Fueled (51 page)

“Did you think he’d change just for you, doll? Maybe you should ask him
what
or should I say
who
he’s been up to these past couple of weeks.” A sliver of a laugh escapes her botox enhanced lips as she takes a step closer. “Neither Raquel nor Cassie nor…” she raises her eyebrows with the insinuation of herself “…had any complaints in your absence.”

Her words shock me at first and then catapult me into fury. “Go to Hell, Tawny,” I grit out as I take a step closer to her, infringing well inside the bounds of her personal space. My hands shake. My blood rushes. She has singlehandedly replaced my hope of reconciling with Colton with unfiltered ire and absolute despair. What should I expect? She’s the one who took it from me in the first place.

I’m done. So fucking done. Just when I had worked myself up to believe that I was the one in the wrong—place the blame for all of this heartache on myself—here comes the truth, slapping me in the face. My hope splinters and falls to the ground around me.

“You know what?” I sneer, wanting to shove her up against the wall behind us and wrap my hand around her throat. “I don’t care who gets him anymore, but sure as hell,
I’ll make certain it’s not you
!”

She laughs coyly, my words not affecting her. “Well big shock, sweetie, you’ve already fucked that up since Colton’s mine for the rest of the night.” She smirks, winking at me before turning and walking off. I stand there watching her back as she retreats, and I can’t even begin to process my whirlwind of thoughts.

He’s been with other women?
This whole time he’s been trying to win me back, he’s been screwing his exes? Teagan’s words from the gala come back to me.
What an ass I am.
I actually believed him that he wanted me back.
That he was willing to change for me.

The Big Bad Wolf definitely has tricked Little Red Riding Hood.

The all too familiar feelings of hurt turned into rage course through me. Before, where I would have run and hidden, right now—right now—I want to unleash my fury on Colton. Unload on him and tell him exactly what I think. And although it’s not the right time or place, my feet obviously don’t give a flying fuck because before I know it I’m pushing through the entrance into the ballroom.

A woman on a mission.

When I enter, the venue is already full of patrons, seeing as this is one of the hot tickets for this evening. I scan the crowded room to try and catch a glimpse of Colton. It’s not hard—my body always seems to know just where he is regardless of location—but the congregation of people at the far corner, bordering on a small mob, confirms the hum that buzzes through my body.

A buzz at this point and time I wish would electrocute itself and die out because I’m done.
I’m so fucking done.

I stalk across the room, my heart thumping in my chest, noting that cleavage, legs, and form fitting seem to be the dress code of the evening. I hear Colton’s laughter erupt from mob causing me to roll my shoulders and my stomach to churn.

As I approach the gathering of people, I swear the group parts with my approach and opens up to highlight the spectacle before me. Colton stands amidst a crowd of women who willingly seem to adhere to the dress code of
easy
. He is completely relaxed and obviously the unyielding center of attention in this circle. Both of his arms are casually draped over the two women at his sides with one hand holding an empty snifter.

Something about his smile seems off. His eyes aloof. Something missing from his expression. Maybe this is just Colton in full, public persona mode. Or maybe, by the looks of the empty snifters on the table behind him, he’s drunk.

I stand from a distance watching the display of estrogen edged with desperation, my rage building, and just when I’m about to walk up and interrupt the little gathering, Colton looks up and his eyes lock onto mine. Some unnamed emotion flickers through them, but it’s gone before I can really comprehend it. I take a step forward as a diminutive smile ever so slightly turns up one of the corners of his mouth. And very slowly, very deliberately, Colton leans down to the blonde on his right—his eyes still on mine—and proceeds to kiss her. And I’m not talking a peck on the lips. I’m talking a full-blown kiss.

Green eyes all the while held steadfast on mine.

I think my mouth drops open. I think a feeble squeak even escapes from between my lips. I know that all of the blood rushes from my head and into my veins. “Fucking bastard!” The words fly from my mouth, but they are so low, so grated, that I’m unsure if anyone even hears them.

I turn my back on him and rush from the room. The image burned in my mind of what I just saw. The bimbo’s face flickers and changes to Tawny. To Raquel. To the faceless, nameless others that Tawny threw in my face. I blow past a server, not caring that I almost topple his tray in my wake, and push through the closest exit I can find.

