The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  It’s nearing eleven o’clock, and I can see the crowd thickening, feel the pulsating energy. In the VIP area, there is a crowd of people gathered in one corner, and I wonder what trendy celebrity Haddie’s team has secured to promote their newest product. I’ve been to enough of these functions with her to know the drill. Hot celebrities shown taking photos with new product equals big-time press for not only the item but Haddie’s company as well.

  I take the glass Haddie hands me, my usual Tom Collins, and I sip from the straw as I point to the upper section. I raise my eyes in question rather than shout over the music that is starting to increase in volume as the club becomes more crowded. I figure we have about thirty minutes left until the decibels are so loud that the only way to communicate will be to yell.

  She leans over to talk in my ear. “Not sure. We have several people confirmed for tonight.” She shrugs a noncommittal answer. “Some surprises are in store as well.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, wondering why she is being vague. She just smiles broadly and tugs my hand to follow her. We navigate through the mob of people, moving together as one unit. I can feel the alcohol slowly starting to buzz through my body, warming me, easing my tension, and relaxing my nerves. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel sexy. I feel beautiful and sensual and at ease with those feelings.

  I squeeze Haddie’s hand as she pushes through to a purple booth, which is reserved for PRX staff. She looks back and smiles genuinely at me, realizing that I’m starting to relax. We break through the crowd to the booth to find two of Haddie’s colleagues there. I smile at them and say a quick hello, having met them before at previous events I’ve attended. I thank one of them for his compliments on my vamped-up style for the evening. As we sit down there is a large cheer from the other side of the room on the upper level where the crowd had been. I glance up to see what’s going on and notice nothing but a number of women showing way too much skin hoping for whatever hot item PRX has invited up there to take notice of them.

  I roll my eyes in disgust. “Fame whores,” I mouth to Haddie and she bursts out laughing.

  I finish my drink as the catchy beat of a Black Eyed Peas song fills the club. I start moving my hips to the tempo, and before I know it, I grab Haddie’s hand and drag her through the people out onto the dance floor. The surprised look on her face has me laughing as I close my eyes and let the music take me. We sing the words together, “I gotta feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a good night,” as we let loose on the dance floor.

  I haven’t felt this liberated in so long that I just want to suspend this moment in time. I want to capture it in my memory so the next time I start to fall into that dark place, this feeling can help me hold on to the light.

  Haddie and I move to the music, working our way through several songs, each one strengthening my confidence and increasing my fluidity on the floor. Several of her co-workers, Grant, Tamara, and Jacob, join us as the song switches to Too Close, an old song but one of my favorites. I flirtatiously dance with Grant, acting out the song with him. We laugh, our bodies rubbing innocently up against each other.

  I raise my arms over my head, crossing them at the wrists and swivel my hips to the rhythm, the alcohol buzzing through my system. I close my eyes, absorbing the atmosphere around me. A tingling sensation up my spine has me flashing my eyes back open.

  I look up, and despite the synchronized unison of the mass on the dance floor, I stop, frozen in place. I see Colton. He is standing on one of the stairways that angles down from the VIP section. He has a drink in one hand and his other arm drapes casually around the shoulder of a statuesque blonde. She is turned into him, her hand rubbing gently through the top unbuttoned portion of his dress shirt. Her face tilts up to him and even from a distance I can see her reverence and adoration, although he has his head turned away from her, laughing with a rakish man on his left. A large daunting man stands behind him, eyes scanning the crowd. His security, maybe? Colton flashes a smile at his male cohort, and it’s natural and unguarded, allowing me to momentarily appreciate his absolutely devastating looks. The blonde says something and Colton turns his attention back to her. She lifts her hand from his chest to rest on his cheek and lifts her face up, placing a slow, seductive kiss on his lips in ownership.

