The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  The tension in Colton’s shoulders relaxes some and a disbelieving smile tickles the corners of his mouth. Unapologetically, he reaches his hand out to shake Tanner’s hand. Tanner looks at Colton and his outstretched hand and then over at me. “So, Bubs, this is the asshole?” he asks, his eyes silently imploring if this is who is the current cause of my tears.

  I look at him, a timid smile gracing my lips. “Yes,” I murmur answering both spoken and unspoken questions and glance over at Colton.

  “Well shit,” Tanner says, grasping Colton’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “Have a seat man.” He exhales. “I need a fucking beer after that.” I stare at both of them, mystified at how men operate. Ready to go to blows one minute, in complete understanding the next.

  “I’d love to, but I’m late for my afternoon meeting.” He emits a sliver of a laugh. “Nice to meet you though. Maybe another time?” Colton turns his gaze on me. “Walk me out?”

  I look at Tanner and he nods at me as if to tell me to go. I exhale, not realizing I’m holding my breath, suddenly nervous to be alone with Colton. Nervous to play the disinterested and aloof card. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Tanner, feeling like a little kid asking for his consent.

  “Tanner.” Colton nods at my brother in goodbye before placing his hand on the small of my back and steering me through the kitchen and out the side door of the restaurant.

  The brief time it takes to walk toward a staff exit, I think of how we ended things the last time we spoke. Of the two options he gave me, pit stop or arrangement. That I gave him his pit stop, but I still feel unsettled. That because I’ve been swimming in lack of reassurance, regardless of the term, I still feel like one in a long line of bedtime companions.

  I shake the thought away, forcing myself to step outside of my overemotional, over-analytical head and acknowledge that with most, success comes in baby steps. And even though Colton hasn’t expressed wanting anything more than an arrangement with me, he took a baby step in calling ‘pit stop’. No more wishy-washy, I tell myself as I recall Haddie’s advice on how to interact with him. Aloof, unattainable, but desirable.

  As Colton pushes open an exit door and ushers me outside, I’m preparing myself for the question of why I’ve not called him back. He’s called me twice and I’ve physically forced myself to not react and pick up the phone.

  Colton shuts the door and turns around to face me. Screw being unattainable. It takes all of my dignity to not push him up against the wall and kiss him senseless. The man makes me absolutely irrational and completely wanton.

  He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me, his head angled to the side. “So your brother’s in town?”

  I give an unladylike snort. “I think we already established that,” I answer dryly, fighting the urge to gap the distance between us. “Got a short fuse, do we?”

  I can’t read the look that passes through his eyes because it flashes quickly. “When it comes to you, yes. I saw his arms around you.” He shrugs—the only explanation I receive. “Is he here for long?”

  I stare at him for a moment, confused by his nonchalance in regards to a fight he almost had with my brother over nothing. Finally, I glance down at my watch and rest my hips back against the retaining wall behind me, figuring I’ll let it go for now. “Yeah, just for today. He’s due at the airport in an hour and a half.” I pick a piece of lint off of my tunic sweater as a means to keep my eyes and hands occupied before smoothing it down over my leggings.

  Colton leans a shoulder against the wall in front of me, and when I look up I see his eyes run the length of my legs. They travel up the rest of my body, stalling when they come to my lips and then moving back up to my eyes. “Been busy?” he asks.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I answer vaguely. “And you?”

  “Yeah, but this is the calm before the storm with the season just around the corner.” He stares at me, his green eyes penetrating into mine. “Did you have a good night out?” he probes.

  I give him a deer in the headlights look but recover quickly when I realize he’s referring to Haddie’s little performance on the phone the other night. “From what I remember of it, yes.” I flash a sassy smirk at him, hoping my acting is convincing enough to fool him. “You know how it is when you go out…too many guys thinking they’re way too cool, too much alcohol, and too little clothes—it all becomes a blur.”

  I see anger flicker through his eyes at my too many guys comment, and I like the fact that he’s bugged by the idea. I like that he’s thought about it enough to ask. And after his little altercation with Tanner, it’s more than obvious that Colton has a little jealous streak running rampant through him.

