns to face me. He props his foot on his knee, relaxing in a casual way that I shouldn’t find hot. “Bull riding is as much of a mental game as it is physical, sweetheart. I find it amusing that my opinion is the one that always seems to knock you off balance.”

“I think you’re overestimating your influence.” When my gaze meets his, his chest rises and falls more heavily, those irises burning with a heat that I want to curl up in.

“Alright, you two, save the fight for the arena.” Heather chuckles, sounding way too entertained. “Harlow, we’ve seen you struggle at the start of this season, but now, you are starting to ride your way back and are moving up in the rankings, despite your coach’s passing. Aaron Jackson was an incredible man.” I smile at her compliment, but it’s half-hearted because it still hasn’t sunk in that he’s gone. “What has training been like as you rein in this newfound focus without a coach?”

Colson shifts beside me as I consider my answer. “I won’t sugarcoat it; it’s been hard as hell. Aaron Jackson was a brilliant athlete and saw something in me that other coaches overlooked. But sometimes, when everything we’ve known crumbles, you have no choice but to adapt and get used to the new terrain. All I’ll say is that I’ve opened myself up to accepting help in a way I probably would’ve never entertained before.”

It may be quiet, but I still hear Colson’s blunt exhale cut through the space.

“And what about you, Colson?” Mark’s attention shifts to him. “There’s still half a season left, and you’re already staying steady at the top of the ranks. Do you think you’ll see Harlow up there with you?”

I turn toward him with a curious brow raised. Now this is a question where I am interested in hearing the answer.

He smirks, but there is a deeper meaning mingling with his words. “I’ve learned she’s full of surprises. As you said, there is a lot of the season left, and I don’t think I can count her out yet.”

I flatten my lips to hide my smile, clinging to those words hard enough that the rest of the interview flies by in a blur, the rest of the conversation flowing about our last few events and predictions for the season. Each minute that went by, my chest felt tighter, my body responding strangely to acting like we are just … rivals and nothing more.

I’m not sure what we are now, but whatever we are is far beyond competition. I know he feels it, too, after our training session with the mechanical bull, when he didn’t try to hide his attraction toward me.

I’ve ridden a lot of mechanical beasts in my life, but that other day in the barn with Colson … it’s never felt like that. Like I was doing the real thing—the wood beams, panels, and stacks of hay blurring into a dirt arena, the machine pure muscle pulsing beneath me instead of wires and a metal frame.

It was alive.

I was alive.

And then, I, Harlow Hartt, made the cocky and brooding Colson Payne come in his Wranglers.

It’s oddly empowering. He thought I didn’t notice, but I haven’t been able to get those mental images out of my head as his beautiful frame solidified before he grunted. The way his eyes slammed closed as pleasure wracked his body. The outline of his massive cock as it strained against his jeans.

Before I know it, I’m back in my dressing room with my hands braced on the vanity with my head hung between my shoulders. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out, expecting to see a text from Colson that he’s headed out and will see me later this evening at the arena.

But it’s not.