Page 7 of Tame Our Wild

I’m sure it will this season.

I swipe a thumb over my bottom lip. “Oh, I remember.”

His eyes thin. “Just making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

Hell, I never know what I’m getting into with Harlow, and irritatingly, the unpredictability is exhilarating in the worst way.

My competitors’ voices fade into the chaotic commotion of the space as I push through bodies, marching to the counter. Harlow’s bright laugh pierces through every other noise when she chuckles at something the other blonde girl with her says. The sound penetrates my ears, making my skin itch.

She’s facing away from me, so I casually slide between her back and the man behind her, standing at the bar.

The recognition hits me, and I realize the girl with her is her sister, though I can’t remember her name. Her sister’s eyes widen when they take me in. I clear my throat, finding enjoyment in how Harlow’s shoulders stiffen in response to my presence.

Harlow slowly turns, her baby blue eyes magnetizing to mine.

My mouth quirks. “Well, hey there, dust bunny. Fancy seeing you here.” Her jaw tightens at the nickname I gave her the first year we met, her glare holding me in place.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen her. She looks older. This is a sport that ages you, and after the hell she’s been through recovering, I’m not surprised. She may be twenty-three and a lot younger than me, but she’s got a tongue and temperament that I can’t help but want to draw out for some reason.

Harlow’s sister studies me with a guarded expression. “I’m going to find the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” Before she leaves, she points two fingers at her eyes and then back at mine, hinting that she’s watching me, before scurrying in the opposite direction.

It’s Harlow she should be keeping an eye on. This girl is as unpredictable as a bull when she’s drinking. She was the reason for the infamous bar debacle that happened between us two years ago, which led to me nursing my busted lip and swollen jaw in the bar bathroom.

I swallow when she doesn’t answer. My curiosity is genuine. “How’s the leg?”

Her smile is anything but sweet. “I’m here, aren’t I? Shouldn’t that be a big enough hint?”

“Bet you’re excited to have another shot at the buckle,” I counter.

“I’m not in the mood for your mockery, Colson. Go back to your table.” She waves a dismissive hand.

“Just trying to be friendly,” I push. “Welcome you back.”

Her head slants, exposing the soft column of her throat. “Oh, is that what you’re doing? I’d say you’re trying to frazzle me up.”

“Frazzle you up?” I repeat, trying not to laugh.

“You know, distract me. Get in my head.” She taps the side of her skull with her finger. “But it’s not going to work this season. You know why?”

“Why,” I ask, amused.

“Because while I was on bed rest for four months, I had nothing else to do besides strengthen my mental game. Now leave me alone.” She turns to face the rows of liquor bottles lined up behind the bar, attempting to ignore me while she waits for her drink.

I lift my hands in surrender. “No reason to make a scene like last time.”

Her eyes snap toward me with a heat that could incinerate me. She huffs out a breath. “You were the one who—”

“Don’t blame your little outburst on me, dust bunny. I’m a very controlled man.”

The music increases in volume, so she cups a hand over her ear. “Sorry, what was that? Did you say ‘controlled man’ or ‘old man’?”

“Oh shit,” Matt bursts, the table of guys behind me cackling, clearly eavesdropping on our conversation.

When the bartender sets Harlow’s drink down on the counter, she pulls it toward her, immediately taking a long pull.

Irritation pulls at my chest. “There are only eleven years between us, sweetheart. I’m not that old.”

“Those grays poking out from under your hat tell a different story.”