Driven Collection

by K. Bromberg

  “You have no idea, Sammy,” I tell him and then laugh when my thoughts veer to how my evening has turned into the beginning of a good joke—so a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde walk in a bar—when I think of Bailey, Rylee, and Raquel.

  He laughs and shakes his head, having been with me long enough that he knows how my life goes. Women willing for whatever I’m game for. Well except for the unexpected Ms. Thomas tonight.

  Knowing what was beneath that dress has made it ten times harder to walk away without having her. Since when do I care what a woman’s wearing so long as it’s piled on the floor?

  Normally I’d say she’s not worth my time, but I can’t remember the last time I had a challenge. Shit, women say the word no to me about as often as they keep their legs together at the knees. Never.

  Christ, I should let it go. Write the check, Donavan. Leave her alone.

  Don’t touch complicated—that’s my default. So why in the fuck do I want to play with fire? Light the match to her flame and see how hot she gets.

  Damn it to Hell.

  I’m just horny. Pump primed and turned on from her defiance. I’ll lose myself in Raquel tonight—every tight fucking inch of her—and realize I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t opt for complicated when I can have easy.

  Decision made. Mind-numbing sex. That fixes everything.

  I’m just about to text Raquel back when my phone rings. I look down to see her name. Well, can’t get much easier than that.

  Damn, I’m good. All that’s missing is the snap of my fingers

  “Hey.” I smirk at Sammy meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “I’m naked. I’m wet. And my mouth is ready to suck your cock ’til you’re dry. I sure hope you’re coming home soon because my mouth is kind of empty and, baby, I’d love for you to fill it.”

  My dick is already stirring to life, balls tightening. The need to come front and center. What red-blooded male wouldn’t be with that greeting? Shit.

  “Fuck, baby, that sounds like Heaven … but I need to take a rain check.” My own words shock me. What the fuck are you doing, Donavan? What is wrong with you? I hear myself yelling, my dick begging, but my mouth has a mind of its own.

  “What?” Her voice is soft, disappointment evident.

  “I’m sorry. My mom needs me to stay here and wrap up some of the charity shit for her. I’ll make it up to you, though. I was invited to some launch party for the new sponsor, Merit Rum. It’d be good exposure for you—media and big wigs and shit, okay? You know I wouldn’t pass up the chance to fuck you unless it was unavoidable.”

  I just used my mother to get out of fucking Raquel. There is something extremely pathetic about my state of mind right now. Is the Apocalypse coming? Is Hell freezing over?

  What. The. Fuck?

  She accepts reluctantly, I apologize again, lie about being busy, and end the call. Sammy catches my eyes and just raises his eyebrows. “I take it I should drive to Broadbeach instead, now?”

  I scrub a hand through my hair and sigh. “Yeah.” I shake my head trying to figure out what in the fuck I just did. “Sammy, did I just pass up pussy?”

  “Yep. Sounded like it. You feeling okay? Dick still attached? It didn’t fall off with all of the hobnobbing at the event?”

  Fucking Sammy. Dude’s funny as hell. I grab my dick and adjust it. “Still there, Sam. Still there.” My voice trails off as my thoughts wander.

  Rylee Thomas. It’s gotta be because of her. How could three fucking hours of defiance make me look at wet and willing and think it’s too damn easy? That working for a piece of ass might be fun for a change.

  It’s her fucking fault I’m headed home to my hand and some lube. And even I know it’s fucked up so I start to tell Sammy to head to the Palisades but nothing comes out of my mouth. Because as hot as Raquel is and as good as she can ride me, my interest is elsewhere.

  Back at the benefit. With curves and class and holy fuck that ass of hers. And that’s just scratching the surface of everything I plan on touching.

  My phone rings again and I’m immediately irritated. Raquel needs to drop it and leave me the hell alone. “What?” I bark the word into the phone, Sammy’s shoulders moving as he laughs at my self-inflicted misery.

  “Wow. Someone needs to get laid. Relieve stress and shit.” Shit. Guess I should have looked at the screen. I was so lost in what I can’t have right now that I assumed it was Raquel and not Becks.

