Which is why I have to avoid him. He’s too big, too powerful, too…much. This is why I gave him the wrong number ten years ago: Colton Wild has the power to break through all my protective barriers, and that’s terrifying.
“Haven’t seen you all day. You ready? We’re heading next door.” Angie’s blond hair hangs perfectly over her shoulder as she leans her hip against my doorframe. Like a lot of the women in my line of work, she could easily pass for a model. My red hair always stood out, and not in a good way. Blond seems to make everyone feel safe; I, on the other hand, have been called everything from “Carrot Top” to “Annie.”
“I’m coming.” I don’t particularly enjoy weekly happy hour with my department, but I do it, because being close with my colleagues is vital for my career. If they don’t like me, they won’t want to help me with an interview, or a lead, or a promotion.
I’m lucky in that I genuinely like my coworkers. For the most part, they’re all good people who just want to succeed, like me. But I’m not a sociable person, and hanging out beyond work hours has always felt like more of a chore than a fun time. Tonight, however, happy hour is a relief. I’m looking forward to spending a couple of hours where I can relax with a drink, and listen to other people’s stories, rather than the one story I have on a loop in my brain—Colton’s lips on mine.
Angie and I head next door together. As soon as we walk into Tommy’s Bar, our group calls to us from the large corner booth. My department staked a claim to this booth over a year ago, and ever since, this is where we sit. Meg, Morgan, Ted, Brianna, and Monty. While Angie and I do the on-air interviews, Meg and Morgan work in post-production, Ted does the camerawork, and Brianna and Monty are Glenn’s assistants. Glenn’s our boss, and he rarely comes to Tommy’s, although he’s been known to surprise us every so often.
“Look who’s here!” Ted calls out to me when Angie and I reach the booth. “The water nymph who scored a huge interview!”
Angie laughs as she and I sit down. “Yeah, Sky,” she says as she hugs me. “That is a huge score.”
“Although I hear it was more of a touchdown than an interview that you scored, Skylar,” Meg says. “Tell us what it was like to have football star Colton Wild save you from drowning!”
I glare at Ted. “I was not drowning. I was barely in past my ankles!”
“That wave carried you out pretty far,” he insists. His hazel eyes flash, like he’s remembering the moment with actual joy. “And Colton Wild just traipsed into the water after you like it was nothing. He scooped you up in his arms and brought you to shore.” He fans his face dramatically. “It was so romantic.”
I swear, every woman at the table lets out a swoony sigh.
“The man has muscles that go on for days,” Ted goes on. “And those baby blues—I swear, I almost passed out myself when we made eye contact. But his attention was all on Ms. Rosewood here. Of course, she needed the help—she’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for him!”
I turn to Angie and try to plead my case. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. I would have been fine.”
“I thought you were unconscious,” she says.
I exhale. “I was out for a few seconds. Not much longer.”
Ted raises his eyebrows at me.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Colton rescued me from the jaws of death. Happy?”
“Much,” Ted and Angie say together.
I reach for a glass and pour myself some beer out of the pitcher placed in the center of the table.
Angie gasps. “You never drink draft beer!”
Ted winks and pretends to throw a football.
I give him another glare as I say to her, “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
I bring the glass to my mouth and swallow down half the beer.
Another gasp from Angie. “You always sip your drinks; you never chug them!”
“I am not chugging.” I speak in measured tones, trying to bring calm to the table.
Meg giggles. “I think this interview with Maxwell White has someone a little tense.”
Everyone grins at me, and then Ted raises his glass in a toast to my big break.
I smile, genuinely excited. But I’m also secretly relieved that the conversation has turned away from the real reason I’m chugging a beer at five o’clock on a weekday.
That reason would be the hot guy from my past, the one who just swept into my present like he belongs here. And I don’t know how to break the chemistry between us. If ten years apart didn’t change it, what will?
* * *
Two hours tick by, and I try to immerse myself in the happy hour chatter, but my mind is distracted. I pull out my phone to check my messages so often Angie threatens to take it away from me until we leave the bar.
My colleagues all think I’m obsessed with hearing from Maxwell White so I can confirm the interview date I tentatively set up with him this morning. I wish my obsession was about work. That would normally be exactly what I was worrying over: my career.
But tonight, my focus is on a different topic: men. One man exactly.
Colton still hasn’t tried out my number since I gave it to him earlier today. And part of me is surprised. He sounded so certain when he said he’d be in touch with me, and I’ve never thought of Colton as a patient man. So the lack of a phone call makes me wonder if he’s forgotten about me already. I tell myself that would be a good thing, a very good thing, and I try to ignore the sagging feeling in my chest, a sensation that’s a lot like disappointment.
I can’t be disappointed! Why should I be? I didn’t even want to give Colton my number. He insisted on it, and I wasn’t going to be such a jerk again, like I was when I was a kid, and lie to him. He deserves better than that. I hated giving him the wrong number the first time, but I wasn’t feeling safe in the world back then. Not that I am now, but my father isn’t literally chasing after me at this point, at least I don’t think he is.
Realizing my thoughts have taken a negative turn, I stand up and bid everyone good night.