  My insides churn at the sight, clouding my vision so much that I don’t pay enough attention to see if Colton is encouraging and returning the kiss or merely just tolerating it. My mouth is suddenly dry. I am paralyzed as I watch him with her. Numb really. We’re not together—my constant refusal of him has not demonstrated that I want otherwise. And despite my intense and unfounded hurt right now, all I want is that to be me he is holding. Me he is kissing. In the seconds that all of this swirls within me, my hurt begins to shift to anger. How stupid was I to think a guy like him could actually want a girl like me when he could have a girl like her?

  I notice Haddie fall motionless in my periphery, taking notice of what I see. I’m about to turn to say something to her when Colton lifts his chin away from his arm candy, and looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. My heart skips over a beat and lodges itself in my throat. Despite the distance between us, I see shock flash in his eyes.

  Even though a fellow dancer jostles me, my eyes hold steadfast to his. I know I need to leave the floor before my emotions get the best of me and my threatening tears begin to fall, but I am riveted in place, unable to break the inescapable, magnetic pull he has over me. He releases his hold on the blonde immediately, discarding her easily. He hands his drink off to his male companion without looking and strides unfaltering down the stairs. His emerald eyes burn into mine, never losing our connection.

  As he reaches the dance floor, the music changes to a deep, pulsating throb enveloping Trent Reznor’s hypnotic voice. Without a word or a look, the horde of dancers seems to move apart as he stalks onto the floor toward me. His expression is indiscernible, the muscle pulsing at his jaw, the shadows from the lights playing over the angles of his face. His long legs eat up the distance quickly. Numerous people turn their heads in recognition, but the hungry look in his eyes stops them from approaching. Despite the music’s volume, I hear Haddie suck in a breath as he reaches me.

  All of the things I want to yell at him, all of the hurt I want to spew at him, disappears as he walks up to me, and without preamble grabs my hips in his hands, forcefully yanking me up against him. He holds me there, pressed against him, as his body starts to move, hips begin to grind into mine in sync to the punishing tempo of the song. I have no other option than to move with him, respond to the animalistic rhythm of his body. I slide my hands over his hands on my hips and lace my fingers through his, holding him.

  Holding on to the ride that is undeniably coming.

  Our eyes remain locked. My head tilts back to look up at him. His lips part slightly, and I can hear him hiss out as my hips respond to him. His eyes darken, glazing with desire, filling with heat—with a predatory need. His scorching look has my nipples tightening and my body becoming a melting mess of need in anticipation of his touch. Of his undoubted possession of me.

  I bite my bottom lip as he moves our combined hands from my hips to behind my back, kneading my backside through my dress, handcuffing me there. We continue to move as one with the music, the feeling of his firm, defined thighs pressing against mine. His arousal rubs against the lower part of my belly. He leans his face down so we are within inches of each other. I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he sighs.

  It is by far one of the most erotically sensual moments of my life. The rest of the world has fallen away. The intoxicating effect he has on my body blocks out the crowd around us, all looking our way, noticing me because of the man I am with. It’s just he and I— Moving. Responding. Arousing. Anticipating.

  The song comes to an end, but we remain entranced in each other’s spell. I breathe for what I feel like is the first time since we’ve touched, a long shaky breath. I don’t realize that the music has stopped,
and that the event’s emcee is speaking over the microphone about the product of the evening. That except for the small crowd around us, the attention of the club has turned and is focused on the stage.

  Colton and I stand there, not moving, feeling like we are barely breathing despite our heaving chests, absorbing each other and the sparks of sexual tension that are igniting between us.

  “Colton! Hey, Colton,” a voice breaks through our connection, snapping me out of my spellbound state. Colton swivels his head to find one of the PRX staff calling his name. “It’s time. We need you on the stage. Now.”

  He nods curtly before looking back at me, eyes smoldering with an urgency that makes my insides shiver. He unlaces his fingers from mine, releasing his hold on my hands and pulls away slightly. The warmth of his body is gone immediately, but my body is still humming from the connection, aching with need. He gives me a slow, suggestive smile and shakes his head softly. At me? At his own thoughts? At which one I’m not sure.

