Page 24 of Reckless Hearts

Colt and I turn simultaneously toward her with matching glares.

She’s practically doubled over, the doorframe the only thing keeping her standing as she snorts, laughing so loud.

“Find this funny, do you?” I’m unable to hide my amusement, and that just encourages her more.

She’s shaking her head no, but her teeth sink into her growing smile.

This fucking girl.

I bend and easily catch her middle with my shoulder, lifting her in the air, one arm firmly bound around her thighs. I walk her through her room and drop her on her bed.

“Stay.”

It’s a miracle she doesn’t jump up the second the word leaves my mouth, but she’s looking at me with so much amusement she damn near steals my breath away. Callie’s bathed in soft evening light, glowing up at me from the middle of a bed.

Jesus Christ… I’m never going to survive this girl.

I turn on my heels before I can lose whatever’s remaining on my mind. Between the two of them, I’ll be admitted by the end of the season.

With her out of the way, the adjoining door clicks behind me, and I crowd Colt.

He doesn’t budge, his smugness fully in place, a challenge written all over him.

For once, I give in. Hope he enjoys it. It’ll be the first and last time.

“Neither of us are in any shape to sleep on that couch, and you know it. And I’ll be dead before I let you sleep next to Callie. You feel the same?” I question, getting right to the point.

“Damn right,” he shoots back, quick as a whip.

“Then suck it up, buttercup, because you’re sleeping with me.” I say it like it was my idea in the first place.

He eyes me up and down, that dimple appearing in his cheek, but he doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, he dumps his bag on the corner of the bed and starts pulling shit out.

He’s bent forward, muscles visibly flexing beneath his thin Henley as he rolls his shoulder, a movement I’ve seen him do countless times before. A reminder of the night he went down and I was crowned Rookie of the Year.

He strides out, clothes scattered across the floor where he left them, some piled on the comforter. It’s like he opened a can of confetti and then left to take a shower.

The reality of what I just did smacks me in the face with instant fucking regret.

I really am an idiot.

Chapter 8

Callie

The noise hits me first,the door clicking shut behind me as I step out of my room, quickly followed by the fatty smell of barbecue frying nearby. The parking lot’s full of rowdy bull riders, lost without their adrenaline fix. They’re causing an absolute ruckus, taking over the entire space, each one yelling over the other. These are some of the most competitive men in the country, and it doesn’t stop just because they’ve left the arena.

I make my way down the stairs, scanning over faces, searching, until I spot them, breath catching in my throat. Maverick and Colt are both leaning against Maverick’s truck just to the left of the stairs. They’re silent, arms crossed, looking anywhere but at each other. Their brows pinch in the middle, feet tapping on the ground in the exact same cadence. I wonder if it’s being so alike that’s kept them apart, both too stubborn to ever let anything go.

I take them in while they aren’t looking, and there’s a soft, electric current humming under my skin. The sun’s setting, casting them in golden light, highlighting the sharp edge oftheir jaws, the scruff from the day’s travel giving them a rugged appearance. Heat pools in my stomach, a low ache I force myself to ignore. After years of being surrounded by city boys, these two are really showing off what I’ve been missing.

Maverick’s wearing a long-sleeve, deep blue shirt that complements his deep tan skin from hours spent in the sun. The sleeves are pushed back, revealing thick corded forearms that lead up to substantial biceps. He’s all wide shoulders and lean muscle, his thick quads filling out his jeans perfectly. There’s something about his closed-off expression, the utter calmness, that sparks something in my chest, because I know he can’t maintain that mask with me. He never has. For him—for me—for us, there’s never been a need for a mask.

Colt’s physique is harder to make out under his jean jacket, but no less tempting. His hair falling over his eyes, casting them further into shadows. His teeth gnaw on his full lips, and I have the overwhelming urge to bite them. It’s easy to see why the girls hover around him. If Maverick’s rigid, Colt’s his mirrored opposite flexible, easygoing, with a quick smile. That glint in his eyes, the one he normally shows the world, is missing as he stares blankly somewhere in the distance.

“Don’t you two look handsome.” Tied to them by an invisible string, I skip down the stairs, my pulse quickening with each inch closed between us.

Their heads snap up at my approach, and the force of their attention lands solidly in my chest. There’s always something a little wild about cowboys, but that’s not what this is. There’s something untamed about them, like there’s something hidden within just waiting to get out and it’s fixed its attention on me. It’s a heady sensation to be their sole focus, equally thrilling and terrifying. Getting too close to men like this is like standing too close to a fire and begging to be burned.

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