by Bromberg, K.
A bubble of hope sputters inside of me, but I quickly try to stifle it. Not a one-night stand? Then what the hell was it? What the hell is this? I try to figure out what he’s looking for. What he might think this is between us. I look at his eyes, searching for a clue, but his expression gives nothing away. “What?” Confusion etches my face. “You lost me. I thought commitment wasn’t your thing.”
“It isn’t.” He says with a shrug. “I don’t believe you.” He crosses his arms across his chest, biceps straining against shirtsleeves, and leans back into the couch. He quirks his eyebrows at me and waits for my answer.
“What?” He’s lost me.
“Your excuse for running last night. I don’t buy it. Why’d you leave, Rylee?”
I guess that’s the end of the no-girlfriend discussion. But what about the not-a-one-night-stand comment? As for an answer, how do I explain to him how he made me feel last night after he left the bed? Used and ashamed. How do I tell him he hurt me without sounding like I have feelings for him? Feelings mean drama, and he has let me know he doesn’t want or tolerate that in his life.
“I just—” I sigh deeply, pulling my hair tie from my ponytail and letting my hair fall down my back, trying to find the right words. I look him in the eyes, figuring honesty is the easiest route. “You made it clear that you were done with me. With us …” I can feel the heat of my flush spread over my cheeks. Embarrassed that I am going to sound like a needy, whining female. “Cursing adamantly to demonstrate why my presence was no longer needed.”
He eyes me cautiously, his eyes blinking rapidly as he contemplates my words. I try to keep my face unexpressive so he can’t see the hurt I feel, and yet I see a myriad of emotions fleet across his face as he struggles to gain his footing. “Sweet Jesus, Rylee!” he mutters closing his eyes momentarily, his mouth opening and closing as if he has more to say. Finally he looks back at me. “Do you have any idea … you made me—” He stops mid-sentence before standing abruptly and walking to the window. I hear him mutter a curse and I blanch at its severity. “I just want to protect you from—” He stops again, and sighs. He puts a hand to the back of his neck and pulls down on it while he rolls his head. He stands there momentarily, looking out at the front yard, both of us silent.
I made him what? Protect me from what? Finish the sentences, I plead silently as I watch his tense body framed by the mid-morning light. I just need an ounce of honesty from him. A sign that what happened meant more than just a quick romp. I’d give anything to see his face at this moment. So I can try to read the emotions he’s masking from me.
He turns back around and any emotion that was displayed on his face is gone. “I asked you to stay.” He says the words as if they’re the only apology he’s giving for his actions. “That’s all I can give you right now, Rylee. All I’m good for.” His voice is gruff and laced with what I think is regret. I feel as if he’s trying to tell me so much more but I’m not sure what. The words hang between us for a moment, his jaw clenched, eyes intense.
I snort loudly, uncomfortable with the silence, trying not to read too much into his words. “C’mon Colton, we both know you didn’t mean it.” I rise from the carpet, grabbing my hair and twisting it quickly into a bun.
He takes a couple of steps toward me, his lips twisting as if that action alone will prevent him from saying more. We stand a few feet apart, staring at each other, and each waiting for the other to make the next move. I shrug before looking down and twisting the ring on my right ring finger. I look back up at him, hoping my explanation will stifle any questions he has about having to manage my expectations of a possible future. Baggage equals drama to him, and he’s already admitted to me that he hates drama.
“Let’s just say I left last night for reasons you don’t want to know about.” His eyes remain on mine, silently asking for more. I huff loudly. “I’ve got lots of excess baggage, Ace.”
I wait for the deep exhale from him—the impassive expression to glaze over his face reflecting a man distancing himself from complication, but neither happens. Instead, Colton’s mouth widens into a cocky smile and his green eyes fill with humor—both of which ease the severity of his countenance.
“Oh, Rylee,” he empathizes with a trace of amusement in his voice, “I know all about baggage, sweetheart. I have enough of it to fill up a 747 and then some.” Despite his smiling façade, I see the darkness flicker in his eyes momentarily as some unpleasant thought holds his memory.
