Colton tugged his shirt back over his shoulders, letting the hoodie hang abandoned on the bench beside him. The fabric clung damply to his chest where sweat and sand had traced themselves into temporary patterns despite River’s best efforts, but it felt good—earned, necessary. He leaned back, shoulders pressing into the hard pillar he’d tucked himself into, and let himself exhale for the first time in what felt like hours. His heartbeat slowed into something more human, more manageable.
His mind wandered easily, untethered, slipping past the arena and the scent of heated stone and lingering pine smoke. He thought of his cabin, the one he’d barely unpacked, the fire still crackling in the stove, wood stacked neatly beneath the windows. He hadn’t even had the chance to peek inside the shed beside it yet—an unexplored space, a small mystery waiting just for him. Maybe tools. Maybe scraps. Maybe some quiet corner to lose himself in, to tinker, to make something his own.
Somewhere among the crowd around him, he reminded himself, was a sister. A sibling forged from this strange new place, who shared something unspoken and deep, even if they hadn’t met yet. The thought made the emptiness of the arena feel less vast, less intimidating. He could imagine her somewhere out there, feeling the same frost on her cheeks, the same hum of the air vibrating through her lungs, and for a fleeting moment, the world contracted pleasantly around that idea.
His thoughts drifted further, back to home—the farm, the fields, the clatter of the barn, the quiet of the house at dawn before anyone was awake. He wondered how his family was holding up, what they felt when they opened the letter he’d left behind so abruptly. Relief? Worry? Confusion? He hoped they’d understood why he had to go, why he had to leave the forge and the smell of hay and his father’s gruff instructions behind, even if only for a while. Did they miss him yet? Did they fear what grief and guilt had turned him into?
The warmth of the arena wrapped around him, pulling his thoughts back from the edges of memory. He marveled at it, this magical heat, contained and steady, a comfort unlike any woodstove or open fire he had known. He could almost feel it seeping into him, thawing the chill he had carried from the snow and exertion. He pictured his cabin now, imagining it bathing in the same sort of quiet heat, a sanctuary waiting for him with a shower and a nap, things he planned to indulge in the second he returned.
His musings were interrupted by River’s voice, now cutting through the murmur of the arena as he went over the results. Colton paused mid-breath, taking in the words as they landed, the names of those who had failed, the instruction that they would run the course again, and the offer that others could help if they wished. He scanned the faces around him, noting reactions—some frustrated, some eager to offer assistance, some quietly resigned. The mixture of tension and pride, the ebb and pull of competitiveness and camaraderie, fascinated him. Even those who had stumbled bore themselves with a quiet resilience he admired, and it sparked a flicker of resolve within him.
He leaned back further, letting his spine sink into the bench, taking the measure of it all, the warmth, the cold creeping from his damp hair, the lingering effort in his limbs, the hum of energy in the crowd, the pulse of potential waiting to be tested. Around him, voices rose and fell, laughter bounced off stone walls, boots scuffed against the floor, and somewhere just beyond the edges of his attention, the forest exhaled faintly through the open arches of the arena. Colton let it all in, a steady, measured inhale and exhale, feeling the strange, satisfying comfort of being both small and capable in a world that demanded both, and then he stood up. His plans could wait, there had to be someone around here who could use a little help.
Blair might have been healed, but she felt like a zombie. Under normal circumstances she would have been thrilled about people fussing over her, but after looking like the most incompetent person at camp, and barfing in front of everyone for good measure, it was all becoming suffocating. She didn’t want to have to worry about how she was making the Carmichael name look or how her performance reflected on her brother. She was embarrassed looking unbelievably pathetic in front of the one friend she had made since she arrived at camp. And then there was Fiona who hovered around the edges, almost certainly judgemental in her silence. Aside from moments that required her attention—like holding Anissa’s sunglasses, chapstick, and a napkin that she didn’t read due to her own stupor and the silent plea to not make a scene of it—Blair avoided eye contact or speaking beyond noncommittal groans or nods.