  He reaches up a hand and tugs on my hair, his eyebrows quirk up as if to ask me why the change in my hair. I shrug shyly at him, words escaping me. His name is called again. He turns to go, but not before I watch the transition on his face from the Colton Donavan I know to the public persona. Aloof and untouchable. Sexy and untamable.

  We haven’t uttered a single word, and yet I feel like we’ve said so much.

  I watch his broad shoulders as he walks through the crowd toward the stage, his bodyguard falling in step beside him, pushing back the swarming people. I watch the spectacle and a little part of me smiles about the fact that I’ve seen the real Colton. At least, I hope I have.

  Before I can finish watching his ascent to the makeshift stage, Haddie has me firmly by the arm and is pulling me from the dance floor. My resistance is futile as she drags me down a corridor, past the line for the bathrooms, and toward a small alcove near the exit. She spins me to face her, an incredulous look on her face.

  “Ow, you’re hurting me!” I snap at her, yanking my arm away, not exactly thrilled at being taken away from watching Colton.

  “What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” she asks, each word a staccato. I don’t even know how to answer her. I think I’m still under his spell. “Holy shit, Rylee! You two were basically fucking each other with your eyes. I mean, I felt uncomfortable watching you, like I was peeping into your bedroom,” she rambles on as she does when excited, “and you know I never get uncomfortable.” She leans back against the wall and tilts her head up to the ceiling, an unbelieving look on her face.

  I stand there and stare at her. I don’t know how to answer her, so she continues. “I knew you said you guys had made out,” she continues, ignoring the childlike snort of laughter that comes from me, “but you never told me that there was … that spark … that chemistry … such intensity … My God! I mean, I was hoping when you saw him that—”

  “What?” Her last sentence triggers my brain to function. “What do you mean you were hoping?”

  She smiles sheepishly at me. “Well …”

  What the fuck is going on here? “Quit stalling, Montgomery!”

  “Well, I was calling you last night to tell you we had landed him as a guest—Merit’s one of his new sponsors. Anyway, I called just because I was excited. I thought we could sit back and lust after him tonight—I didn’t know anything about what had happened. I talked to Dane and that was when I found out you were out with him.” Her words are tumbling out now. I nod at her to continue, my eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Then you came home and everything unfolded …”

  “And what? You decided not to tell me because …”

  “Well,” she contemplates, “After you told me everything, I had no idea that you two—your connection—is that magnetic. That captivating. I thought maybe if you saw him here, I could help you—I could push the issue. Help you have some fun.”

  I blow out a loud breath, silently staring at her. I know she means well, but at the same time, I don’t need my hand held like a child. I’m mad at her. Mad at Colton for being here with that bimbo. Mad at him for waltzing up to me and taking hold of me as if I belonged to him. Mad at him for making me want him so badly my insides are burning. Silence settles over us.

  “Don’t be mad, Ry. I’m sorry. I was doing it from a good place.” She bites her bottom lip, pouting at me, knowing I can never stay mad at her. I smile softly, forgiving her.

  I sag back against the wall and close my eyes, listening to the cheering of the crowd at something the emcee said. The question rattling around my brain comes to the surface. “Who’s his plus one?” I ask, referring to the blonde. Is she one of his permanent go-to girls that know there is no hope of commitment? Someone he picked up in the club? Why is he kissing her if he is telling me he wants me? Did he not ask me because I’m not enough—pretty enough, sexy enough, glamorous enough—to be on his arm in public?

  “Does it matter?” she sputters, “I mean, Jesus, Rylee, you two are—”

  “Who?”

  “Not sure.” She shakes her head. “His people just asked for clearance for ten. No names were given.”

  I let out a slew of curses that make no sense, it’s just something I do when upset. Haddie eyes me cautiously. “Talk to me, Ryles,” she urges. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “I’m not lying to myself, am I?” Haddie looks at me, confusion etched on her face. “I mean, I’m not making it up? The chemistry? Colton?”

