Page 1 of Kicking Up Dust

ONE

COLT

“Damn, baby, if you wanted my hands on you, all you had to do was ask. No fake run-ins necessary.”

The words were out of my mouth on autopilot before I even saw who bumped into me. Anyone who knew me knew I was a helluva flirt. It didn’t matter who I was talking to or what my intentions were, it almost always came out flirtatious.

If I’d taken a second to look at the little thing that had walked out of the ladies’ room without a care in the world, I would’ve found the filter Jameson insisted I had and used a better line on this one.

My knees buckle as the biggest, greenest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life look up at me.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

God, her voice. Have I ever found a voice attractive outside of the bedroom before? I don’t think so. But hers is so… pretty. Musical, maybe? Feminine, definitely. If someone came up to us and reminded her she had to leave for her job as a Disney princess, I’d believe it.

“That’s okay,” I tell her, clearing my throat to try and get rid of the raspiness. I force myself to pry my hands away from her hips where I’d instinctively caught her when she’d stumbled.

“Blair?” a voice says behind her, and for the first time I realize we’re not the only two people on the planet, and she has two women with her who are also trying to leave the restroom.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, sidestepping to let them out. I follow her.

“Whittaker, you’re up soon.” I’m considering firing my coach for interrupting us because it causes Blair’s eyes to leave mine, instead flickering over me as she takes in my vest and chaps. I’m working at a disadvantage here. The long-sleeve button-down and jeans I have to wear for rides hide most of my tattoos, and besides my dimples, they’re my best assets.

She tucks her hair behind her ears, opening her pretty lips with their perfect cupid’s bow, but I stop her before she can apologize again or say her goodbyes.

“What’re you doing after this?” I ask her, planning to pencil her in as tonight’s distraction from my brain’s chaos.

Her brows furrow as her eyes find mine again. “Sorry?”

I grin, happy I successfully derailed her line of thinking. At least for a moment.

“I’ve got a ride in a few, but would you want to hang out after this? Get dinner? It might be a while, but⁠—”

One of her friends lets out an odd sort of squeal, gripping Blair’s arm and shaking her slightly. “She’d love to,” the over-excited blonde says.

“Chelsey,” the other friend warns.

I blink at their odd behavior before looking back at Blair. It only then occurs to me that I know her name, but she doesn’t know mine.

“I’m Colton. Colt,” I stutter nervously. I don’t know the last time I was ever nervous around someone like this. “You don’t have to decide right now. You can think about it and text me,” I offer her.

“Whittaker,” McAllister barks again. I ignore him just the same as I did the first time. Cade McAllister reminds me a lot of my incredibly responsible oldest brother, which is why I hired him, but it also means he grates on my nerves just like Maddie does.

Chelsey pulls Blair’s phone out of her back pocket and passes it my way, but I don’t grab it straight away, raising a brow at Blair instead. She’s a quiet one, and if it weren’t for how pink her cheeks have become or the way her teeth are indenting her bottom lip, I might think she wasn’t interested in me.

Finally, she nods and I take the phone from Chelsey, typing my number into an empty text message. I don’t send myself anything, leaving her with the choice to text me and share her number or not.

I reach up to thumb her plush bottom lip, pulling it from the prison of her teeth, and grin down at her so hard I can practically feel my dimples popping. I know I’m coming on too strong, but the dimples make up for it. They’re my secret weapon.

“Hope to hear from you soon, darlin’.”

I turn away, finally following my grumbling coach toward the chutes while Blair’s friends squeal. I have to force myself not to look back to see if Blair is as enthused as they are.

Darlin’ isn’t a word I’d be caught dead using back home in Montana, but I’d picked up the habit from some of the other riders I toured with, and dammit if it didn’t do the job 99% of the time. Some of my best lays were thanks to that word.

The ride itself might only take eight seconds, but all the shit afterward takes much longer than I was expecting. By the time I check my phone—which doesn’t have any texts from unknown numbers that may be my pretty little siren, much to my dismay—it’s nearing midnight.

I expect Blair and her friends to be long gone by now, so when I walk out the back door of the arena with my bag slung over my shoulder and a cigarette between my lips—picturing another sleepless night at the motel they’ve got me in this time—I’m shocked shitless to see the doe-eyed beauty standing by my truck.