The rest of the courses passed like a blur. She paid attention well enough when Anissa ran, but otherwise her attention remained on her hands, the cloud of dust her feet stirred up, and the slow painstaking tick of time. When it looked like everyone had finished their runs and River was getting ready to give his final address, she sighed, relieved it was over and that she’d be free in a matter of moments… A misplacement of her faith she’d quickly come to find out. While there was a small fraction of her that was hopeful that maybe, just maybe, her time wouldn’t have been the absolute worst, all optimism was dashed to the winds when her name was the last one to fall from Leader boy’s lips, only followed by a no show. Fantastic.
First, everyone who had passed was dismissed. Well… lucky for them. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that didn’t bode well for her. Blair slipped her hands along the bench, pinning them beneath her thighs as she waited for the initial wave of demigods to shut up and leave already so she could hear what hell was in store for her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and bounced her legs, anxious and impatient. Then the other shoe dropped… A second fucking run. A wave of stunned gasps and frustrated groans passed over the people that remained, those who failed and supportive friends alike.
"Nipple boy is really starting to piss me off," Blair snapped. Her anger wasn’t directed at Anissa, but at the situation, their new leader, and her own shortcomings… Which seemed to be a lot over the past day.
She didn’t wait around for hollow sympathies or whatever sarcastic comment her brother would have about all the times she skipped P.E. to fool around in the locker rooms. "Don’t bother waiting for me." She gave Anissa a half-assed reassuring smile with a pat to her knee before standing up. Blair knew it was unlikely for her second attempt to be anything short of half an hour and the only thing that made her feel shittier than their pity, was them sitting around watching and waiting for her to stumble through each obstacle a second time. It’d be easier for everyone—and her pride—if she suffered alone.
Blair tugged the zipper on her top up to the collar, as if approaching the course prepared and with more determination would somehow change the outcome. Her fingers slipped into one of her pockets, pulling out a hair tie—something she never used because she spent far too much time and money on her hair to risk damaging it with a cheap piece of elastic. But this wasn’t about appearances, or at least that’s what she told herself. She scooped up her dark raven hair as she approached the tires, fastening it up into a messy ponytail to keep it out of her face. She might not be nauseous and no longer had a headache, but something inside her said no amount of preparation would make this much better.
"Alright, Blair. You can do this," she tried to hype herself up, not giving a shit if the others running the course heard her. "You survived Bergdorf’s on Black Friday. You can do anything." She cracked her neck and drew in a deep breath like she was about to run a marathon, not traverse a handful of tires. "... You can do this." The words came out unsure and shaky, matching the apprehension that furrowed her brows and contorted across her face. Then she took off with all the haste of a sloth, moving through the tires with all the skill of Victoria in the Spice World movie.
Colton rose from the bench slowly, like his body wasn’t quite ready to leave his seat behind. The arena hummed with a strange mix of leftover adrenaline and resignation, those who’d passed drifting toward the exits in clusters, laughter echoing off stone, while the unlucky lingered, shoulders set, gathering themselves for another go. A few had already started re-running the course, sneakers slapping sand and water, curses punctuating the air. He took it in with a steady breath, eyes traveling the length of the obstacles he’d just conquered.
He spotted them, the pair who looked like siblings alongside Sloane. Something eased in him at the sight, the idea that Sloane wouldn’t face this alone knotted warmth into his chest. It was a relief, like watching someone be handed a rope before slipping too close to an edge. He let a small, private smile pull at his mouth before his gaze kept roaming.
That was when he saw her.
On the near side of the course, near the line of tires, stood the girl who had gotten sick earlier, the memory of her pale face and bent frame had stuck with him more than he liked. Now, though, she was upright, raven-dark hair gathered into a ponytail that still managed to look deliberate, even tied in haste. Her skin held that faint, luminous undertone of olive that was too pale, likely because of the season, cheeks still tinged pink from exertion or embarrassment. She had the air of someone fighting her own mind as much as the course, pep talking herself into motion, shoulders squared as if she could strong-arm her nerves back into place.
