Page 99 of Colt

I feel sick to my stomach watching her climb inside the car and start the engine. She can’t fucking stay, but it still feels wrong to let her go.

She rolls down the window. I put a hand on the car’s roof and lean in a little. “But seriously, text me when you get home?”

“I will.” She looks up at me, the half-moon reflecting in her eyes. Another pause.

It hits me that maybe she don’t wanna leave either.

“I’m glad you came,” I murmur. “Pun intended.”

She grins. “I’m glad too.”

“For the record, honey, I really wanna kiss you right now.”

Her gaze flickers. “You keep saying that.”

“I mean it. Will you let me? On Friday? If I behave?”

Scoffing, she puts the car in gear. “I make no guarantees. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be totally turned off seeing you dance.”

“I’m actually pretty decent.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Honey, these hips don’t lie. You saw me ride. I’m well-versed in how to move ’em.”

“Pun intended?”

“What would that pun be?”

“You know, you use your hips for…”

Laughing, I straighten. “You’ll see how good I am at that too. Night, Dallas.”

“You’re the worst.”

“But the best at eating you out.” I give her a look. “Tell me I’m lying.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiles. “Good night, Colton.”

When you gonna call me Colt, honey?

I stand there in the driveway, barefoot, hands in my pockets, and watch her leave.

I stand there for a while, body ringing with an ache I don’t wanna name.

Only when I start to shiver do I head back inside.

CHAPTER 19

Something Sweet

COLT

“Mother fucker. Shit. Fuck. Shit shit shit.”

I’m usually the one cursing up a storm, so it’s kind of a surprise to hear it coming from Beck.

To be fair, the four-year-old stallion he’s trying to introduce to a bridle is so ornery we’ve nicknamed him Backbreaker. Which of course has me thinking about another type of back breaking, the one where I pin Lainey to the mattress and⁠—