Page 76 of Tame Our Wild

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 naïve; 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.

THIRTY-THREE | HARLOW