Driven Collection

by K. Bromberg

  But I don’t move. I just sit and watch them interact, talk, her giggle stupidly and bat her eyelashes at a ridiculously fast pace while she keeps her hand on him. Why don’t I move?

  And then it hits me. They’re stunning together. Absolutely stunning and this is who most would expect him to be with: the blonde bombshell, fantasy for many a men with the devastatingly handsome playboy, the desire of women everywhere. The picture perfect couple by Hollywood standards. He may have come here with me, and will be leaving with me, but like every woman, I have my own insecurities about my looks and my sex appeal.

  And right now, looking from the blonde beauty then back to myself, those insecurities have just been put on display for everyone to see. For everyone to scrutinize. Even if I’m the only one who seems to be doing it.

  I bring my fingers to my lips in thought and a cat ate the canary grin starts to spread across my face.

  Fuck insecurity.

  Fuck perfect, long-legged blondes.

  Fuck playing it safe.

  I close my eyes momentarily, remembering the feel of Colton’s stubble scraping against the skin of my neck; his fingers bruising my hips as he helped me move over him; the look on his face as he came; the slight desperation with which he held me to him afterward in the room right next to where we’re sitting now.

  I remember Beckett’s warning; trying to control Colton is like trying to grab the wind. He’s gotten the playboy title for a reason. The short time we’ve been together isn’t going to change that. Women are always going to be attracted to him, want him.

  Cassandra obviously does. She’s a dead giveaway with her constant touching and monopolizing demand on his attention. With how she leans in to speak to him, her hand pressed to his chest, leaving it there as he puts his mouth to her ear in response.

  I’m not going to be irrational and deny the fact that I’m a tad bit jealous—alcohol most likely fueling my insecurity. Or maybe I’m just hormonal…I don’t know. I’m a woman; insecurity is just par for the course in the grand scheme of things.

  I snort out a laugh. Haddie looks over at me like I’ve lost it. “You’re okay with…” She lifts her chin in the direction of Colton and Cassandra.

  I look at them a moment longer before I nod my head. “It’s not like I have to worry about him seeing her naked.” I laugh, referring to her Playboy centerfold spread. “A huge portion of the male population has already done that and probably jacked off to her.”

  Haddie laughs out loud and shakes her head at me. I think she’s a little surprised by my lack of a reaction. “True. At least you don’t have staples in the middle of your body.”

  “Exactly.” I smirk. “I have Colton in me instead.” I love the look of shock on her face as I suck down the rest of my drink. “I need a shot and I wanna dance. You coming?” I walk out of the alcove without looking to see if she’s following or not.

  After downing our signature double shots of tequila, Haddie and I descend the stairs and enter into the rhythmic chaos of the dance floor. Songs come and go as we dance, and after a couple, I stop looking up at the balcony above to see if Colton’s watching me. I know he isn’t. That tingling of my skin telling me his presence is near is absent.

  I’m thirsty and in need of a respite, so I motion to Haddie that I’m going to the bar to get another drink. Something to help dampen the dull edge of insecurity that is still holding my thoughts hostage.

  I finagle my way up to the bar squeezing myself through the crowd, and prepare myself for a wait when I notice the numerous people in line. The guy beside me tries to start a conversation with me in his slurred voice, but I just smile politely and angle my body away from his. I focus my attention on watching the bartenders slowly inch their way back down the bar one order at a time.

  The man beside me tries again, grabbing onto my upper arm and pulling me toward him, insisting he’ll buy me a drink. I shrug my arm out of his grasp with an irritated but polite refusal. I think he’s gotten the hint, but I’m proven wrong when he places his hand on my hip and forcefully tugs me against his side.

  “C’mon, gorgeous.” He breathes into my ear, the stale alcohol on his breath repulsing me. My discomfort grows, the hair on the back of my neck starting to rise. “Baby, I can show you a good time.”

  I push against his chest, trying to separate myself from him, but he just tightens his grip on my hip. I turn to search the crowd for help from Haddie when the guy’s arm is suddenly yanked off of me.

