The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  “With what Rylee?” she prompts when I remain silent.

  “Guilt.” I say the word quietly and let it hang between us. Haddie reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it softly to reassure me. “I feel so guilty and hurt and used and so everything,” I gush.

  “Used? What the hell happened, Rylee? Do I need to go kick the arrogant bastard’s ass right now?” she threatens. “Because I’ll switch my tune. I mean, I was impressed when he called earlier to make sure that you’d gotten home all right and that—”

  “He what?”

  “He called at like 3:30 … somewhere around there. I answered the phone. Didn’t even know you were home. Anyway I came in here to check and told him you were home and asleep. He asked me to have you call him. That he needed to explain—that you took something the wrong way.”

  “Hmmph,” is all I can say, mulling over her words. He actually called?

  “What happened, Rylee?” she asks yet again, but this time I know she won’t be ignored easily.

  I relay the entire evening to her, from the point I left her, until she woke me up screaming. I include my feelings about comparing “the after” to Max and how hurt and rejected I felt. “I guess I feel guilty because of the whole Max thing. I loved Max. I loved him with every fiber of my being. But sex with him—making love with him—came nowhere near what it felt like with Colton. I mean, I hardly even know Colton and he just turned on every switch and pushed every button from physical to emotional that …” I search for words, overwhelmed by everything. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like sex should have been like that with the guy I loved so much I was going to marry rather than someone that couldn’t care less about me.” I shrug. “Someone who just thinks of me as another notch on his bedpost.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you that you’re wrong to feel, Rylee. If Colton made you feel alive after years of being dead, then I don’t see what’s wrong with it.” She squeezes my hand again, sincerity deepening the blue in her eyes. “Max is never coming back, Rylee. Do you think he’d want you be numb forever?”

  “No.” I shake my head, wiping away a silent tear. “I know that. Really, I do. But it doesn’t make the guilt go away that I’m here and he’s not.”

  “I know, Ry. I know.” We sit in silence for a few moments before she continues, “I know I wasn’t there, but maybe you misread Colton. I mean some of the things he said to you …”

  “How is that possible, Had? He was swearing under his breath like he’d just made the biggest mistake. One minute he was kissing me so tenderly and looking into my eyes and the next minute he was swearing and walking away from me.”

  “Maybe he got scared.”

  “What?” I look at her like she’s crazy. “Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends gets scared of what? That he thinks I’ll become attached to him after one night of sex?”

  “One night of mind-blowing sex!” Haddie corrects, making me giggle and blush at the memory. “Well, you do wear your emotions on your sleeve. It seems you don’t do casual sex well.”

  “Oh, like it’s a class I can take over at the Y? I mean, I may be easy to read emotionally, but I’m not in love with him or anything,” I defend myself whole-heartedly, despite knowing full well that what I felt between us tonight was more than just full-blown lust. Maybe I did scare him. That final moment between us in the bed, when he held me and stared into my eyes, really got to me. Made me feel hope. Maybe he saw that and had to squelch it before it went any further.

  “Of course you’re not,” Haddie says with a knowing smile, “but that’s not what I was talking about. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends … maybe you got to him. Maybe he got scared of what he felt when he was with you?”

  “Yeah, right! This isn’t a Hollywood romance movie, Haddie. The good girl doesn’t get the bad boy to change his ways and fall madly in love with her,” I say, sarcasm rich in my voice, as I fall back on my pillow, sighing loudly.

  A small part of me relives Colton’s words from the night before. I am his. I could never be inconsequential. He can’t control himself around me. That small part knows that maybe Haddie is right. Maybe I scare him on some level. Maybe it’s because I am the marrying kind, as I’ve been told, and he’s just not looking for that.

  “You’re right,” Haddie admits. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have one hell of a time losing yourself in hours of mindless sex with him.” She plops back on the pillow next to me, both of us laughing at the idea. “It could have its merits,” she continues. “There’s nothing like a good bad boy to make you let go. Remember Dylan?”

