Page 61 of The History Between Us

Colt: I want to see you today.

Smiling down at my phone, I climb into my car, setting my briefcase on the passenger seat. It’s a little after four, and I’m just leaving the office. It’s been a hectic day, and this is the first time I’m getting to look at my phone since earlier this morning. The timestamp on the message shows Colt sent that about three hours ago. Starting my car, I decide against texting him back in favor of calling. Call me old-fashioned, but I much prefer hearing his voice through the line than reading a text.

It only rings a couple of times before connecting.

“Well, hello, Doc,” Colt drawls through the line, a sultry lilt to his tone that sends a zip of heat down my spine.

“Hey, I just got your text. Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you.”

“It’s all good,” he mutters, sounding out of breath. “I know you’re a busy man.”

“How was your day? What are you up to?”

“It’s been a pretty great day,” he replies, and I can hear the smile through the phone. “I’m at the arena, getting a little training in. Want to come by here? I should be done soon.”

“Right now?” My stomach flutters as a smile spreads across my face. “Is it okay if I’m there?”

“Yeah, right now, and of course, it’s okay.” He breathes out a chuckle. “If you don’t have anything going on.”

Putting my car in reverse, I back out of my spot before heading down Main Street. “I’ll be right over.”

We hang up, and I spend the entire drive with my skin tingling and my heart pounding. To be honest, I kind of always thought you outgrew this nervous, jittery feeling. It was something I experienced with my ex-wife when we first started dating, but I was so young back then, and it hasn’t happened since, so surely, it’s something you outgrow after a certain age. But I’m coming to realize that isn’t the case at all. Apparently, with the right person, those nervous, jittery tingles will hit you no matter the age. Early twenties or mid-forties, they don’t discriminate. Can’t say that I hate it either.

I pull up outside the arena, and he’s already outside the front doors waiting for me. His signature backwards hat is replaced with a cowboy hat pulled low on his head, and he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt, snug light-wash Wranglers, and a pair of cowboy boots that match the color of his hat. He’s got his shoulder rested against one of the wooden beams, arms crossed over his chest, and a warm smile spread across his face. My heart kicks up as I get out of the car and approach him, mouth watering as I drink him in.

He's in his element, and it shows. The confidence, the swagger. It’s sexy.

“Hey, Doc.” His smile grows the closer I get.

“Hey, baby.” My pulse races as soon as I say the pet name, worried he’ll hate it or think it’s dumb, but the opposite happens. Instead, he bites down on his bottom lip as he snakes a hand out, grabbing ahold of my shirt to tug me into him. I have to fight the way my body wants to freeze and freak out, having him grab me like this in public, but I know the parking lot is empty.

“Baby, huh?” he murmurs before pressing his mouth to mine for a slow, sweet kiss. His tongue slips past my parted lips, lazily stroking mine. “The only time you’ve ever said that was when you were railing me. Kinda like it both ways.”

I lift a brow. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. C’mon, let’s get inside before I give the passersby a show they didn’t ask for.”

Once we’re inside, Colt leads me down the hall toward the arena. I’m familiar with the layout, thanks to the free clinic, but I haven’t been in here for anything else in well over a decade. I used to come here when I was in med school to watch Max compete. It’s changed a lot since then.

“You can sit on the bleachers over there.” Colt points across the way. “I should be finished shortly.”

Leaving me to do just that, Colt jogs into the center of the arena, where a mechanical bull waits for him. I proceed to watch as he climbs on, slipping his right hand underneath the handle, using his left hand to pull the rope tight. He wraps the loose end of the tail around his hand before scooching up and getting situated. After a few long moments, he raises his left arm, glancing straight ahead, as he nods, presumably to somebody out of sight. After a beat, the bull begins moving, slowly at first. Forward and backward, and Colt follows, body swaying rhythmically as the mechanical bull picks up speed.

This continues until the eight-second buzzer goes off. Colt hops off the bull and jogs over to the direction he nodded toward the first time, where a guy I don’t recognize appears. They converse for a few moments before he mounts the mechanical bull and does it all over again. He does this several times, the speed of the bull getting faster each time, and the entire time I’m mesmerized. It’s not the real deal, but I can only imagine how he’d look on the back of a live bull.

Admittedly, I’ve never seen him ride. Of course, I’ve seen photos of him during rodeo events, but never videos.

I know his injury really messed with his head, and he has doubts about whether he’ll make it back out there this coming season, but I truly believe he will. Colt is ambitious and hardworking and goal oriented, just like his father was, and if anybody could recover from something like this and make it back out in less than a year, it’s him.

Eventually, Colt climbs off, grabs a white towel, and wipes his forehead off as he makes his way over to where I’m sitting. His eyes meet mine, and he smiles, wide and bright in a way that makes my stomach dip and my heart race.

“Like what you see?” he drawls as he drops down on the bleachers beside me.

“I do.” I nod, turning my head to look at him. “Can’t wait to see the real deal.”

An adorable, boyish grin slides onto his face. “You going to come see me compete, Doc?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I reply honestly.

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