  “Get your fucking hands off of her!” I hear the growl a beat before Colton’s fist connects with his jaw. His head snaps back and the guy stumbles and trips over someone’s leg, landing on the ground. Despite my distaste for violence, a shiver of relief courses through me at the sight of Colton.

  Before I can even react any further than shouting, “Colton, no!” one of the guy’s buddies takes a swing at him. His fist glances off of Colton’s cheek. I try to rush toward him, but my feet are cemented to the ground. Adrenaline, alcohol, and fear course through me. With lightning speed, Colton cocks his arm back to take another swing, murder in his eyes and an expressionless face. Before he can retaliate, Sammy’s arms close around him and pull him back. Colton’s rage is obvious. A vein pulses in his temple, his face is grimaced in restraint, and his eyes burn a threatening warning.

  “Time to go, Colt!” Beckett shouts at him, a resigned look on his stoic face. “It’s not worth the lawsuit they’ll try to slap you with…” And then I see Haddie and several other guys from the crew in my periphery. The guys grab a still fuming but more collected Colton by the arms and take him from Sammy. Once Sammy knows that Colton’s taken care of, he turns to the men, dwarfing them with his sheer size, a look of amused contempt on his face as if he’s telling them, “Take a shot, I dare you.” They look at him and then back at each other before scattering quickly as security makes its way toward us.

  I stand there shaking until Sammy puts his arm around me and escorts me out of the club.

  WHEN SAMMY PUSHES OPEN THE door for me, the cold air of the night hits me like a refreshing blast after the stuffy, smoke filled club. He leads me to the outskirts of the parking garage where the lone limo sits apart from the rest of the cars in the lot. As we get closer, I see Colton’s back, his hands spread wide on the retaining wall bordering the edge of the garage, his weight leaning on them, and his head hanging down between his shoulders. I can sense the fury radiating off of him in waves as we draw near.

  Beckett, who’s leaning against the open door of the car, meets my eyes as we approach, uncertainty evident in his before nodding his head at me and sliding into the car next to Haddie. Sammy stops, but I continue forward toward Colton.

  The click of my heels on the concrete alerts Colton that I’m near, but he remains facing away from me. I trace the lines of his body’s silhouette against the expansive glitz of the Vegas strip, his imposing figure painting a striking contrast to the sparkle of lights beyond. I stop a few feet from him and watch his shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession as his tension slowly abates.

  When he finally turns to face me, his shoulders squared, his eyes dancing with fire, and his jaw rigid with tension, I realize I’m wrong in thinking his anger is gone.

  “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” His voice is ice cold.

  His words hit me like whiplash, taking me aback with unbelievable force. I thought he was angry at the guy he punched, not with me. Where the hell does he get off being pissed at me? If he was paying attention to his date, he’d know the answer. “What do you think I was doing, Colton? That I was—”

  “I asked you a question, Rylee,” he grits out.

  “And I was trying to fucking answer it before you so rudely cut me off,” I spit at him, having no problem going toe-to-toe with him tonight. Maybe my intake of alcohol has taken a bit of the edge off, so I’m not intimidated by his intensity. His eyes pierce through the darkness and into mine. Then again, maybe not. “I was buying a drink, Colton. A
drink. That’s it!” I throw my hands up as I shout at him, my voice echoing off of the concrete walls.

  He looks at me, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he regards me. “Buying a drink, Rylee? Or flirting around to get someone to buy a drink for you?” he accuses, taking a step closer to me. Despite the lack of light, I can see the fire burning in his eyes and the rage fueling the tension in his neck. Where is all of this coming from?

  What. The. Fuck? How dare he accuse me of paying attention to other guys when he was up there preoccupied with Ms. Bunny of the Month? I was being cool, not getting pissed off about how touchy-feely Cassandra was with him, trying to forgo the juvenile emotions I wanted to feel over it. But fuck it. If he’s going to get mad about a guy offering to buy me a drink and touching me even though I said no, then I’m sure as hell going to be pissed about her blatantly displayed attraction to him. Attraction that he certainly didn’t reject.