I’m too buzzed to drive home, so I leave my car in the underground garage for the night, and hail a cab. I lean my head back against the seat and stare out the window as we drive through Los Angeles. I don’t usually sit with my loneliness; it’s not a feeling I like to acknowledge.
But hanging out with Colton this morning woke me up to the fact that I don’t like all of my life. I love my work, and I enjoy being independent, but sometimes I’d like to have someone to share my nights with. I’d like to come home to something other than my cat and dog, although I do adore them both.
As the cab pulls up to the curb outside my apartment building, I hand the driver some cash and get out.
My phone beeps as I’m fumbling with my key in the lock, and I push open the door before stepping inside.
Karma rushes me the moment I’ve shut the door behind me. She’s so excited that she’s up on her hind legs, clawing at my pants and panting.
My Maltipoo isn’t your typical well-bred toy dog. I found her wandering the streets three years ago, covered in burrs and with matted fur. It was January, and an especially cold day in Los Angeles, and the poor baby was freezing. Her eyes were so sad, and she was shaking. I picked her up, and brought her home to my apartment. She had no tags, so I posted ads and signs with her picture on it. I took her to the vet to be checked and scanned for a microchip. Nothing. I couldn’t find her owner anywhere.
So I kept her. And six months later, her fur “sister” River joined us, when I was sent to interview an artist who also runs an animal shelter. I walked away with a black cat who’d been left for dead on the side of the road, before some angel brought her to the shelter. As soon as I went to pat her, she eyed me suspiciously but let me touch her. That’s when I knew we were meant for each other. I took her home and named her River, after the name of the road where the artist said he found her.
I squat down and cuddle Karma in my arms, and then put out my free hand to pat River, wh
o’s wrapped her tail around my leg.
The next half hour is spent feeding both of them, cleaning out the litter box, and taking Karma for a quick walk. I don’t like to go out alone if it’s dark, so summer nights are a lot easier for me. The sun hasn’t even started to set when I return to the apartment.
While Karma and River are busy chasing each other around the living room, I wander into the attached kitchen to grab the leftover takeout Thai food I’d ordered last night.
When my phone beeps again with an unread text, I turn around in a full circle before locating it on the floor in my foyer, right where I’d dropped it when I stepped into the apartment and Karma jumped me.
I realize I never even checked who the text came from when I was unlocking the door. As I finally tap the screen, my heart flies into my throat.
Skylar. When can I see you again?
I smile widely at Colton’s forwardness. I like that he’s so open, and that he never hides his feelings. I love it, truth be told. I’m not used to being around a man who’s so comfortable with his emotions.
I’m not sure. You’re a lot to handle, I type back.
His response comes immediately: If you let me, I’ll show you just how much.
See, that’s exactly why I can’t see you. You’re trouble. Not taking my eyes off my phone, I grab my food and settle down on the couch.
I have your clothes. They’re dry and ready to be returned to your sexy body.
I forgot about my clothes. I really should have taken them home with me, but I couldn’t imagine staying at Colton’s house another five minutes, or I would have done something I regret.
I take in a deep breath. I don’t know if regret is the right word; I’m pretty sure my body would have enjoyed every second of having sex with Colton. But it wouldn’t be smart.
The thing is, right now I’m not so sure being smart is what’s best for me. Colton makes me smile, and what’s so bad about that?
I just know that I need some time to sort out my emotions. Because the way I feel for Colton overwhelms me.
I miss him already. Maybe I need a middle ground, a way to get closer to him without losing myself.
I stare down at the phone in my hand. The energy from his texts makes my hand warm and tingly. Before I can stop myself, I’ve texted him back again—You’re such a flirt—in response to his comment about my sexy body. He answers me right away, letting me know he only flirts like that with me. I don’t really believe him, but I do accept that what he and I have is electric, and rare.
We text for the next hour, and I keep the phone next to me on the sink while I brush my teeth and get ready for bed. Then I wish him a good night.
His last text comes through in that sweet yet wicked way only Colton can pull off:
I’ll dream of you and your hot-as-hell lips on mine. Sweet dreams.
I catch my expression in the mirror as I turn for bed.
I’m smiling. A real smile, something I don’t do often. I don’t let down my guard much, and for me, a genuine wide smile is about as common as a unicorn.
Kind of like the way Colton makes me feel, like I’d risk things for him. Things like my heart.
Which is why I need to slow my thoughts, and my attraction to him, if that’s even possible.
Making sure to leave my bathroom light on, I climb into bed and turn out my bedside lamp.
* * *
Gasp!
I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe, and no one is around to save me. I thrash my arms and legs, trying to loosen the hand at my throat, but it’s no use. I’m too small, and he’s going to win.
He always wins.
“Shut up and take it,” he slurs. His mouth reeks of cheap beer, and he’s inches from my face.
I give one last desperate kick, and connect with his crotch. He recoils in pain, and I rise up onto my elbows, taking in oxygen like it’s a gift.
I open my eyes.
I’m staring into my Los Angeles apartment, and I’m alone. Not completely alone: Karma and River are curled up at the end of my bed. I exhale and turn on my bedside lamp.