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “I thought you were Raquel.”

  “Damn, dude.” He laughs. “I guess she’s holding out on you tonight by the pissiness in your tone. She make other plans or something besides being at your beck and call?”

  Fucker. I grunt out a laugh. “Hardly. Just not on the menu tonight.”

  Becks chokes out a cough on the other end of the line. Fuck, I just left him an open door to walk right through. “Well considering your menu is usually pussy pie, I guess you’re looking for a new diner to eat it out of besides Raquel.”

  The smile is wide on my face but my silence tells him volumes.

  “Who’d you meet, Wood?” I can hear the here we go again in his voice and just shake my head because he’s right. “What woman has made you look at Raquel like she’s an inconsequential notch in that belt of yours?”

  The only belt notch I’m thinking of is mine coming undone so I can take Rylee beneath me and hear that oh God fall from her mouth. My head fills of lace-top thigh-highs, her smart-assed mouth, and violet eyes filled with contempt. Two of the three should turn me off but fuck if it doesn’t make my dick jerk thinking of the whole fucking package.

  “Nobody.” I lie to protect myself from the one thing I fear the most.

  That Rylee just might be the somebody I told myself I’ll never allow myself to have.

  She’s a forever kind of girl and I’m a just for the night kind of guy.

  But fuck if it’s not going to be fun to see just how far we’ll each bend to break our own rules.

  I STRUM MY FINGERS ON my desk as I peruse our parent company’s website. I have so many other things I need to be doing right now, but I find myself looking at pictures of all of the chairpersons on our board, as well as the members of the organizing committee.

  I can’t place which member’s son is Donavan, and it’s really starting to annoy me. I don’t have his last name to help the puzzle pieces fit into place. I wish I hadn’t told my staff that they could wait a few days on getting me the paperwork. I was just trying to be nice after all of the hard work they had put in. If I had it though, I’d have the answer. I know I could just call up Stella or Dane and ask the name of my future date, but then they’d know something is up because something like that wouldn’t be important to me. And with those two gossipers, I don’t want to open that floodgate.

  More importantly, I’m irritated at myself for even caring who he is. “Manwhore,” I grumble under my breath.

  I rub my tired eyes and run my fingers through my hair, pulling it back off my shoulders. I exhale loudly. It’s been a long, tiring weekend, and I’m exhausted.

  I glance at the clock. I have fifteen minutes before I have to leave to get to The House for my twenty-four hour shift.

  My computer pings and I click on my mailbox to see an incoming email. I don’t recognize the address but can assume the person’s identity. Here we go again. I click on it because the subject line has piqued my curiosity.

  To: Rylee Thomas

  From: Ace

  Subject: Backstage Liaisons

  __________________________________

  Ryles—

  Would you have opened the email if the subject line simply stated, “Date the Highest Bidder”?

  Didn’t think so.

  You owe me a date.

  Let me know your availability so I can make plans.

  You have twenty-four hours to respond. Or else.

  —Ace

  I sigh heavily in confused relief. I’m irritated at his ridiculous
ultimatum. More so though, I’m irritated at myself. Why, even if I don’t want to go out with him, do I feel like a giddy schoolgirl excited that he’s emailed me? That the cool, popular kid has acknowledged the awkward, ordinary girl.

  After he’s made out with the head cheerleader behind the bleachers, that is. God, he is annoying! I check the clock to make sure that I have time for a response.

  To: Ace

  From: Rylee Thomas

  Subject: Cat Got Your Tongue?

  _______________________

  Ace—

  Demanding, aren’t we?

  You never addressed your subject line. Should I worry about how many other emails you sent out with the same title to your other conquests from Saturday night trying to get a follow-up date?

  -Ryl-E-E

  I smile as I hit send, picturing his face in my mind. His smile. His emerald eyes. The devastation he had over my control. It’s only been two days since the auction, and yet I wonder if my memory is making Donavan out to be more than he really is. Making his transgressions seem less offensive than they really were. Before I can ponder it further, my inbox alerts me.

