Page 33 of Colt

Me on the other hand? I’m literally sweating, my pulse taking off at a sprint. Because that’s Colton.

Has to be. I recognize the shirt and the Stetson. He’s as busy as ever, but he’s never looked so sexy.

“You didn’t hear me say this.” Beck ducks his head to look at his brother. “But he’s the best cowboy out of all of us. Colt. He’s a damn fine wrangler. Notice how he lassoed that horse without spookin’ him? Takes muscle, yeah, but also a soft touch.”

I swallow, tucking my hair behind my ears.

Muscle.

Soft touch.

Dear God, I can only imagine how Colt would utilize such lethal weapons in bed. Because they are weapons. And they’d definitely be lethal, those hands of his knowing exactly where to go. How to move. The right amount of pressure to apply.

Heat blooms between my legs. Fuck him.

But really, I can’t stop thinking about him fucking me.

CHAPTER 8

Handcuffs and Handheld Vegetables

COLT

Beck eyes me as he digs a plastic bag out of his pocket. “You know that I know that you’re thinking about using these on Lainey, right?”

“They’re for Dean’s career day, jackass. He’s dressing up as a cop.” Taking the bag, I’m surprised by its weight. These handcuffs are the real deal.

Better be, considering Beck got them from our actual sheriff. Took him over a week to track Cody down. The two of them go way back, just like me and Ryder. I figured if anyone could get his hands on some, er, handcuffs, it’d be my brother.

“Your six-year-old is not bringing actual handcuffs to school.” Beck eyes me as he tucks his hands back inside the pockets of his jacket. It’s late, well after eight o’clock at night, and the air is chilly. “Seriously, I need to know that you’re gonna use ’em for play and not for⁠—”

“Actual restraining purposes?”

He smirks, the porch light catching on his copper-colored beard. “Are you gonna read her her rights before you⁠—”

“I knew this was a mistake,” I groan.

It’s been nearly a week and a half since Lainey arrived. I’ve done a decent job of avoiding her. Out of sight, out of mind.

Or so I thought. I think I just—God, she annoys me, even when she’s not around. Somehow the chick got under my skin. Now I can’t stop thinking of ways to get back at her.

Ways to send her running. Figure the handcuffs might be a fun little prank to nudge her in that direction. I thought I’d keep them in my back pocket when I’m at work, clearly visible. Maybe threaten to cuff her if she gets in my way.

Maybe I’ll even keep them in my glove box. She’ll get a fun little scare next time she’s in my truck.

Is the prank idea unhinged? Probably. But I’m done bracing myself every time I turn a corner, annoyed—scared—I’ll run into her again.

“Not a mistake if you use ’em to have a little fun,” Beck says slowly. “I’m not gonna judge you for that. Heck, no one deserves to blow off some steam more’n you.”

I lean against the doorframe and sigh. Much as I appreciate Beck dropping the cuffs off at my house, I’m ready for bed. Haven’t been sleeping all that great. “That’s not what I got them for.”

Beck narrows his eyes. “Fine. If you didn’t want them for Lainey, what are you gonna do with them?”

“I told you, they’re for Dean.”

Beck rolls his eyes. “I’m too tired for this shit. Fine. Whatever. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

I can just imagine the fire in Lainey’s eyes if she found them in my glove box beside the whiskey and the cigars.