Before he’d thought it all the way through, Colton had snagged the unopened water bottle beside him, fingers closing around it like instinct, and started down toward the course. The dirt gave a little under his feet as navigated his way closer until the world narrowed to her and the messy trail she left through the tires. He reached her just after she stumbled free of the final one, breath heaving in uneven bursts, determination and dread warring in the line of her brow.
Blair stopped to catch her breath… already. Fucking pathetic. Her hands rested on her hips, chest already heaving from one obstacle. One. And the easiest one at that. The purple cropped jacket felt like it was suffocating her with every breath, fabric pulling tight across her chest as her lungs expanded. Gods, why the fuck did she wear that? Not a thing about it was actual athletic wear. It didn’t stretch, didn’t breathe. It just held all her body heat in. She wanted to rip it off, but couldn’t recall if she thought to put a bra on while fuzzy brained and hungover. She tugged the zipper down an inch or two and pulled the fabric to the side to look beneath the cloth. Nope. No bra. "Fuck," she groaned, head falling backwards in defeat.
As she ran her hands over her face, Blair got that strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that someone was watching her. Sweat dampened fingers brushed wild hairs back out of her face, looking over just in time to see someone approaching. The initial sight of him was enough to help her forget what she was doing for a second or two. Tall, blonde, handsome in that frustratingly unassuming way humble men had a tendency to be, and muscles that no amount of sweatpants or t-shirts could hide. A pleasant sight to be sure, but one that left her a bit bewildered as to why he was approaching her of all people. On a normal day, sure. But she was covered in sweat, no makeup, riding the tailend of a hangover, and literally barfed… in front of everyone. Nothing about… any of that was a reason for a guy to approach her, to her dismay.
Her hands fell to rest against the back of her neck, arms dangling against her chest lazily. "You lost, handsome?" she asked, her voice absent its usual flirtatious silk in lieu of pants that left her struggling to catch her breath.
Colton startled at the word like it had been tossed past him by mistake, brows lifting as he instinctively glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to find some other poor soul catching the compliment instead. Snow-damp air, empty stretch of course. No one there. He looked back at her, confusion knitting softly across his face, mouth parting just a little as realization crept in. Heat rose quickly in his cheeks, ears pinking as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, sheepish and unsure. “Uh—” he started, blinking once, then again, a faint laugh slipping out. “You mean… me?” Colton cleared his throat, trying to remain on track, not loudly, but enough to be heard, and called out to her, voice carrying that easy, unhurried southern lilt he couldn’t scrub from his bones. “Afternoon, ma’am.” It wasn’t fancy or clever, just gentle, respectful. He stopped a few feet away so he didn’t crowd her, free hand sliding awkwardly into the pocket of his sweatpants.
"Fuck, you would have an accent," Blair mused with an exasperated laugh and a shake of her head. This man rolls up looking like a Levi’s model hidden beneath sweats, sounding like any woman’s harlequin cowboy daydreams… and she looked like a fucking trainwreck in purple. Karma really was a fickle bitch.
“You, uh… you headed through the rest of it on your own?” He swallowed, eyes flicking briefly toward the log jumps and back. Then, softer—“Don’t gotta. If you want someone runnin’ it with you… I’d be happy to help. I mean, everyone else has someone with them, for the most part, so I figured…” He gave a small shrug, feeling, abruptly, as if maybe he’d made a mistake. He held out the water bottle, not forcing it, just offering, plain and honest like the fields he’d grown up in. “Figured you might need this, at the very least. If you want it.”
There was a shyness in the way he smiled, a modest curve of lips that dimpled one of his cheeks, earnest, almost nervous. A man unused to stepping into someone else’s orbit, but doing it anyway because something in him couldn’t just stand there and watch her drown on dry land alone.
Bewilderment, plain as day, knotted her brows and left her at a loss for words. Her hand hesitantly reached out to take the bottle, but froze, fingers wrapped around the plastic not taking the offering but gripping it like a bridge of understanding. His smile was charming, distractingly so, especially with the faint shadow that grazed his strong jaw and the warm light behind his eyes that was almost… disarming. It was hard not getting lost around a handsome man, but too many unanswered questions plagued her mind, disrupting her ability to flirt, which was just annoying.