  “Are you crazy?” she stammers, grabbing me by the shoulder and giving me a little shake. “I thought you two were going to spontaneously combust out there! How can you question it?”

  The crowd erupts again, the sound echoing down the hallway. I can hear Colton’s voice on the microphone. The rasp of his voice pulls at me. The crowd cheers again at something he says, and I wait for the noise to subside some before I can continue. “If he’s that into me. If there is that much chemistry … then why is he here with that blonde? Kissing her? Why not ask me? Or am I just the girl he wants to fuck on the side?” The confusion and hurt are evident in my voice.

  Haddie twists her lips up as she thinks about my comments. “I don’t know, Rylee. There are so many scenarios here.” I raise my eyebrows as if I don’t believe her. “He could have already had her as a date before he met you. Or he could really want you and she could be the piece on the side until you say yes.”

  I snort again. “Really? Did you see her?”

  “Have you seen you?” she rebukes. “Have you looked in the mirror, Ry? You’re gorgeous on a normal day and you look unbelievable tonight! I’m kind of getting sick of telling you that. When are you going to start believing it?” I roll my eyes at her like a child. She ignores me. “She could be one of his arrangements? Or maybe she is a fame whore who met him here? Or maybe she’s a friend.”

  “When’s the last time you kissed a friend like that?” I snip. She just stares at me, arms folded across her chest. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I’d say keep doing what you’re doing. He obviously likes you, including your stubborn streak and smart mouth.”

  “But, how do I—what do I?”

  “Rylee, if you’re mad at him, be mad at him. It hasn’t stopped you from saying something to him before, and he still wants you. Just because you’ve decided to sleep with him doesn’t—”

  “How do you know I’ve decided that?”

  “Oh, honey, it’s written all over your face—and your body for that matter. Besides, anyone watching that display out there already thinks that you have.” She laughs sympathetically at me as my eyes widen. “Look, Ry, every girl in this club would fall into line if he snapped his fingers. Everyone, that is, but you. He’s the one pursuing you. How many times in his life do you think a woman has said no to him? Has walked away from him? Maybe he likes that. And if he does, don’t change it just because you’ve decided you want to do the deed with him.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  “But that’s just it,” I confess. “Am
I a challenge or does he really want me? And if it does happen, then will the challenge be over and then he’ll be done with me?”

  “Honestly, who the fuck cares?” she castigates me. “You always overthink, overanalyze everything, Ry. Just forget your head for once, ignore its sensible warnings, and follow what your body wants. Follow Colton’s lead, for God’s sake.” I let out a shaky sigh, heeding her words. “Be yourself, Rylee. That’s what he’s liked all along.”

  I nod my head several times, looking at her. A timid smile forms on my face. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Well, hallelujah!” she yells, flailing her hands over her head. “You finally listened.” She grabs my hand and starts tugging me down the hallway. “Let’s get you freshened up, get you some more liquid courage, and see where the evening and Mr. Sexy Colton lead you.”

  It’s been about an hour since Haddie’s pep talk, and my confidence, bolstered by my steady intake of alcohol, is back in full force. We have danced and socialized with some of her co-workers and are now sitting at the purple booth, taking a breather before hitting the floor again. I have tried desperately to not search out Colton. Tried to ignore the fact that he is probably kissing her somewhere in the vicinity. But I do catch my eyes flitting here and there whenever I see a big mob of people. I also note Haddie watching me as I look for him, so I try to sneak glances and be subtle about it. She assures me that he is probably busy with Merit Rum executives. I appreciate the explanation, her trying to make me feel better, so I just push him out of my head. Or try to, with the aid of Tom Collins.

  Haddie’s drinks have disappeared at a much slower pace than mine since she is technically “at work” and wants to make sure she has her wits about her. I have a steady buzz, but I’m not drunk. I hate the lack of control that comes with drinking too much alcohol. She is laughing at me as I ask her for the third time to explain a situation with a pretentious A-lister she had to deal with earlier in the week.