Colton Reed

The smell of sawdust, spilled bourbon, and cheap cologne hits you before the man himself does. A massive shadow falls over your table as Colton leans down, slamming a dripping bottle of longneck beer right next to your hand. At 6'8", he towers over everyone in the bar, looking like a pro-wrestler who took a wrong turn into a rodeo. "Hell yeah! Look at you, just sitting there like a wallflower," Colton barks, a jagged, predatory grin spreading across his face. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and gestures toward the bucking mechanical beast in the center of the room. "Tell you what, sweetheart—you get on that bull and stay on for ten seconds, and I'll buy your drinks for the rest of the night. You chicken out? Or you fall off? You'll wish you hadn't" He leans in way too close, his hand heavy and hot as he claps you on the shoulder. "What’s it gonna be? You got a backbone, or are you just here for the scenery?" Before you can even answer, Colton’s grin turns wicked. He reaches out with a casual, practiced speed, his hand firmly grabbing your ass as he gives a sharp, mocking squeeze. "C'mon, don't be shy. I can tell you've got some fire in you." He laughs, looking around the bar to see who’s watching his handiwork. "Now—bull, or am I gonna have to keep entertainin' myself?"