  It’s kind of hot that such a streak is flaring over me.

  He angles his head and studies me for a beat. For once, I don’t avert my eyes under his severe scrutiny. I hold his gaze with boredom written in my expression. “Why do you seem so distant? Unapproachable?” He grunts, surprising me with his comment.

  “Unapproachable? Me? I didn’t realize I was being that way.” I feign innocence when all I want to do is reach out and touch him.

  “Well, you are.” He sighs, exasperation glancing across the features of his face.

  “Oh, well I guess I’m just trying to abide by your parameters, Ace. Be exactly what you want me to be.” I smile sweetly at him.

  “Which is what?” He huffs, confusion on his face.

  “Emotionally detached, sexually available, and drama free.” I can see the muscle in his jaw pulse as he takes a step near me, irritation flashing in his eyes at the defiance in my tone. “What are you doing here?”

  He stares at me long and hard with such intensity that I nearly cave and tell him how bad I want him. Screw the mind games. “Luckily I escaped without the paps following me. Kelly let me up on the roof away from the crowd for some peace and quiet to eat my lunch.” I arch a brow at him. “The owner,” he says, breathing out an exasperated sigh at either the unease between us or for feeling like he needs to explain. Maybe a bit of both. I look down and focus on the chip in my manicure, desperately wanting to approach him. Kiss him. Hug him. “It’s a good place to sit and mull things over.”

  “And what exactly are you mulling over?”

  “The shit that I’m supposed to be getting together,” he responds wryly. My eyes flash up to see a mixture of amusement and sincerity in his.

  We stare at each other for a moment, my pulse accelerating from his proximity. I try to read the look on his face. Is he serious? Is he really trying to get his head straight or is he just mocking Haddie? I can’t tell. “I-I sh-should get back inside. I don’t have much more time until Tanner has to leave again.” I push myself up and stand.

  Colton takes a step closer to me, and our bodies brush against each other’s briefly, his touch sending sparks of need spiraling through my system. I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from leaning in against him. “Can I see you later?” he asks, trailing a finger down the side of my face.

  Does that mean the pit stop’s over? Or he just needs to get laid? Either way, I need some clarity here. I fight the urge to lean my cheek into the feel of his fingertip on my cheek.

  Stay strong, stay strong, stay strong, I repeat to myself. I struggle with how to answer. What to say?

  “I’ll send Sammy by the house at six to pick you up,” he answers for me in my warring silence.

  Wow, I guess he thinks that I’m a sure thing. And then the notion hits me that maybe all along he’s wanted his arrangement with me, went further than he’d anticipated, and used the pit stop comment to try and put me back in my place. To put distance back between us.

  Haddie’s advice runs through my mind mixed with the notion that he thinks I’m going to just step back into this without a further explanation strengthens my resolve. “Sorry.” I shake my head and avert my eyes so he can’t see through my lie. “I have plans tonight.”

  I feel his body tense at my words. “What?” His tone is forced but quiet. It�
��s obvious rejection is foreign to him.

  “I have plans with Haddie,” I volunteer, afraid he might think that I’m out with another guy. And if he thinks that I’m out with another guy then it’d be okay for him to be out with another girl. My stomach twists at the thought, and I realize I’m not very good at playing these types of games because all I want to do is tell him that yes I want to see him tonight. That I’d change any plans I have to be able to see him. And then I’d press him up against the wall and take with frustration everything that I want without a second thought of spooking him or crossing imaginary boundaries.

  Colton lets out a dissatisfied grunt. “We’re just having dinner at home,” I tell him, “but it’s a big deal because we haven’t seen each other.” Stop rambling, Rylee, or he’ll know you’re lying. “I can’t go back on my promise to her.”

  Colton places a finger under my chin and lifts my head up to meet his green irises, studying me. “Well you’re not trying very hard then,” he admonishes despite humor alight in his eyes.

  Confusion flits through me, unsure of what he’s talking about. “Trying hard at what?” I shake my head not understanding.

