Page 21 of Tame Our Wild

He drags a palm over his face. “Fuck it,” he mutters, and my brows furrow. “Are you hungry? Can we go get something to eat so we can talk?”

Uh. What?

He shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels. “I mean, like, just to talk,” he stammers. “Not like a date or anything like that. I just … want to discuss something with you. I’ve only been to Ember Ridge once for a rodeo a long time ago, so do you know a place we could go? Of course, only if you want to go—with me.”

Wow. I’ve never seen Colson Payne word vomit before. I’m fighting to suppress the amused grin that wants to appear. His face flushes with embarrassment, the rosy hue disappearing under the light dusting of facial hair on his jaw.

I’ve never seen him so flustered.

I’m way too entertained by it.

I attempt to process what he’s asking of me, trying to determine if this is some trap he’s luring me into. What kind of trap, I’m not sure, but I’m trying to be cautious around this man who has only ever irritated the hell out of me. Now he wants to sit down, eat, and talk like we don’t hate each other?

Words continue pouring out of his mouth. “Unless now isn’t a good time and you want to go later? My flight back to Tennessee is a red-eye, so if you … uh … need time or something—” I hold out a hand to stop him, and he inhales a deep breath. “What?” he asks nervously.

“I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep going. I think you’re short-circuiting.”

He blows out a breath. “So, are you going to put me out of my misery and give me an answer, dust bunny?”

“I don’t know,” I drawl, eyeing him up and down suspiciously.

His powerful gaze holds mine.

No wonder he gets women in his bed all the time if he gives them this pleading look. His irises attract yours like two round magnets with specks of blue and green in different lighting—you can’t help but be entranced by their pull, and I’m trying my hardest to stay rooted. Currently, it’s like I’m peering at a field of sagebrush. His eyes are dragging me in right now despite my conscience digging its heels in the ground.

It’s probably a horrible decision I’ll regret later, but I’m curious about what’s going on in that hard head of his.

He waits expectantly, and I huff out a breath of defeat. “Fine, but you’re buying breakfast.”

NINE | HARLOW

Iglide my fork and knife through the massive, fluffy stack of perfection, not taking my eye off the cowboy in front of me. He observes me with an unspoken intensity, making my entire body warm as I dig into my chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes.

My stomach grumbles in excitement as I plop some into my mouth, savoring the sweet and tart combination that bursts on my tongue. To top it all off, the whipped cream has an addictive texture unique to The Pancake House.

Most women would be reluctant to shove forkfuls of food into their mouths sitting in front of a man who is too gorgeous for his own good, but I’m not one of them. And this isn’t a date.

Unfortunately for my mother, I’ve never considered myself a lady, since I don’t like cleaning up dust and dirt. I roll in it.

I had only planned to order a coffee and hear Colson out, but the second I stepped through the doors and was hit with that diner smell of my favorite breakfast place in Ember Ridge, it was game over for my hunger strike. I haven’t had an appetite since coming home—only eating a few things here and there, so I didn’t completely starve myself. Now that I think about it, that was an irresponsible decision on my part since I need my strength for the next event this weekend.

Colson’s omelet and home fries sit untouched in front of him. His unnerving concentration makes me want to bolt out of the diner, where I can scratch off his gaze that always lingers on my skin. But there’s no way I’m leaving these pancakes behind—not after that first bite and now that I’m finally getting my stomach to stop rebelling.

I place my fork next to my plate, reaching for my coffee. “So,” I start, hoping he’ll finally start talking.

I almost wish he were rambling like he was earlier, so he could get to the point and tell me why we’re both sitting here. But nope. His barriers are back up, and his stoic expression is firmly in place.

Lifting my coffee mug, I take a sip.

“I want to coach you,” he blurts.

I suck in a rapid breath, the scalding hot coffee splattering against the back of my throat and down the wrong pipe. I cough out, wheezing and inhaling tattered breaths as I try pulling myself together while his request causes my brain to malfunction.

Patrons in booths near ours inquisitively scan our table, most of whom I know since Ember Ridge is a relatively small town. People have been scrutinizing us since we walked in, many of them knowing our history and probably wondering why we’re sitting down and being civil. Or they’re waiting to see how long it will take until we clash.

I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. “You couldn’t have waited to say that until after I took a sip?” I wrap my palm around the front of my neck. “I think my throat is blistering.”

His eyes roll. “You’re so dramatic.”