Holy shit. What can I say to that? How do I respond to him when he’s just hinted at a dark, sordid past? What the hell happened to him? I stare at him, eyes wide and my teeth worrying my bottom lip back and forth. Is this why he doesn’t do the girlfriend thing? I mean, talk about going from fun, flirty banter to a serious conversation. And why does this seem to be a common occurrence for us?
Because he matters. Because this matters. The words flicker through my head, and I have to push them away, afraid to believe.
He takes a step closer to me, and I lower my eyes momentarily to the visible beat of his pulse at the base of his jaw. My hands want to reach out and touch him. Console him even. To feel the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. I sigh softly before I look back up at him, a suggestive smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
“This could be interesting,” he murmurs as he reaches out to play with an errant curl on the side of my face.
His fingers roam to my haphazard bun and tug the self-sustaining knot. My hair tumbles free, falling down my back in a waterfall of curls. He runs a hand through it, stopping at the nape of my neck where my hair is damp with sweat. I cringe at the thought, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he fists his hand in it, holding my curls ransom so I can’t look away from him.
“How so?” I ask, a charge jolting through me, arousing me, from the possessive nature of his hold. He mesmerizes me—his eyes, the lines of his face, his sensuous mouth, the way his muscles pulse in his jaw when conflicted.
“Well, it seems that your baggage makes you so scared to feel you constantly pull away. Run from me,” his voice rasps as he lazily trails a fingertip down my bare shoulder. I struggle to prevent my body from automatically leaning into his addictive touch. But I can’t stop myself. He tilts his head to the side, watching my reaction. “Whereas mine? My baggage? It makes me crave the sensory overload of physicality—the stimulating indulgence of skin on skin. Of you beneath me.”
And therein lies the problem—when he refers to me, he speaks of feelings and emotions and when he refers to himself he speaks of physical contact. I try to turn my mind off. I try to tell myself that the physical contact is what I want from him too. The only thing that I can have from him. Acknowledge it’s the only part he’ll share of himself with me.
It’s an easy thing to remember because Colton leans forward and brushes his lips tenderly against mine. All conflicting thoughts disappear with his touch. A soft sigh of a kiss that we slowly sink into. I part my lips for him, his tongue slipping inside to stroke gently and meld with mine. Unhurried, lazy strokes of tongue and fingertips as he runs them over my bare shoulders and up the vertebrae on my neck. I could kiss him like this forever in this hazy state of desire. His earthy scent envelopes me, his heady taste consumes me, and his incendiary touch ignites me. He groans with our kiss, the rumble of it caught within me, vibrating through me.
A warm, soothing ache seeps into my chest and spreads throughout the rest of my body. I turn my mind off and allow myself to just feel. To revel in the sensations that he evokes within me. He is my fire on a cold night, the sun warming my skin on a cool spring morning, the wind caressing my face on an autumn day—he is everything that makes me feel alive, and whole, and beautiful.
And desired.
I slide my hands under the hem of his shirt and splay them wide across his lower back. His taut skin heats beneath my touch. I need this connection with him like I need sunlight. For when we touch like this, when I can feel him like this, I have no doubt that I can do
this. That I can be what he needs me to be for however long he’ll allow it. Because the chance to be with him, to remain under his spell, means I’ll push my needs aside and bury them deeply so that I can be who he wants.
Colton cups my face in his hands, the kiss softening, stopping with a brush of lips so gentle that it sends chills up my spine. I sigh softly into him as he wraps his arms around me, strong muscles pulling me into the comfort of his warmth. I rest my head on his chest, smelling clean linen and fresh soap. I can hear his heart beating, strong and steady against my ear. I close my eyes, wanting this moment to last forever.
He rests his chin atop my head. I can hear him inhale a shaky breath before he speaks. “It’s unfathomable how much I want you, Rylee.” He pulls me tighter into him. “How much I’m drawn to you.”
I bask silently in his admission, a small smile on my lips. Maybe I do affect him. I shake the thought from my head, not wanting to overcomplicate, overanalyze, or over think the simplicity and the sweetness of this moment between us.
