“I’m not fighting you, Colt.” He scoffs. “It’s a friendly competition. No fighting involved.” Right. Friendly. “When I win,” I say, hardly able to believe the words coming out of my mouth, “I want something else. Something more than bragging rights.” Colton waves his hand in the air as if to say go on. My grin is a slow thing. “I want my name tattooed on your ass.” His eyes widen, and he sputters, “No way.”