  To: Rylee Thomas

  From: Ace

  Subject: Chivalry isn’t dead

  _______________________

  Ryl-E-E—

  A gentleman never kisses and tells, Ryles. You should know that.

  When you think about me, make sure to note that my demands will only result in your pleasure.

  And you never answered my question. A bet’s a bet. Time to pay up, sweetheart.

  —Ace

  I laugh out loud to his response. Maybe if I ignore his question, he’ll just go away. Good luck with that! Despite detesting the game he’s playing, I find myself smiling as I type my reply. I’m a challenge to him, plain and simple. If I’d acquiesced to his request for a date, or maybe even if I had continued kissing him in the hallway without backing away, he’d never have given me a second thought. He would have had his wicked way with me and walked away without a backwards glance.

  To: Ace

  From: Rylee Thomas

  Subject: Fat ladies and yellow birds

  _________________________

  Ace—

  I read somewhere that a boy needs the adulation from many girls to be satisfied, whereas a gentleman needs the adoration from just one woman to be fulfilled. By that definition alone, you are definitely not a gentleman. That means you should be singing like a canary, then.

  Besides, a date is WAY ABOVE my pay grade.

  —Rylee

  P.S. Oh, and don’t worry, I don’t think of you. At all.

  Take that! I think, proud of myself for my wit despite the blatant lie in the last comment. I stand and pack up my stuff, straightening my desk. As I reach to turn my computer off, my inbox alerts me again.

  To: Rylee Thomas

  From: Ace

  Subject: You need a raise

  _________________________

  Rylee—

  I may be a man, but I’m nowhere near gentle. In fact, I think you’re a little curious just how I like it. Step over the edge with me, Ryles—I’ll hold your hand and revel in making you lose that self-control you pride yourself on. I’ll be anything and everything but gentle.

  I promise. You’ll never know your limits until you push yourself to them.

  If you refuse to give me availability, I may have to take matters in my own hands. Maybe someone taking control is exactly what you want? What you need?

  —Ace

  “Egotistical asshole,” I mutter as I switch off my computer, refusing to respond. Like he knows what I want or need. But despite my anger, his words reverberate through me more than they should.

  My phone rings as I drive to The House. I’m in a foul mood for some reason, and I can only blame it on Donavan and his damn emails. Damn him for filling me with wants and needs and desires again. I glance at the screen on my phone and groan.

  It’s Haddie, my best friend and roommate. I’ve successfully avoided her and one of her notorious inquisitions since the event on Saturday night. Luckily, she’d had plans that kept her out of the house because one round of her questions and she would’ve known something had happened.

  “Hey, Had!”

  “Ry! Where’ve you been? You’re avoiding me!” she reprimands.

  Geesh, five words into the conversation and she’s already starting in on me. “No, I’m not. We’ve just both been busy with—”

  “Bullshit,” she argues. “I talked to Dane and know the story! Why didn’t you wake me up and tell me when you got home?”

  I blanch, wondering what Dane told her, and then I realize that she is probably talking about the auction. “Because nothing happened but absolute humiliation. It was awful.”

  “Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad!” she says sarcastically. “At least you got a hot date out of it. Who is he?”

  I roll my eyes at her as I turn my car into the driveway of The House. “Some guy—”

  “Well, obviously. I’m glad it wasn’t some girl because that would put a whole different spin on this.” She laughs, and I can’t help but smile. “So spill it, sister!”

  “Really, Haddie, there’s nothing to tell.” I can hear her guffaw. “Oh, will you look at that? I just pulled up to The House. I gotta go.”

  “Likely story, Ry. Don’t worry, I’ll get the scoop out of you when you get home tomorrow from work.” I cringe at the Haddie Montgomery promise to dig deeper. She never forgets.

  “Look, I don’t know the guy,” I relent, hoping if I give her some information she’ll be satisfied and not pry any further. “Teddy introduced me to him before I was pulled into being a contestant. His name is Donavan something, and he’s the son of one of the chairpersons. That’s all I know.” I cringe at my blatant omission.