  I’m done with this conversation. Alcohol and anger only result in words you can’t take back in the morning. And we’ve both had way too much to be rational. “Whatever. We’re done here,” I huff as I turn on my heel, intent on heading back to the limo.

  “Answer me,” he commands as he grabs my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I see Beckett step back out of the limo, a wary look on his face as he stares down Colton over my shoulder. The silent warning is obvious, but the message behind it is unclear.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m waiting,” he says, keeping his hand on my arm but stepping around to block my path toward the car.

  “I was buying myself a drink. That’s it. Big fucking deal!” I jerk my arm out of his grasp, fatigue from the night’s events suddenly hitting me like a bat to the back of the head.

  Colton’s eyes bore into mine as if he’s looking for my betrayal or confession of wrongdoing. “There was plenty of alcohol up top. Was that not good enough for you?” he taunts. “You had to go trolling for a guy to buy you one?”

  His words slap at me, knock the wind from my sails. What the fuck is his problem? I can’t believe that he’d even think that first of all, but second—and shockingly so—I’m surprised by the quiver in his voice that hints at a touch of insecurity.

  Like I could want something more after having him.

  I take a step toward him, my voice low but implacable. “I don’t need a man or bottle service to make me happy, Colton.”

  He arches an eyebrow at me. “Uh-huh.” He snorts derisively, clearly choosing to not believe me. He’s obviously dated some choice women.

  I sigh, frustrated already with our conversation. “You’ve spent enough money on tonight. On me. On everything.” I huff. “You may be used to all of your women needing that to be satisfied. Not me.”

  “Of course not.” He snorts sarcastically.

  “I’m a big girl.” I continue ignoring his flippant comment. “I can buy my own damn drinks and pay my own way, especially if when you pay it means that you have some kind of ownership over me.”

  His eyes widen at my words. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  Does he not realize he does this? That he gives so charitably in exchange for people to like and love him? “Look, you’re a very generous guy. More so than most people I know, but why?” I place my hand on his arm and squeeze. “Unlike most people in there, I don’t expect you to pay my way.”

  “No girlfr—no one I’m with pays when they’re with me.”

  “That’s very chivalrous of you.” I run my hand up his arm and lay it on his cheek, my voice softening, relieved that we have seemed to skirt around having this argument. “But I don’t need any of that pomp and circumstance to want to be with you.” He just stares at me, emerald irises trying to comprehend the honesty in my words. “You have so much more to give to someone than material excess.”

  I think my words have hit their mark because Colton falls silent, a war of emotions flowing through his eyes before they break from mine and look out at the city of sin. The muscle in his jaw tics as he pushes down whatever demons he’s fighting internally. I notice his posture stiffen as he shakes my hand off his face, and I can sense his discomfort with the direction our conversation has taken. “You let a guy put his hands on you,” he says in a dangerously quiet voice.

  At first I’m hurt by his accusation, but when I look in his eyes, I see it. I see the truth behind Beckett’s revelations about his feelings for me. I see that he’s scared by it and unsure of how to handle it. I see that he’s looking for a reason to pick a fight as a way to deny his feelings.

  He wants a fight? I’ll give him a fight because just below my surface is the fear that maybe I’m just what he needs and he might never acknowledge it. That he is exactly what I need and someone like Cassandra just might take that chance away from me. My mind flashes back to the thought of her hands on him. “And your point is what?” I counter with more confidence than I feel. “I’m not going to apologize because someone else finds me attractive.” I shrug. “You sure as hell weren’t paying any attention to me.”

  He ignores my comment as only he can, shrugging it off as if I’m at fault here. “I’ve told you before, Ry, I don’t share.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Well neither do I.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The bewildered look on his face tells me he really has no clue as to what I’m talking about. Typical, clueless male.