  “How can I forget?” I reply, remembering the quick fling she had last summer with the gruff and gorgeous Dylan after ending her year-and-a-half-long relationship. “Yum.”

  “Yum is right!” We both fall silent.

  “Maybe Colton is your Dylan. The one to get you over everything that happened with Max.”

  “Maybe …” I think. “Oh God,” I groan, “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Well, seeing as it’s...” she lifts her head to look at my clock “...five in the morning, you should go back to sleep. Maybe give it a day, then call him back. See what he has to say and go from there. Remember our motto. Embrace your inner slut—be reckless with him and try not to think about tomorrow. Just think about the here and now with him. ”

  “Yeah, maybe.” We sit in silence for a few moments. Am I just being an overdramatic female reading into things? I don’t think so, but deep down I try to justify his actions to myself. I know that I’ll do it again if given the chance, and for my sanity I need to rationalize everything to right the world back on its axis. The feelings and sensations he evoked in me were way too intense. Way too everything. Maybe it was just the fall from my alcohol buzz that made everything seem so off. Made him seem so detached. I scold myself. I know this isn’t the case, but I’m trying desperately to address my inner slut.

  I’m way out of my league here. I just hope I can figure out how to play the game without getting burned in the end.

  “Do you want me to stay in here tonight?” Haddie asks, breaking the silence. She used to sleep in my bed on the really rough nights to help me get through them nightmare-free.

  “Nah. I think I’m okay. Thanks, though. For everything.”

  She leans over and kisses the top of my head, “What are friends for?” she says as she heads for the door. “Sleep tight, Ry.”

  “’Night, Had.”

  She closes the door and I sigh deeply, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running through my mind until sleep pulls me under.

  I’M SO EXHAUSTED FROM EVERYTHING that I’m able to sleep past my usual six-thirty wake up time. It’s nine when I get into my exercise gear and head downstairs.

  Haddie is sitting at the little table in the kitchen, bare feet with bright pink painted toes propped on the empty chair across from her. She eyes me cautiously from behind her cup of coffee. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” I mutter, my normal sunny morning self absent. “I’m gonna go for a run,” I tell her as I fasten my audio player to my arm.

  “I figured,” she says, referring to my attire. “Are you grumpy just because you want to be … or because you are forcing yourself to run after too much alcohol and off-the-charts sex with an Adonis? I’m surprised you can even walk today.”

  I sneer. “Sounds like someone is a little jealous,” I say.

  “Damn right I am.” She laughs. “I have more cobwebs now than you do.” I laugh, my grumpiness subsiding. “Seriously, though … you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I’m going to take your advice. Try and live in the moment … all that stuff.” I shrug.

  She nods slowly. “Don’t try to sound so convincing!” she says as she stands up, knowing I need to work through things myself. “I’m here if you need me. Have a good run.”

  “Thanks.”

  The fresh air, pavement beneath my feet, blaring music in my ears, and moving muscles feel masochisti
cally cathartic as I enter my fifth and final mile. I needed this. Needed to get out, clear my mind, and give myself time to think. My muscles, sore from last night’s dancing and great sex, are limber and moving on autopilot. As much as I think I should go for an extra mile, my stupidity in overlooking breakfast before my run has my body telling me that I won’t last much longer. Pitbull blasts in my ears, the song’s constant beat drives my feet and spins my head back to thoughts of last night.

  Oh, Colton. My head is still trying to wrap itself around what happened. He’s the chance I have been looking for. To be carefree. To live in the moment. To be alive, not just living. I resolve that I can have sex with Colton with emotion. The emotions just have to be fueled by excitement and anticipation and lust rather than love and devotion and the hope of “more.” I need to keep being the sassy, smart-mouthed woman I’ve been all along because the minute he thinks I want more, he’ll be out the door. And it—him, me, us—will be over.