“Rylee?”
“Hmmm?”
“Go out with me—on a real date.” I can feel his body tense against mine, as if it’s painful to ask. To admit he wants this from me. “Go out with me, not because I paid for a date with you but because you want to.”
Elation soars through me at the thought of getting to see him again. Of spending time with him again.
“Say yes, Ryles,” he murmurs with a quiet desperation as he kisses the top of my head. “It’s unimaginable how much I want you to say yes.”
I lean back, shocked by the vulnerability I hear in his voice and sense in his body language. Why is he afraid I’ll say no when everyone else would say yes? I raise my eyes to his, trying to read the emotions flashing through his. I see passion and humor, desire and challenge, promise and fear. Why does this beautifully tormented man want to spend time with ordinary me? I don’t have the answer, but I know in this moment, looking at him, I can see so much more in his eyes than I think he wants me to. And what I see, it scares me on so many levels that I have to tuck it away for later when I’m all alone. I can analyze it then. Replay it then.
Hope then.
I raise a hand to run it against the roughness of his slight stubble, liking its coarseness beneath my fingers. The texture tells me that this moment is real. That he is really here with me. I lean up on my tiptoes and place a soft, closed-mouth kiss on his sculpted lips.
“Yes,” I breathe, and with my answer, regardless of all of the psychological propaganda I barrage myself with, I know that Colton Donavan has just put the first fissure in the protective wall around my heart.
He nods his head subtly, a shy smile on his face, no words expressed. He pulls me into him one more time. “Tonight?” he asks.
I still, mentally looking over my calendar, knowing that I have no plans but not wanting to seem too eager.
“I’ll be here at six to pick you up, Rylee,” he decides for me before I have a chance to answer. He releases me and looks me in the eye to make sure that I hear him. All trace of vulnerability is long gone when I meet his eyes. It’s been replaced with his trademark confidence.
I bite my bottom lip and nod in agreement, suddenly feeling shy.
He cups my chin, running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “See you then, sweetheart.”
“Bye.” I exhale, already missing him.
He walks to the front door, opens it, and then turns back to me, “Hey, Ryles?”
“Hmmm-hmmm.”
“No more running away from me,” he cautions before flashing a quick grin and closing the door behind him. With his departure, I can suddenly breathe again. His presence is so strong, so overpowering, it overwhelms the room. Infiltrates my senses. With him gone, I feel like I can process what just happened. Finally breathe.
I stand facing the door and close my eyes, absorbing everything that has just transpired. Nothing is solved. None of my questions are answered: Why he doesn’t do the girlfriend thing? What is this between us since it’s not a one-night stand? What was he really going to say when he said I made him, but never finished? What is he trying to protect me from? What kind of baggage fills his 747?
I sigh heavily. So much has been left unanswered, and yet I feel like so much has been expressed without being said. I sit down on the couch, my head reeling from the last week.
“Is he gone?” I hear Haddie’s hushed voice from the other side of the wall.
“Yes, nosy girl.” I laugh. “Come out here and give me your two cents.”
“Holy crap!” she shouts as she hurries around the wall and flops down on the couch next to me. “Hot date tonight!” she sings loudly, raising her arms up in the air. “Whew, I need to take a cold shower after that.”
“You watched?” I blush quickly, embarrassed at the thought of having an audience.
“No, no, no, it wasn’t like that,” she corrects. “I was in the kitchen when you guys came in the house. If I would’ve left, you’d have seen me and I didn’t want to distract from your floor show,” she teases, referring to my stretching routine. “I heard only.”
I blush at the thought of her listening to our conversation, but find comfort in the notion that she listened. Now I can get an unbiased opinion about our exchange.
“Ace? Does he know what that stands for?”
“Nope!” I smirk.
“Damn, Ry...” Haddie shakes her head “...the man’s got it bad for you.”
I falter. Her statement blindsides me. I pick at the cuticle on the side of my nail for a moment, trying not to jump to conclusions. “Nah, it’s more like pure, unadulterated lust.”