Her head cocked to the side. "Why?" Blair had been burned enough to know that nothing in life was free, especially kindness… Especially not twice in a day, within an hour of one another. Men complicate things. They always did. She had known far too many men who thought a favor warranted sex, and while she was never one to turn down a nice time with a handsome specimen like Quick Draw McGraw here, she did have boundaries… Or she was trying to. It was a new development that was very confusing and went against how she’d been for years. "I guess my actions last night might have given off the wrong impression." She squinted slightly and sucked in a sharp breath. "Or perhaps a bad first impression," she corrected herself, not that she imagined either statements or the party painted her in a particularly good light. Her fingers slipped from the bottle, hand falling to her side in a silent rejection of his offering. "I might be a slut, but I’m trying to be kinder to myself… Which includes not accepting favors for sex."
Colton froze like he’d been struck clean through. Whatever easy confidence he’d gathered trudging through the course scattered to the winds, bewilderment sweeping across his face unguarded and raw. His blink came rapidly, like he had to reset his whole understanding of the conversation, of her, of the ground they were standing on. The word she used for herself hit him like a slap; he actually flinched, hands coming up between them, palms forward as if he could push the idea away with sheer force, water bottle held between them like a shield. His ears went a violent shade of red, crawling down his neck, embarrassment warming him hotter than the enchanted air of the arena ever could.
“Ma’am—” It came out on a startled breath, and he had to try again, voice pitching softer, tangled in that low country lilt he couldn’t shake. “Miss. I—” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, like he needed to make sure it was still there, grounding himself. “I ain’t ever in my life—I mean, I am not the type to trade anythin’ for… for that. That ain’t—” He swallowed, mortified, words failing him before tumbling out again. “My mama’d haunt me straight to hell if I even thought like that. She raised me to be a gentleman, not… not someone who’d put a price on another person like that.”
Blair watched his rising panic, noting the way he wouldn’t look her in the eyes and the flush that flared across every inch of visible skin, but had no clue what to say. She had heard of men like that, gentlemen… You know, in movies and Nora Roberts books. It was also something said by the men who whined about the hardships of nice guys. But that little gut sense that tingled and twisted whenever someone lied to her was dormant, still as the grave. "Ohhhh…" She dragged the word out as the pieces clicked into place.
He ducked his head for half a second, then forced himself to meet her eyes, sincerity plain and a little desperate to be understood. “I wasn’t at the party. Just got here this mornin’. First day, and all that.” Then, with a stubborn little breath, he thrust the water bottle forward again, right into her startled hands, gentle but insistent, like this one small gesture could right the ship of misunderstanding between them. His blush was still riding high across his cheeks, but his gaze stayed steady.
"Ah." Blair clicked her tongue. Before she had a second to put together any kind of response, he was shoving his bottle back into her hands, determined for her to take it. Her eyes went wide, hands fumbling as she tried to take the offering without dropping it. Her gaze flicked back and forth between his startled, but sincere eyes, and the cool plastic resting in her palms. "I… Well…" She clicked her tongue a second time and tapped her thumbs against the bottle. "Probably best you didn’t see that…"
His brows furrowed at that, not sure what she could have possibly done that would warrant calling herself something so vulgar, but pressed on anyways. “Ain’t askin’ nothin’ from you. You oughta drink somethin’—this place’ll wring you out faster than a summer field. I got plenty back at my cabin, promise.” He tipped his head toward the rest of the course, giving space with his body before he actually stepped away. “Don’t gotta let me help. I get it. But the water’s yours, if you want it. And I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you be now.” He backed up a step, then another, shoes scuffing in the churned dirt of the arena floor. His voice softened on the last bit, earnest even as he tried to withdraw. “…I was just tryin’ to be nice. Maybe make a friend.” He cleared his throat, nodded once, not curt, not offended, just honest, and started to turn away.