  I hear her hum of approval on the end of the line and know the exact expression that is on her flawless face. Her button nose is scrunched up in disbelief while her heart-shaped lips purse as she tries to figure out if I’m telling the truth. “I really am at work now, Had. I have to go. Love ya, bye,” I sign off with our usual parting words.

  “Love ya, bye.”

  There is chaos in The House as usual when I walk in the door. I step over six book bags that lay haphazardly in the entryway. I can hear Top 40 music coming from one bedroom and the beginning of an argument coming from another as I pass the hallway on my way to the core of the house.

  I hear the pop of a baseball mitt coming through the open windows at the rear of the house, and I know that Kyle and Ricky are in the midst of their frequent bout of catch. Any minute, one of them will be complaining that the other one has horrible aim. They’ll argue and then move to the next activity, playing with their Bakugan or competing at baseball on the Wii.

  I walk into the great room to hear Scooter giggling as he sits next to my fellow counselor, Jackson, on the couch, arguing the merits of Spiderman versus Batman.

  The great room is a common area of the house, combining the kitchen with a large open living area. Large windows open up to the backyard where I can see the boys playing catch. The room has couches on one end that form a U-shape around a small media center, while the other end houses a big wooden table, currently covered with what appears to be incomplete homework. The earth tone furniture is neither new nor shabby but gently worn and well used.

  “Hey, guys,” I say as I place my bag on the kitchen island, appraising the state of dinner in two large Crock-Pots on the counter.

  I hear various versions of “Hi, Rylee” in response.

  Jackson looks up from the couch, his brown eyes full of humor over his debate with eight-year-old Scooter, and smiles. “We were just taking a break from homework. They’ll have it finished before dinner is ready.”

  I lift the lid off a Crock-Pot and stir what appears to be pot roast and vegetables. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I’d worked through lunch today at the corporate office.

  “
Smells good,” I say, smacking Shane’s hand as he reaches to pinch a piece of the freshly baked loaves of bread that sit on cookie sheets on top of the stove. “Hands off. That’s for dinner. Go get a piece of fruit if you’re hungry.”

  He rolls his eyes at me as only a fifteen-year-old boy can. “Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he counters, his prepubescent voice cracking as he skirts around me, brushing his shaggy blonde hair off his forehead.

  “You need a haircut, bud.” He shrugs at me, his lopsided grin stealing my heart as it does regularly. “Did you finish your paper yet so I can review it?”

  He turns around to face me, walking backwards. “Yes, Mom!” he replies, the term of endearment not lost on me. For that, in fact, is what the staff here is to these boys; we are the parents they no longer have. And in most instances, the chance of adoption above a certain age diminishes drastically. The state has turned over their guardianship to my company.

  I work mostly in the corporate office several miles away, but require that all of my trained staff work at least one twenty-four hour shift per week. This time allows them to connect with the boys, and to never forget whom exactly we are fighting on behalf of on a daily basis.

  These boys and my staff are my second family. They fuel me emotionally and challenge me mentally. At times they try my patience and push my limits, but I love them with all my heart. I’d do anything for them.

  Connor comes flying through the kitchen, running to the back door with something under his arm, while Aiden is chasing after him. “Hey, guys, calm down,” I reprimand as I hear Aiden shout that he’s going to get it back and make him pay.

  “Cool it, boys,” Jackson says in his deep baritone, rising from the couch to watch the interaction. Those two have a habit of antagonizing each other, sometimes to the point of becoming physical.

  I feel small hands wrap around my thigh, and I look down into the angelic eyes of Scooter. “Hey, bud.” I smile, taking slow and deliberate movements to reciprocate the hug. I can see him steel himself for my touch, but he does not flinch. It has taken me sixteen months to elicit this reaction from an eight-year-old whose only physical contact with his mother was through fists or objects. I squat down to his eye level and kiss him softly on the cheek. Trusting, chocolate-brown eyes look at me. “I agree with you. Spiderman is way cooler than Batman. He’s got that spidey-sense that Batman only wishes he had.” He smiles at me, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Why don’t you go pick up your mess? It’s almost time for dinner.”