  “Oh c’mon, Colton. Most of those women in there want you, and you were more than willing to be touchy-feely with them.” I throw up my hands in frustration when he looks at me as if I’ve gone crazy, so I figure I’ll give a specific example. “You seem to have no problem having your hands on Cassandra and hers on you,” I accuse, flipping my hair like her and placing my hand on his chest, batting my eyelashes.

  “Cassie?” he stutters incredulously. “Oh please.”

  “Really? It was obvious to every person up there that she wants you. Roll your eyes all you want and pretend you didn’t notice, but you know you loved every minute of it—Center of attention, Colton. Life of the party, Colton. Playboy, Colton,” I accuse, turning my back to him, rolling my shoulders and shaking my head. I briefly lock eyes with Beckett who’s still standing against the limo, arms crossed over his chest and stoic face devoid of judgment. I turn back to face Colton. “Why is that okay for you? Isn’t turnabout fair play? At least I told the guy you punched to get his hands off of me. I didn’t see you asking Cassie to stop…”

  Colton takes a step toward me, lights from beyond playing against the shadows on his face. The devil has once again surfaced and is indeed trying to pull me into his darkness. “I believe it was you I was fucking up there tonight. Not any of them.” His voice implacable and holding just a hint of edge as he watches for a reaction. I cringe knowing that Beckett just heard that.

  “Yeah, you’re right. You were with me, but I find it funny minutes later you were with her!” I shout back at him. “You punched a guy for touching me tonight and yet you stood there and let her rub up against you without so much as a thought to pushing her off you. Well I don’t share either. The irony, huh?”

  Colton’s jaw flexes before he raises his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

  “And I didn’t take you for my type at all,” I counter, my voice icy with contempt.

  “Watch it,” he warns.

  “Or what?” I goad, taking a fortifying breath. “Like I said, I can take care of myself. The guy offered to buy me a drink. I was in the process of telling him no thank you in so many words when you stormed up to save the day.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to lie about this. Maybe I’m trying to prove to Colton that I can in fact take care of myself. That I don’t need the macho bullshit. I’m not sure, but I’ve thrown it out there, I might as well follow through with it. He doesn’t have to know that I was getting a little unnerved at the situation. “The guy didn’t deserve to be hit.”

  Colton’s head sn
aps up as if I’ve just punched him. “Now you’re defending him?” He brings his hands up to his neck and pulls down on it in frustration. “You’re fucking unbelievable!” he shouts out into the empty garage.

  “And you’re drunk, irrational, and out of control!” I yell back.

  “No one touches what’s mine without consequences,” he grates out.

  “You have to have me first, Colton,” I say with a shake of my head, “and you’ve made it quite clear that all you want from me is a quick fuck when it’s convenient for you!” My voice is firm but betrays me when it wavers on my last words.

  “You know that’s not true.” His voice is quiet with an undertone of desperation.

  “I do? How’s that?” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Every time I get too close or things go beyond your stupid rules, you make sure to put me in my place.”

  “Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Rylee.” He exhales through gritted teeth, running his fingers through his hair and turning from me to walk a few steps away.

  “A pit stop isn’t going to save you this time,” I state calmly, wanting him to know that he can’t cop out now to avoid the rest of this discussion. I need answers and deserve to know where I stand.

  He hisses out a loud exhale of breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. We stand there in silence for a few moments as I look at his back, and he looks at the city beyond. After a moment he turns around and holds his arms out, his eyes full of a nameless emotion I can’t decipher. “This is me, Rylee!” he shouts. “All of me in my fucked up glory! I’m not Max—perfect in every way, never making a goddamned mistake. I can’t live up to the incomparable standard he’s set, to the pedestal you’ve placed him on!”

  I suck in a breath, his words hitting their target. How dare he throw Max and what we had in my face. Thoughts don’t process. Words don’t form. Tears well in my eyes as I think about Max and who he was and Colton and what he is to me. Confusion swamps me. Drags me under. Drowns me.