  I ponder this my last quarter of a mile, recalling how he made me feel physically last night. I guess there’s something to be said for lots of experience as I can attest that the man is skilled in the many facets of sexual dexterity. I blush, steeling my resolve that I can be with Colton without falling in love with him. I hope. That I’m going to enjoy every second of it because I know he’s not the staying kind.

  Teagan and Sara’s Closer fills my ears as I turn the corner onto my street, my footsteps faltering when I see a white Range Rover parked in my driveway. The rhythm has been knocked clear out of my stride at the shock of seeing him here. Colton is leaning up against the front fender of the car, his dark figure haloed by its white. A navy blue shirt fits snugly over his torso, hinting at the corded muscles underneath. Muscles I can still feel on my fingertips. A pair of printed board shorts sit low on his hips and his long, lean legs cross casually at the ankles, and he’s wearing a pair of flip-flops. Casual suits Colton very well. It lightens the intensity he naturally exudes. His head is bent, concentrating on the phone in his hands, and his unruly hair is spiked with gel to perfection in stylish, messy disarray. The pang of desire that hits my body is so strong, so overwhelming that I almost have to bring a hand to my torso to stifle it. I force myself to remember to breathe as I push my body to start moving again.

  To go home. To go to Colton.

  Shit. I’m in serious trouble. I admire him from afar, looking so unbelievable and attractive, and I realize that everything I thought about on my run—every stipulation, every rationalization, every justification of why it’s okay to sleep with him—doesn’t matter. Seeing him right here, right now, I know that I’ll do anything it takes, whatever the consequences, to be with him again. To repeat how he made me feel last night.

  Almost as if on cue, Colton glances up from his phone and locks eyes with me. A slow, smug grin lights up his face as I run my last few steps, turning up my driveway. I slowly pull out my ear buds, laughing to myself that Christina Aguilera’s Your Body is blasting. I can feel his eyes run up and down the length of my body, taking in my skin-hugging Capri exercise pants and matching razor-back tank top, a V of sweat down the front of my bust.

  “Hi,” I say breathlessly, my body still huffing from my exertion.

  “Hello, Rylee.” The rasp of his voice saying my name is an aphrodisiac sending chills down my spine and eliciting a tingling in my belly.

  “What are you doing here?” I look at him with confusion, hiding that my insides are privately jumping for joy, shocked that he is here in front of me.

  “Well,” he says, pushing himself off of the car as I walk in front of him. He exudes a confidence that most people would kill to have. “According to you, I took the checkered flag last night, Rylee...” a provocative smile forms on his lips “...but I seem to have neglected to collect my trophy.”

  “Trophy?”

  He takes my hand, eyes still locked on mine, sparkling with humor, and tugs on it, pulling me forcibly against his chest. “Yes. You.”

  Oh. Fucking. My. Thoughts run chaotically through my head. How do I respond to that? To him? When all I can think about is the feel of his warm, hard body against mine and the fact that he is here for me again after I ran out on him last night? I tell myself to breathe, his mere presence stripping me of the ability to perform the most basic functions. I quickly try to regain my composure, telling myself that I need to keep our interactions on my terms—revert to my sarcastic nature—in order to make sure that I can keep my wits about me.

  I hear Haddie’s voice in my head telling me to channel my inner slut. To go for it.

  I breathe in again before I raise my eyes to meet the challenge in his. His pure male scent, soap mixed with cologne, fills my nose and clouds my head. “Well, Ace, I think you’ve got your eyes on the wrong prize.” I pull my hand from his and put it on his chest, playfully pushing him back, distancing his body from mine. Needing the space to keep a clear head. “If all you’re looking for is a trophy, you have your bevy of beauties you can pick from. I’m sure that one of them would be more than willing to be a trophy on your arm.” I skirt past him toward the front door. I turn back to face him, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth. I shrug as I take a step backwards. “You could probably start by calling Raquel, is it? I’m sure she’ll forgive you for last night. I mean, you were...” I turn around and take a step for the door, pretending that I’m searching for a word before shrugging and tossing over my shoulder “...decent. She’s probably thrilled with decent.”