"Hold up, Cowboy." Blair called after him as she took a step forward, shifting the water bottle into her left hand while her right reached out to seize his arm. Gentle but assertive, her fingers wrapped around his bicep and attempted to turn him back around to face her. There was a moment or two where her touch lingered. His biceps, chiseled from muscles he didn’t seek to flaunt, pressed back into her palm. Her brows raised, impressed, intrigued, but ultimately trying to be on her best behavior. Plus she felt completely and entirely un-sexy covered in sweat, post barf, and out of breath from fucking tires. And she about gave him a coronary from calling herself a slut… And and she told herself she wasn’t chasing men anymore. Right?... Right.
"Muscles... Huh," she mused as her mind briefly wondered what he looked like beneath his white t-shirt… All muscles and abs and a charming smile to make a girl swoon. Gods help me. The one fucking time she didn’t pay attention to training, figures. Blair cleared her throat, snapping herself out of it as she released her hold on him and fixed the bit of his sleeve she wrinkled.
Colton stopped the moment she called out, feet planting without a second thought, like the word hold had been stitched into his bones. Her hand closed around his arm and he sucked in a quiet breath, color blooming fast and traitorous across his cheeks. Her skin was cool where it met his, softer than he’d expected, a brief contrast that sent a strange, grounding awareness through him. He turned back as she guided him, blinking at her a little owlishly, caught somewhere between surprise and the earnest instinct not to pull away. Whatever she muttered under her breath made his brows knit faintly, like he was trying to puzzle out a problem he hadn’t known he’d been handed, and when she let go, straightening his shirt gently, he cleared his throat, standing there warm, flustered, and very much paying attention now.
She took another step backwards for good measure. Self control and what have you. Her free hand raised to scratch her head, half messing up her already sad excuse of a ponytail. Blair finally met his gaze with an apologetic smile. "I’m sorry. Women who…" Her voice trailed off as she tried to find more delicate wording. "Have a reputation like mine attract certain types of men." She then quickly held out her hand to stop him before he started trying to reassure her about the type of man he is. "I believe you. Athena… intuition." Her explanation probably did little to nothing to actually explain anything, but Blair also wasn’t in the habit of having to apologize for… Well whatever this is. She had never thrown someone into a whirlwind by calling herself a slut or assuming they wanted sex. For better or worse, in her experience, that was what most men wanted.
"I appreciate it… The being nice thing." She wasn’t really doing the best at easing the conversation, but even in his panic and everything, there was a small weight that lifted from her shoulders at having a man approach her not for sex. It wasn’t exactly what she had in mind when she had her drunken epiphany, but baby steps. "Friends is fine, nice even. Can’t say I’ve ever really had a man friend." Blair cocked her head to the side as her face scrunched at how weird that sounded, but it was already out in the open, and wasn’t entirely wrong. "You being all hot and shit—" She motioned her hand up and down at all of him. "—could complicate things. Can’t guarantee I won’t think of you naked, but if that doesn’t bother you." She shrugged her shoulders as if that was an entirely normal conversation to have with a prospective friend.
Colton listened like she was telling him something sacred. Not in the wide-eyed, startled way from before, but with a steady attentiveness that settled into his posture—shoulders relaxed, head tilting just slightly as he followed every word. He didn’t interrupt when her voice faltered. He let them land, let them breathe. The dust of kicked up sand in the air, the magical heat of the arena, the sweat clinging to her skin, none of it seemed to register as something to recoil from. If anything, he looked at her like she was exactly where she was meant to be; tired, human, standing in front of him trying to be honest.
When he finally spoke, it was slow and thoughtful, his drawl softened even further. “If men took advantage of you before,” he said, carefully, “Even if you were okay with it at the time… that ain’t on you.” His brows knit faintly, not in judgment, but in something closer to concern. “That’s on them. Every bit of it.” He gave a small shrug, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “I don’t keep a ledger on people’s pasts. Ain’t my business.” His gaze stayed steady on hers. “You treat me with respect, I’ll do the same. That’s kinda the whole deal, far as I’m concerned.”
