Page 37 of Tame Our Wild

He laughs, a genuine, throaty laugh that I have never heard spill from his mouth in the way this one does. It seeps through my ears, a ribbon of warmth wrapping around my arteries. “Now I’ll never tell you. If I do, I wouldn’t just be your coach and competitor anymore; we’d be moving into friend territory.”

“Oof. Yeah, you’re right. That would be a catastrophe.” I rest my head against the edge of the hot tub to peer up at the sky dotted with stars between the lights zigzagging above. “I still haven’t gotten used to that. I’m not sure I ever will.”

His voice is low. “What? That we could move into friend territory after this season is over?”

“No,” I say a little too easily. “Getting it through my head that you’re my coach now. It’s just—” I sigh. “This entire situation is crazy, and I’m expecting it to end disastrously.”

When I lift my head, his attention is steadfast. “Well, we’re tolerating each other now.”

My eyes flit between his. “It’s only day one. We’ll see how you feel about me several months from now. If we even make it until then without tearing each other’s heads off.”

Or clothes.

Nope. NO. Can’t even entertain that idea.

He traps his bottom lip between his teeth. I’d blame my shiver on the slight shift in the cold breeze whipping through the air, but it’s the way he’s looking at me, like he can read my mind.

“We’ll start training tomorrow morning at ten. I have a few things to get done before then, so you can meet me at the small barn I pointed out earlier. Since we fly out to Tacoma on Friday, we’ll be taking tomorrow easy and working on fundamentals.” I nod. “After traveling and sleeping all day, you must be hungry.”

My stomach grumbles at the reminder. “Starving.”

He reaches for his towel, propped on the edge. “Lasagna is in the oven. Let’s go get you some food.”

My eyes widen. “You made lasagna? Like, homemade?”

Pulling his legs over the edge, he stands, his hot skin steaming against the chilly air. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

As I get out of the hot tub and follow him inside, I can’t help but feel a swarm of unease assaulting my stomach. He’s right. Colson may be my coach, but I’ve always considered him a competitor. A rival who pushes my buttons and drives me headfirst into wanting to prove I can keep up with a man who has been riding in the PBR for sixteen years.

That I can keep up with all of them.

I don’t have many fears, yet it doesn’t stop a new one from stirring in my chest, like furious clouds gathering to rage and unleash the rain. This plan to have him coach me is in motion now, but I fear that not even a break in the storm will keep our relationship from shifting into uncharted territory. And if I don’t view him as a competitor—my rival—I’m worried my purpose won’t be the only thing I’m losing.

FIFTEEN | HARLOW

There’s something uncomfortable about digging through another person’s pantry. The odd thing is, I’ve never realized how much you can learn from someone's eating habits and the way their house is organized. Granted, I haven’t touched much, considering this isn’t my house and everything is his. Even the air seems to belong to him, as I swim in his spiced and leather scent that rewires my brain in ways I’ve never understood.

It’s intoxicating to exist with it now.

Last night was an icebreaker. Literally. While hot water penetrated our muscles, it started to thaw this new reality we’re both living in. However, my feelings toward him remain as solid as ice, and it’s going to take a lot more than cooking me a meal to get past everything that has tainted our relationship.

Relationship.

I internally scoff at myself. We aren’t even platonic. Whatever exists between us is forged in fire and egotistical bullshit.

Timidly, I reach for a box of granola, somehow feeling like I’m invading his space even more now that I’m going to be eating his food. Fortunately for me, the house carries the kind of silence that soaks into your skin, which means he must be outside working somewhere on the property.

Everything that has happened thus far has felt like a dream. But when I woke and the guest room—my room—settled before me, my stomach churned with anxious bubbles. I came to realize, after almost half an hour of staring at the ceiling and contemplating what I got myself into, that it was also hunger. So, I crept out of bed in my matching pajama shorts and tank, peeking around corners of the house as if the sight of him might have me running for the hills.

It’s completely understandable that this has me on edge, right? I mean, it’s only day one, and we have to start somewhere. Progress takes time, and so does learning to tolerate your enemy.

Truthfully, I don’t mind the quiet since dipping my toes in beforehand wasn’t an option. We’re diving headfirst into the whole him-coaching-me thing. We went straight from rivals to roommates, and it’s unsettling in a way that has me moving about his house uneasily, like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to and might get caught for invading his space.

With the granola box in my hand, I move to the fridge. As I suspected, Colson tends to have healthier eating habits. Not surprising, since I also stick to a diet during the season, along with a workout plan I follow religiously. He said he has a home gym, which is where we will be working out later today.

I study the contents of the refrigerator, noting the clear organization of dairy, vegetables, and other items on the shelves.

Grabbing a container of strawberries and yogurt, I move to the counter to make my bowl, pouring myself a cup of coffee before I sit down on a chair at the island. I’m mid-chew and scrolling on my phone, looking at Mel’s latest post on my Instagram, when the front door opens and closes.