  I wish I could see the look on his face for the sharp intake of breath I hear tells me that I made a direct hit. I don’t have to wait long to find out because within a breath, Colton grabs my arm and spins me around to him, pressing my body against his.

  “Decent, huh?” he questions, his eyes boring into mine. I see anger, humor, defiance, all mixed together with desire. His breath flutters over my face, his lips inches from mine—so close that I clench my fists to resist the temptation to kiss him.

  It takes all of my composure to keep up my charade of nonchalance. To hide how much he excites me, ignites my insides and shatters my control with just the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch, and the hint of his dominant nature.

  I deliberately bite my bottom lip and look up in thought before bringing my eyes back to his. “Hmmm, a smidgen above average, I’d say.” Sarcasm drips from each word as I smirk at him, lying through my teeth and then some.

  “Maybe I need to show you again. I assure you that decent is not an accurate assessment.”

  He snorts loudly as I push away from him again and provocatively sashay my way up the front walk. “I need to go stretch,” I say, sensing his movement behind me. “Are you gonna come?” I ask innocently with a victorious smirk on my face that he can’t see.

  “If you keep moving your ass like that, I am,” he mutters under his breath as he follows me into the house.

  I lead him into the family room hoping Haddie is elsewhere and offer him a seat on the couch before I sit on the floor directly in front of him to stretch. I spread my legs out to either side of me as wide as they can go and lower my chest to the ground, hands out in front of me on the floor. With the help of my sports bra and my chest pressing into the floor, my cleavage is pushed up and hedges over the top of my tank. I can see Colton’s eyes wander over my body, stopping at my chest and taking in my flexibility. I can hear his hiss of desire, and I see his throat forcefully swallow.

  “So, Colton,” I say, stretching out over one prone leg, turning my head to look at him. I stifle a smile as I recognize the lust clouding his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

  “Christ, Rylee!” He runs a hand haphazardly through his hair, his eyes moving over the cleavage again, before raising up to meet my eyes. He unintentionally wets his bottom lip with his tongue.

  “What?” I respond all doe-eyed, as if I have no idea what he’s agitated over. I’ve never played the femme fatale—never had the courage to—but something about Colton allows me to f
eel daring and bold. It’s a very heady feeling to watch him react to me.

  “We need to talk about last night.” I see his eyes narrow as I switch positions, now lying on my back. I pull my right leg all the way up, pressing it to my chest, my shin inches from my nose. I lift my head up and look through the open V of my legs to encourage him to go on. He clears his throat noisily before continuing, taking a minute to remember his train of thought. “Why you left? Why you ran away? Again.”

  I switch legs, taking my time to pull my other leg up, and stretch it over my head, making a low moan at how good it feels to elongate my tightened muscles. “Colton—”

  “Can you please stop?” he barks out, shifting restlessly on the couch and adjusting the growing bulge that presses against the seam of his shorts. “Christ,” he swears again as I roll over into child’s pose, my bent rear in his view. “You in those yoga pants all limber and bending in half—you’re making me lose my concentration here.”

  I look over my shoulder from my stretch and coyly bat my eyelashes at him. “Hmmm?” I feign as if I didn’t hear him.

  Colton sighs in exasperation. “You’re gonna make me forget my apologies and take you right here on the floor. Hard and fast, Rylee.”

  “Oh,” is all I can manage for his threat-laced promise sends shock waves through me, my body more than eager for his skilled touch again. My lips part to remind my lungs to breathe. My nipples harden at the thought. I push myself up to a seated position, cross my legs, and adjust my top to try and hide my body’s excitement. “Although I’m sure it’s me who should be apologizing, Colton.”

  He ignores my words, his eyes holding mine, various emotions flickering through them. “Why’d you leave, Rylee?”

  The command in his tone has me swallowing quickly, my confidence waning. I shrug. “A number of reasons, Colton. I told you, I’m just not that kind of girl. I don’t do one-night stands.”

  “Who said it was a one-night stand?”