Blair crossed her arms, lightly pressing the top of the water bottle against her chin as he spoke. She wasn’t entirely sure how she expected a man like him to react to her self proclaimed promiscuity, but blaming other men for it was not the angle she imagined. There was a moment where she held up a finger with an intent to interrupt and correct him, because, if anything, she was the problem, not the other men. At least a solid 50/50 split. But when he showed that he didn’t care about a person’s past her lips closed and her hand fell, letting the thought float away on the wind. She could correct him later… Or someone at camp will give him a rude awakening about the things she’s done at some point, like the party.
The corner of his mouth twitched when she mentioned fantasies, only a little embarrassed this time, and quietly amused. “People think all kinds of things,” he said, easy and unbothered. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna cross a line or make it weird. I know how to behave.” There was a certainty to it, rooted deep, like it wasn’t a promise he had to work at, it was simply who he was. Toned muscles, accented words, calloused hands, mama-raised manners and all.
"Sometimes it’s fun to misbehave." The words hung in the air around Blair as she stood there looking back at him with a popped hip and cocked brow. There was a beat or two of silence before it hit her. She hissed, sucking in a sharp breath and snapped her fingers. "Damn it. Old habits." She laughed and shrugged with an innocent and partially apologetic smile.
Colton’s ears went pink first, like they always did, the color creeping down his neck as he blinked at her, caught somewhere between understanding the words and not quite knowing what to do with them once they landed. He let out a soft, crooked laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as if that might smooth the moment out. “Uh—yeah,” he said, drawl tipping uncertain but kind, “I reckon it can be.” There was no judgment in his eyes, just a gentle bewilderment and an earnest effort to stay on the right side of things. His smile came back slower this time, smaller but sincere, like he was still finding his footing around her sharp edges and bright sparks. Awkward, sure, but not bad. Not bad at all.
Then his smile shifted, full and bright, like the sun cracking through after a long stretch of clouds. White teeth flashed, dimples carving deep into both cheeks, warmth radiating from him in a way that had nothing to do with the summer heat. “So,” he said, holding out his hand toward her, open and earnest, “Friends?” A beat passed, and he cleared his throat, suddenly sheepish again. “I’m Colton. Uh—son of Hephaestus.”
A strangled gasp fell from her lips the moment Blair saw that dazzling smile that looked like it belonged in a magazine or on a movie screen, not standing right before her. She threw her head back with a frustrated groan. The Gods really decided ’Oh, you wanna turn over a new leaf? Here, have a sexy ass cowboy. Enjoy.’ Cruel. Cruel fucking Gods. She exhaled, puffing up her cheeks and lips. "Sorry. It’s not you, it’s me." She cocked her head to the side, squinting her eyes as she stared at the tight fabric of his shirt and how it pulled taut across his muscles in all the fantastically perfect ways. "Ok it is you, but because you’re hot and I have no self control."
Her laugh was soft and a bit awkward as she finally took a step forward, filling some of the space between them to slip her hand into his. Strong, calloused, but gentle—For fuck’s sake get a grip. Blair’s gaze fell to his hand, turning it over slightly as she studied the muscles that ran along his forearm, up and over his knuckles—Not of his hand! Jesus fucking christ. She cleared her throat and finally looked up in his eyes, you know, holding his gaze like a civilized person. Her smile grew, a bit confused at her own stupid brain or loins, maybe both, and she shook his hand. "Blair. Daughter of Athena… not that I’m doing her any favors right now."
Colton felt it the moment her hand slid into his, felt it like a live wire under the skin. Her palm was softer than his, cooler too, and the contrast made his fingers tense before he caught himself and loosened his grip, careful not to hold too tight. When she turned his hand, studying him like he was something carved instead of grown, he blinked down at her, lashes fluttering as heat rushed straight to his face. It wasn’t vanity that flustered him so much as the attention, so direct, so unguarded. Folks didn’t usually look at him like that. Not back home. Not like he was something to be examined and admired all at once. His ears burned, red as a warning light, and he swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.
