Page 14 of Reckless Hearts

Somewhere between the third or is it fourth? Round of drinks and the last line dance, my brain starts to fuzz around the edges. I remember flashes. Colt’s breath against my ear when he leaned in to joke about someone’s bad dancing. Maverick’s arm around my waist when the floor got too crowded and someone bumped me too hard. The bubble of warmth in my chest that wouldn’t stop expanding.

I don’t remember leaving the bar. Just the vague sensation of being carried, strong arms cradling me against a warm chest. The creak of the motel door. The shift of blankets. The cool slide of a pillow under my cheek.

Then Colt’s lips graze my forehead, his voice low and soft as the dark.

“Good night, Wildflower.”

I’m glad I came back.

Even if it hurts. Even if I’m scared.

I wouldn’t trade tonight for anything.

Chapter 5

Colt

The air’salready brutally hot, the kind that sticks to your skin and saps your energy. The breeze doesn’t do a damn thing to help as I stand on the motel’s second-floor walkway, one arm braced on the railing, the other wrapped around my coffee like it might keep me sane.

My memory of last night is hazy, alcohol smudging the details, leaving behind blurry impressions. But the flashes of Callie dancing between Maverick and me have me in a chokehold.

I told myself she was still the same girl I’d grown up with even as I obsessed over how her Daisy Dukes hugged her ass, how her shirt clung to her curves, the swell of her breasts teasing through the fabric.

The girl who left came back a fucking goddess. Untouchable. The thought feels criminal. Like any second, she’s going to come stomping out here and ream me out.

Groaning, I slap a hand to my forehead and drag it down my face. “Jesus, Colt. Get your shit together.”

“Morning,” Callie says, her voice rough with sleep, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

I turn and freeze.

Shock punches the air from my lungs. She’s standing in the doorway of my motel room, her hair a wild halo around her shoulders like someone dug their hands through it, but that’s not what knocks me flat.

She’s wearing my shirt.

Only my shirt.

It hits her mid-thigh, covering all the important parts, practically a damn dress but that doesn’t matter. Because it’smine.

I think I could die happy.

Noticing my gawking, she raises a brow with a teasing smile and lifts the hem to reveal her shorts underneath. I ignore the slight sting of disappointment.

This is better. Of course this is better. She shouldn’t be wearing just my shirt… right?

She pads onto the outdoor walkway, snatches the mug from my hand before I can react, and takes a sip.

Immediately, she grimaces. “What the hell is this?”

“My coffee,” I manage, still recovering from the visual. “Also known as cowboy fuel.”

She lowers the mug, nose scrunching. “You have serious issues,” she rasps.

That earns another laugh because she’s fucking right.

“You feeling okay?”

“Been better,” she sighs, leaning her weight against the doorframe. “I can’t exactly remember everything from last night.”

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