Page 112 of Colt

Only I find myself leaning in. Sipping my whiskey. Pressing my leg against his.

“That’s a long time,” I say.

His eyes flick to meet mine, his brows curved slightly upward. Almost like he’s asking me a question.

Asking me if I’m ready to hear what he’s about to say.

“You can tell me.” I pat his thigh. “Or not. But I promise I won’t make it weird. Your story is your story.”

“Even if it’s a fucked-up story?”

“Especially if it’s a fucked-up story. The more you air that shit out, the less it hurts.” I shrug. “At least that’s what one of the counselors in college told me anyway.”

He does his squinty thing, eyes narrowing on my face. His focus on me is…intense. Arousing.

Bewildering.

“You were in counseling?” he asks at last.

“College was an intense place for me.” I swirl my cocktail, the ice clinking pleasantly against the glass. “I always put a lot of pressure on myself to do well, but being around other overachievers kind of ramped that up to an absurd degree. And my mom…she wasn’t doing great then. I think being alone with my dad and brothers—without me there to help, I mean—really hit her hard.”

He picks up his whiskey. “Ah. So once you flew the nest, she realized just how much she relied on you and probably missed you like crazy. And you probably realized how you felt so much freer because you weren’t taking care of her and everyone else anymore.”

I let out a chuckle. “Since when are you an expert in firstborn problems?”

“Literally since the day I was born.” He taps his glass to mine. “To this being a firstborn safe space. May we learn to not be so hard on ourselves, together.”

Goddamn you, cowboy. I like you. So much.

“I’ll toast to that,” I manage. “How do we learn said lesson?”

“Sex helps. Or so I hear. And actually talking about shit with someone who pushes you a little. Or a lot.”

His eyes look crystal clear, the gray-green flecks in his irises refracting the light of the candles in a way that makes them shimmer.

“I wanna forgive Billie,” he says. “But I don’t know how. Can you push me to do that?”

My heart floats as I laugh. I love when he confides in me. Tells me what he’s thinking. Feeling.

What he wants.

“You said you were jealous,” I reply after a beat. “I wonder—I mean, if you’re anything like me, you’re constantly telling yourself no. No, you can’t do this. No, you can’t have that, because it’s too much to ask for. Billie said yes to Ryder—to love—and I think that really hurt you. Not only because they snuck around behind your back but because you feel like you’re not allowed to have what she has.”

He looks down at his glass, swirling the liquid. “You’re not wrong.”

“So say yes yourself more often. Even when it seems impossible or stupid or selfish. Easier said than done for a single dad⁠—”

“Well, yeah.”

“But it’s hard to be happy for people when you’re not happy yourself. I see that in my mom. Saying yes more often—I think that’s an important component of being happy.”

He looks up. His gaze is piercing. “You’re good at this. Listening. Giving advice.” He grins. “Testing limits.”

I grin right back. “I’m kinda proud of the fact that I can test the limits of a real cowboy. Y’all live on the edge.”

“We’re badass. But you gotta give yourself more credit.”

You gotta stop being so fucking wonderful.