“I—uh,” he started, then stopped, breath catching on itself as he tried again. “I wasn’t… aware I could, y’know—have that kinda effect on people.” A nervous laugh slipped out, soft and breathy, and he ducked his head just a touch, eyes flicking back up to hers like he couldn’t quite help himself. “That’s real kind of you, though. Flatterin’.” His gaze lingered a second longer than strictly polite before he added, just as earnestly, “And—well—you’re very pretty yourself. Truly. I reckon I could have mistaken you for one of Aprohdite’s daughters, but this whole Greek Gods thing is pretty new to me.” The words came out careful, respectful, like he was setting them down instead of throwing them, and he tried to lighten the moment with a joke tagged on to the tail end.
Blair was genuinely surprised how some men could be so utterly oblivious about their own appeal and the effect it had on women. It was almost endearing in that adorable confused puppy type of way. "Listen here, Lover Boy," she started like she was going to share some deep guarded secret. "This—" She motioned to all of him once again. "Is dangerous. You direct that charming ass smile and twang at half of the people at this camp and I promise you they’ll swoon." There was a pause and she went to snap, but forgot she was holding the bottle and nearly dropped it. "But don’t get cocky. It’s cute that you have no idea how attractive you are."
She let slip a quiet, surprised giggle that illuminated a small fraction of her usual light behind her eyes. "Well now who’s the flatterer?" Blair mused when the tables turned back on herself, catching her a little off guard in its sincerity, but in a positively wonderful type of way. Her smile slipped to the warmest it had been all morning, natural without the stress of the course or a looming hangover weighing her down. What girl wouldn’t appreciate a compliment? "I feel like there’s a white lie in there somewhere—" She gestured her hand that held the bottle, and waved her index finger at him, accusing, but playful. "—But I’ll accept it because I look and feel like shit, and this has been a morning from hell."
Colton’s eyebrows shot up at the nickname, surprise flashing clean and unfiltered across his face before it melted into something quieter, amused. Lover Boy. Well—he supposed he’d been called worse, though never with that kind of spark behind it. He shifted his weight, watching her with an expression that suggested he already knew that being friends with Blair would mean never quite knowing what came next. It would mean whiplash conversations and teasing truths and moments that caught him flat-footed. Strangely enough, the thought didn’t make him nervous. It made him smile. A real one. The kind that crept in without permission and stayed.
“Dangerous, huh?” he said, half-laughing, head tipping as if conceding a point he didn’t fully understand yet. His tone was warm, lightly self-deprecating, southern drawl softening the words. “Guess I’ll try and wield that power responsibly then, ma’am.” His eyes crinkled, dimples cutting deep, gaze steady on her despite the chaos she carried with her. Yeah. On his toes for sure. And, against all sense, he found he didn’t mind one bit.
"Ma’am," Blair echoed, a smile, guilty and quietly beaming, lit up from such a simple word. It was the almost chivalrous way he let her win, with a nod that asked for him to be wearing a cowboy hat, a tone that said he didn’t believe her, but let her win all the same, and that god damn ma’am. It was one of those moments in old movies where women would fan themselves dramatically. There was just something about a man, unapologetically charming in all of his southern-ness, that could make a woman giddy. She wasn’t immune to charm and flattery, but it was so rare for any of it to catch her off guard that it was disarming. The fact he had no idea he was doing it made something in her chest flutter, if only for a moment.
"Ok well, maybe you can be a little irresponsible," she mused, holding up her fingers pinched together with only a sliver of space between them. "But, you know, just with me." Blair laughed softly, a faint mischievous glint sparkling behind her eyes. She was being good… enough. How could she not flirt with Clint Eastwood over there? She had to, just a little. He was too cute not to.
Colton let out a startled laugh, the sound warm and genuine, like it had been pulled from him before he could stop it. He tipped his head in a small, conceding nod, eyes bright with a mix of amusement and something quietly appreciative, like he understood the game she was playing—and was choosing, very deliberately, to meet her there. The grin that followed was easy, dimples deep, posture relaxed but attentive, as if this was a promise he intended to keep in exactly the way she meant it. “As you wish,” he said softly, drawl curling around the words like a half-bow, half-smile, just irresponsible enough to matter.
Collab pt. 1/2