  He smirks arrogantly at me. “At being what I want you to be.” The breath I exhale is audible as his eyes remain locked on mine. “Because if you were really trying,” he explains, finishing the game I’d started, “you’d be where I want you. Wet, warm, and beneath me tonight.”

  I hold his stare while I try to think of what to say next. My body quivers at his words. It takes a few seconds for my brain to recover from his comment, and when it does, I take a step back from him. Distance is essential when dealing with him.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I exhale, watching the surprise on his face from my admission. “Why would I want to be someone’s beck and call girl? Predictable is boring, Ace. And from what I hear, you seem to get bored real quick.”

  When he just stands there and stares at me, a bewildered look on his face, I skirt around him. He reaches out and grabs on to my arm, turning me to face him. “Where are you going?” he demands.

  “To see my brother,” I tell him, looking over at his hand and then back at him. “Let me know when you get your shit together.” I shrug from his grip and yank the door open to the kitchen without looking back. All I hear before the door shuts is Colton laughing and swearing at the same time.

  FUCKING TEMPERAMENTAL WOMEN!

  My lungs burn. My muscles ache. My feet pound into the treadmill belt as if I’m trying to punish it. It doesn’t matter. No matter how hard I push, my head is still screwed up. Rylee’s still mucking up my thoughts. Constantly.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I asked for the goddamn pit stop. Took my shot at putting it back on more familiar footing. So why am I the one that feels like she’s left me behind?

  Fucking women. Complicated. Temperamental. Necessary. Fuck me.

  The music pounds in my earbuds. The driving beat of Good Charlotte pushes me harder, but the pressure in my chest doesn’t dissipate. I count my footsteps when I run. Only to ninety-nine and then I start over again. I swear to God I’ve restarted the count a hundred damn times so far and nothing has helped.

  I’ve never played games with women before, and I have no intention of starting now. I say when. I say whom. I give the terms.

  I take what I want. When I want it.

  And any and all of my previous bedside companions abide by my parameters without so much as a fucking flinch. No questions asked except for “Baby, how do you want me tonight? Knees or back? Cuffs or restraints? Mouth or pussy?”

  All except for Rylee.

  Fucking frustrating. First, I almost go to blows with her brother today, and then she walks away refusing to see me tonight. I know she wants me. It’s written all over her ridiculously hot body. It’s reflected in those magnificent eyes that draw you in and swallow you whole. And hell if I don’t want her every minute of every hour. But what the fuck? She walked away, left me there, and didn’t even hesitate at saying no about tonight.

  No? Are you fucking kidding me? When is the last time I heard that? Oh yeah. Right. From Rylee. Shit. Now all I can think about is her. Seeing her. Hearing her. Burying myself in her until she sighs that little sound right before she’s about to come. It’s so goddamn sexy it’s ridiculous.

  I am not pussy-whipped. No way. No how. Not even close.

  So why not call somebody else for a quick, uncomplicated fuck then? Why does the thought not even sound appealing? You’re losing it, Donavan. I must’ve dipped my wick in the pool of crazies one too many times, and now it’s fucking up my head.

  I shove a finger at the screen and bump up the incline, forcing myself into ignoring my own damn thoughts. The song switches to Desperate Measures but the sarcasm in the lyrics I usually love does nothing for me.

  Goddamnit! Nothing works. Music. Incline. Speed. Shit! I keep seeing her in the bathtub, fingers firm on my balls, eyes heated with intensity, lips telling me how exactly she deserves to be treated. What she won’t put up with from me again.

  That’s a first. Someone setting parameters for me. Has hell frozen over and no one told me? She had my balls in a fucking vise, and all I could think of was how much I wanted her. In my bed. In my office. At the track. In my life.

  And not just on her back.

  She must have a voodoo pussy or something. Reeling me up and snagging me in her hooks without realizing it. I’m just fucking horny. That’s gotta be why my head’s all messed up. A week’s a long time for me to go without sex. Shit! I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a dry spell like this.