Another nightmare about my father. Another night where I’ll spend the next few hours sweating and anxious, wishing I could take my bad childhood memories and seal them up in a box, never to be thought of again.
But that’s not how trauma works. Trauma keeps coming, sometimes in little waves, and sometimes in one massive download to your brain.
My calf throbs, and I reach down automatically to rub the muscle. My fantasy kick must have delivered quite a blow, because I’m pretty sure I’ll be limping tomorrow.
My throat is parched and sore, as if I actually had a hand wrapped around it. I climb out of bed and go get a glass of water, and then use the bathroom.
When I return to the bed, I check the clock. It’s eleven-thirty. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour.
I glance at my phone sitting next to the clock on my bedside table. Feeling an aching loneliness and fear in my stomach, I pick up the phone and turn it on.
Just to reread Colton’s texts, I tell myself. They’ll make me feel less alone, and then I can go back to sleep.
Except I never want to go back to sleep after one of those nightmares.
Gripping my phone in my hand, I flip through my text exchange with Colton earlier. When I reach the last message in the thread, his flirty good night to me, I hesitate for just a moment, before typing—
I don’t suppose you’re up and want to talk?
My phone rings less than two minutes later.
I swipe the screen. “Hi, Colton. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“You can wake me any time, Skylar.” His voice is gravelly.
“Shit. I did wake you up. Didn’t I?”
He shushes me with a soothing sound that hits me straight me in the heart.
“Skylar. Are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”
I hold the phone so tightly my knuckles are white. “Colt…”
“Yeah?” He sounds wide awake now, all the gruffness gone from his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I suck in a deep breath. “I had a…bad dream.”
I bang my forehead with the palm of my free hand and groan. God, that sounded pathetic. Colton and I barely know each other, and I lead off our very first phone call with that?
But Colton, as usual, does the unexpected. “Tell me what happened.”
I loosen my death grip on the phone. “It was a flashback of a kind. About my parents. I’m not really in a place to relive it right now. I think I’d rather just…talk about other stuff. Something to get my mind off of it, so I can sleep.”
“I could tell you about the workout Dylan and I have planned for tomorrow. It’s super boring shit for someone who doesn’t like sports, but trust me when I tell you, I can talk a freaking blue streak about football. I’ll put you to sleep in no time.”
I laugh. “That actually sounds…nice.”
“You sure? I was kind of kidding. We can talk about something more interesting for both of us.”
“Nope, I’m listening—tell me more. What are these super fancy-ass exercises you and your cousin are going to do? Will they make your bodies even hotter?”
His resounding chuckle vibrates through my chest, and I completely relax my hold on the phone.
“Well, since my body couldn’t possibly get any hotter than it is, that would be hard to pull off. Emphasis on the word hard.”
I smile. “You’re so arrogant it’s shocking.”
“But you like it.” His tone is playful, but he wants to hear my answer.
“I like it,” I say softly.
“Good,” he says in a heady whisper. “So…” He clears his throat, and when he speaks next, it’s in a normal tone. “About tomorrow. Dylan has this obsession with resistance training, and making me run all over the damn field while he gets to stand there and hurl bullets at me.”
“Do you catch most of them?”
; “Of course I catch them,” he says in a “don’t doubt me” manner. “One of these days, I’m going to catch the game winner in the Super Bowl.”
“I bet you will.”
“Will you be there?”
His question catches me off guard.
“Be…at the game?”
“Yeah. In my box, cheering me on. I have a feeling we’ll win if you’re there, Sky.”
“Um…I’m not sure. I don’t usually plan ahead with men.”
“That’s because you haven’t been with a man like me before. I’ve been planning for ten years what I would say to you if I was ever blessed to run into you again.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask the question I’m dying to know the answer to. “Did you say it yet? Whatever it is you were planning?”
“In so many words,” he says, going abruptly vague. “We’re still getting to know each other. Right?”
I’d like to get to know him. Intimately. But speaking to him like this is easier for me than being together in person. I can take the space to regroup, and I don’t have to look into those gorgeous blue eyes that can scan my face and know in two seconds what I’m thinking.
Colton’s so good—too good—at reading me. I need a way to even the playing field while I catch up and figure out how to handle how big my feelings are for him.
And that’s when I come up with a plan.
Chapter Four
Four Weeks Later
Colton
I get back from my morning workout and head for the kitchen. While I whip up breakfast, I catch myself doing what I’ve been doing pretty much nonstop over the last month—I start thinking about Skylar.
If someone had told me four weeks would pass without seeing Skylar in person, I would have laughed in their face. Because what Skylar and I shared at my house—that was more than just a random make-out session between old friends. We talked about important shit, and we connected. I know we did.
Yet I haven’t seen her since.
Skylar doesn’t blow me off for four weeks—not exactly. We text every damn day, and we talk. A lot. Every night, in fact. But only by phone. It’s like she needs to keep this physical distance between us or she’s scared that she’ll lose control. And I get it. I shook—fucking shook—after she left my house that day. It took me forever to calm down and feel my pulse return to normal. Skylar got me to talk about things I never share—with anybody.
Colton Page 4
