Page 60 of Brim Over Boot
“Fuck,” I mutter aloud. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I send a text.
Me: It’s okay to admit you liked it.
If I know anything about Colton—which I’m frustrated to say I do—he won’t respond well to consideration. He’s already shown me as much.
Better to get his ire up a bit. Then he might let something slip.
His response doesn’t surprise me in the least.
Colt: I did like it. Just not you.
Well, don’t I feel the love.
Me: Keep talking like that, little Colt, and I’ll put you on your back the next time I see you.
He takes longer to respond this time. I check the clock, but if I eat while I drive, I’ll make my next appointment just fine.
Three pings come through rapid-fire.
Colt: There won’t be a next time.
Colt: And you can’t say shit like that.
Colt: Jesus.
A smile curls my lips.
Me: Would you rather I put you on your front instead?
I can practically hear Colton’s outrage, and I chuckle to myself. Am I an asshole for provoking him? Probably. But he still hasn’t told me to stop.
Colt: You’re such a dick.
Me: If you want my dick, Colt, baby, all you have to do is ask.
I freeze, staring at the text I just fired off.The fuck? Baby? Really? I wish I could snatch the word back before Colton has a chance to see it, but it’s too late now.
At least it doesn’t mean anything. He has to know that.
My heart pounds as I start my truck, tossing my phone beside my sandwich on the passenger seat and cursing yet again.
Colton isn’t wrong about one thing. There shouldn’tbea next time.
The only problem with that is I’m not nearly done with the man. I want the pleasure of seeing Colton down on his knees. Want those scowling lips wrapped around my cock. I want to know if he’d let me fuck him. Want to witness him helpless and pinned, begging me for things he’s too scared to admit he wants in the light of day.
I want to ruin Colton goddamn Darling.
Thoroughly.
Irreversibly.
And then, maybe, I’ll be able to let go of this anger I’ve held on to for far too many years. It’s well past time I put Colton Darling behind me. For good.
I unwrap my sandwich once I hit the road out of town, the mountains stretching in my rearview. Their peaks are still white with snow that probably won’t melt until June, even though the ground down here is fully thawed, spring well underway and color sprouting from the dirt.
The memory of flower crowns flits through my head, the accompanying pang expected.