  So why’d you pit stop her then the other day, dumbass? She’d have been beneath you tonight if you hadn’t. Why’d you open your mouth?

  I groan in frustration at my stupidity. At my need for release that this stupid-ass treadmill is definitely not helping with.

  I can’t stop rehashing the other morning. Fuck! It’s official. Rehashing shit? I’m without a doubt a goddamn chick now. I must have lost my balls somewhere in the past week.

  Only chicks rehash shit, but I keep thinking about standing with her on her porch…how I was just trying to do the right thing—protect her by pushing her away from the train wreck in my head. Trying to allow her the chance to find someone else that can give her what she needs—what she deserves—but I couldn’t get the words out no matter how hard I tried. And then she stepped up and kissed me. Kissed me with such honesty and reassurance that I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was feel. The moment was too real. Too raw. Too close.

  Yep. I have a pussy. No doubt about it now.

  But fuck if that simple taste of her didn’t make me realize I’ve been starving for so very long.

  And then I knew I had to put some distance between us and the foreign feeling of need that flashed through me. The need to covet. To protect. To care for. I had to push back from the one thing I know for fucking sure I don’t want.

  Love. Love and the things required of you with it.

  Crying pit stop was like crying fucking wolf. Trying to tell myself I needed space to bring us back to the only set-up I’ll accept. Back on arrangement status. I may have used her term to soften the blow, but my only thought was if I get us back to set parameters, then I’ll be able to get the control back I felt slipping away. Regain the need to rely solely on myself.

  I push a finger to the screen and wait for the treadmill to stop. I stand there, chest heaving, sweat dripping, and feeling no better for the hour of punishment I just put in. I glance out through the wall of glass at the shop down below, watching the guys finish with some engine adjustments we’d decided on yesterday before scrubbing the towel over my face and through my soaked hair.

  My body feels like I’m floating a little when I hit the floor after being on the treadmill for so long. I head through the door on my left and into the bathroom that connects the gym to my office. I take a quick shower, glance in the mirror deciding to forgo the shave, and throw some shi
t in my hair.

  Does she know how fucked up I am? Does she have any idea what a bastard I am? How I usually take when I need to and then discard? I need to tell her. Somehow. Someway. I need to warn her of the poison inside of me.

  I’m pulling my shirt over my head when it hits me what I need to get out of my funk. I walk out into my office and head straight to my desk to grab my cell to make some calls and get the ball rolling. But first I need to send her a text. Need to give her a warning the only way she’ll hear it.

  I pull up her name on my phone and type: Push – Matchbox Twenty. Then I hit send, my mind running the lyrics over and over in my head: “I wanna take you for granted. Well I will.”

  “What crawled up your ass?”

  Despite its familiarity, I jolt at the sound of the voice. I whirl around to see Becks sitting in one of the chairs in front of my desk with his feet propped up on another.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” I bark out, running a hand through my hair. “Fuckin’ A, Becks!”

  “From the looks of it, you need to fuck a B brother. It’s got an extra hole and you sure as hell look like you can use the added release,” he drawls out, amusement in his eyes as they narrow and study me trying to figure out what’s going on.

  A sliver of a laugh escapes my lips as my heart begins to decelerate. I sink down in my chair and prop my feet up on my desk, mirroring him. We just stare at each other, years of companionship allowing there to be comfort in the silence as I weigh what to say and he measures how much to ask.

  He finally decides to break the silence. “It’s a lot easier and cheaper to get it off your chest, Wood, than to break the damn treadmill, you know.” I just give him a measured nod before glancing down at the garage again, one of my obsessive habits. “You gonna go all rogue on me with the silent treatment now?” When I look back at Becks, his eyes are now staring at the guys below, ignoring the sneer I’m giving him. “Or are you going to explain why you sat through that entire meeting after lunch with your head up your ass, giving little to no input and just being a dick in general. Only to end it without a decision so you could go break the treadmill?” He slowly moves his gaze back to mine with eyebrows arched in question and an appraising look in his eyes.