“Not how I see it,” Haddie responds, my eyebrows quirk up in question. “Smitten is the word that comes to mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, c’mon, Rylee! Hard and fast?” she sputters.
“That’s just sex.” I shrug. “Not commitment.”
“It’s unfathomable how much he wants you?” she tries.
“Sex again,” I correct.
“Unimaginable how much he wanted you to say yes to tonight?”
“Because he thinks it will lead to sex,” I reply with a smile on my face.
“How about when he said it wasn’t a one-night stand?” she tries again, eyes full of humor. Her heart shaped lips form a smile, thinking she’s proven me wrong this time.
“Semantics,” I answer. “Maybe he wants a thirty-night stand? I mean he only said it wasn’t a one-nighter.”
“You’re incorrigible.” She laughs, grabbing my knee and squeezing it lightly. “But hell, at least it’d be thirty days worth of great sex, Rylee!” she gushes, her excitement for me palpable. “You’re going out with him again tonight! On a real date!”
“I know.” I sigh, shaking my head at the thought of getting to spend more time with Colton. “At least there might be conversation tonight before we have sex,” I joke, although a rational part of me knows the truth.
Haddie bursts out laughing. “Oh, Rylee, my sensible friend...” she pats my leg “...this is going to be so much fun to watch you experience.”
I quirk my eyebrow at her and shake my head, filled with so much love for her and so much confusion over the situation with Colton. I sigh deeply, leaning my head back on the comfortable couch and angling it to the side so I can look at her. “Did I handle that right, Haddie? I tried so hard to be what he wants and—”
“You are what he wants, Rylee, or he wouldn’t have tracked you down to your house.” She is exasperated at having to explain this to me. Again. “C’mon, Ry,” she says, oblivious to my train of thought. “What you did was brilliant! You walk out on him after sex last night and the next morning he shows up at our doorstep. I mean...” she shakes her head, a knowing smile on her lips “...that’s more than just sex, Ry. The man’s got it bad for you.”
I feel her words take hold, but I’m afraid to believe them. Afraid to hope that there’s a chance at anything with Colto
n. My head tries to shut out the surge from my heart, but it fails miserably. The hopeless romantic in me allows me a moment to daydream. To hope. I close my eyes, sinking in to the glimmer of possibility.
“Shit!” I scrub my hands over my face as panic makes its way through my thoughts.
“What?” Haddie opens her eyes, narrowing them as she looks over at me.
“What if I can’t do it?”
“Which part of it are you referring to?” she questions warily. “Because it’s a little late, sister, if the it you’re referring to is sex.”
“Very funny.” I huff. “I meant what if I can’t turn off the emotions. What if I fall for him, Had?” I sit up and run my fingers through my hair, and the action makes me think of Colton’s fingers there earlier. “I mean he’s arrogant and overconfident and he warns me away but tells me he’s drawn to me, and he’s reckless and he’s passionate and sexy as hell and … so, so much more.” I press my fingers to my eyes and sit there for a minute, Haddie allowing me the moment to absorb everything. “I know without a doubt that it’s a good possibility.” I look up at her. “Then what?”
“It seems he’s not the only one who’s smitten,” she says softly before I glare at her. She scoots over next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. “No one can fault you for being afraid, Rylee, but life’s about taking chances. About having fun and not always playing it safe. So what if he’s a little reckless? The fact that he scares you might be a good thing. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” She leans back and wriggles her eyebrows. “Have some wild, reckless sex with him. He obviously likes you. Who knows, maybe it will turn into something more. Maybe it won’t. But at least you took the chance.”
WHY THE FUCK AM I here? Seriously, Donavan? Chasing her like a damn chick after last night. After I fucked her and then freaked the hell out and basically pushed her away. Like that doesn’t have douchebag written all over it.
Walk away, Donavan. Lift the right foot, then the left, and walk around the fucking Rover. Leave the complication alone and ease what-the-fuck-ever is that weird pressure in my chest.
