Page 106 of Tame Our Wild

My eyes widen. “I … We—”

Dalton takes his phone out of his pocket, shaking his head at me. He starts to scroll through Instagram as I struggle for words.

Brian’s deep laugh heats my skin even more. “How much longer are you guys going to keep up with this?”

My voice trembles. “Keep up with what?”

“You clearly don’t hate each other anymore. Why keep up with acting like you do?”

The announcer’s deep, enthusiastic voice booms over the speaker, alerting us that Colson is about to be let out of the chute. At the same time, Dalton mutters a “fuck” under his breath at whatever is on his phone screen.

Between his curse of shock and Colson flying out of the chute on the back of his bull, both men fight for my focus. I keep my gaze on the man dancing on the dirt with fury bucking between his thighs, my attention plastered to his form and the way he is tackling this ride with such ease and perfection that I can’t help but grip the rail harder as the seconds pass.

Out of the corner of my eye, Dalton holds out his phone to Brian. Whatever is on his screen is more entertaining than the beautiful battle for dominance happening on the dirt before us.

This is the most flawless ride I’ve seen Colson have, and I’m mesmerized by him.

The clock blares, alerting that he’s reached the eight seconds, and my excitement for him pours out of my body like the most natural thing in the world as I jump up and down, screaming in excitement as he is flung from the bull, getting tossed across the dirt before the bullfighters and Matt intervene to get the beast away from him.

“Uh, Harlow? You’re going to want to see this.” Brian’s deep, worried tenor pierces through my haze of excitement for Colson.

Settling back down from jumping, I blow out a relieved breath that Colson nailed this ride, but my heart is still smashing against my ribs. Turning, I take in the two riders before me with shocked expressions on their faces. They are alarmingly pale, both staring at me in a way that has my heart lurching into my throat. They are peering at me the same way Mel looked at me when she told me Aaron died.

The expanse of Dalton’s throat moves as he holds out his phone to me. I take it, my eyes taking a moment to register the video in front of me.

Or more accurately, an Instagram post.

“I don’t think you and Colson are going to be able to act like you hate each other much longer,” Dalton says cautiously.

The blood that just rushed to my head flows south to pool below my feet as the video transports me back to one of the best nights of my life. But instead, I’m watching it as a spectator as someone films Colson and me from a doorway down the hallway from us. My eyes widen as I watch Colson’s hips thrust me up against my hotel room door with my legs wrapped around his waist. Our mouths lash against each other as our bodies grind and hands roam.

I turn up the volume to counteract the noise of the arena. It’s subtle and quiet from how far the person is from us, but I can still hear every word like it’s punctuated.

“While I’m opening this door, I want to feel your talented tongue against my neck before it’s gliding against my dick,” Colson says breathlessly.

“Yes, Coach,” I respond.

“Whether it’s riding a bull or my cock, you always listen to me so well.” And then his hands are grabbing my ass to pull my key card out of my jeans.

Tears burn behind my eyes as I take in the social media post. It already has a few hundred comments and thousands of likes, which means the view count …

Oh, God.

Frantically, I turn, my eyes darting around the space as I see other riders with their phones out, some showing the video to their peers, while others glare at me. Bile burns my throat as I lean over, unsteadily grabbing the rail. I think I need that bucket now.

“We all knew Colson Payne was an elite rider, but this score confirms it,” the announcer belts into the microphone. “A 96.25 is the highest score we’ve seen all season and a new personal best. Winning that third World Champion title might be in his future!”

The cheers in the arena are subtle, like a wave of shock that paralyzes the crowd. I instantly know it’s not because of his ride. I’d say I’m overthinking it, but I don’t think I am.

I look up through the fence, my watery eyes clashing with my rival. My coach. The man someone caught me with.

Colson’s gleeful expression after he had the ride of his life suddenly shifts to concern as he studies my face.

My blood evaporates from my body as Dalton’s question is muted in my ears, like he’s speaking to me underwater. “Is it true?”

“Has Colson been coaching you?” Brian clarifies.

I worry my bottom lip and nod.