The tears that scorch the back of my throat threaten, but the anger firing through me burns them out. I have so much pent up rage—so much hurt—that I don’t know what to do. I walk toward one end of the empty room I’ve found myself in to find no exit.

A bubble of hysteria slips out as the song on the fucking speakers assaults my ears as I try to calm myself and look for a way out other than back through the ballroom.
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.
Like that song couldn’t be any more perfect at this fucking moment.

I press my hands against a table in the hall and try to catch my breath. The replay of his mouth on that skank, so blatantly in my face, makes my stomach turn. What the hell am I doing here? Trying to reconcile?
Who is this woman that I've become?
And I was willing to compromise my own morals for him? I hear the door open behind me. I try to straighten up and dash away the tears from my eyes.

“Rylee…”

I glance back at Colton, so completely done with him. How many times am I going to walk headfirst into heartbreak without learning from my own stupidity? “Go away, Colton! Leave me alone!”

“Rylee, I didn’t mean it.”

This time I turn around. Colton stands a few feet from me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes utterly apologetic. But I’m not falling for it this time. I cross my arms across my chest, a useless protection over my heart. “
Fuck you
! For someone so hung up on me, you sure do move fast,
Ace
! You definitely earned the nickname now!”

His eyes search mine, questioning my comment, but he doesn’t ask it once he notices my fists clenching and unclenching in anger.

“It’s not what you think, Rylee.”

“I’m so sick of hearing you say that!
Not what I think
?” I say, raising my voice. “I just watched you shove your tongue down some bimbo’s throat and it’s not what I think?” How stupid does he think I am? I start to laugh. Really laugh. Almost in hysterics, the push and pull of emotions from the day almost too much to bear. “Oh wait. You didn’t mean to with that skank, but you did with
all of the others of your BBB that you fucked
while trying to win me back? Pretending it was me you wanted? Just tell me one thing, Ace…did you get a good laugh at my expense?”

Colton grabs my upper arm, his fingers digging in to my skin. His grip is so tight that when I try to recoil from his touch, I can’t. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About?” he says quietly. “Who—”

“Raquel. Tawny.
Who else, Ace?
Cassie? Did they give you what you needed? Sit on their knees patiently and kiss your feet
like a good girl should
? Take what you give and shut the fuck up otherwise? Did you order the flowers for me in between screwing them?”

Colton’s fingers grip harder to the point that I think I’ll have bruises tomorrow. His eyes pierce into mine. “Do you mind explaining to me—”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you!” I yank my arm from his grasp. “To think I was coming down here to try and fix things between us. To apologize for being stubborn. To tell you I believed you.” I shake my head in defeat, and I start to walk away but turn back. Hurt consuming every fiber of my being. “Tell me something…you said they weren’t whores, but you pay Tawny a salary right?” I arch my brow and I know by the look on his face that my implication is understood.

“She works for me,” he says, releasing one of my arms and shoving his hand through his hair. “I pay her because she does her job. I can’t fire her because you don’t li—”

“Yes.
You can
.” I scream at him. “And it’s not that I don’t like her.
I fucking hate her! You fucked her, Colton. Fucked! Her!
I think your choice is pretty fucking obvious. Don’t you?”

“
Rylee…
”

“You know what, Colton? You make me sick. I should’ve trusted my gut instinct when it came to you the first time around. You really are nothing but a whore.”

When I stop and wipe the tears from my eyes that I didn’t even realize were flowing, Colton still remains standing there, his face stoic and his eyes hard as steel. When he speaks, his voice is low and unforgiving. “Well if I’m going to be accused of it—lose the one girl I choose because of her misperception and absolute obstinance—
then I might as well do it
.”

I stop mid-motion at his words. So sarcastic. So accusatory. I meet his eyes and my breath catches in my throat before closing them and taking a deep breath as his comment sinks in. My world spirals in black, looping with confusion that just became quite clear. It’s the first time that he hasn’t denied sleeping with her. He didn’t confess—I didn’t hear the words come from his mouth—but he didn’t deny it either. Pain staggers through my chest as I focus on trying to breathe—on trying to think—but he just keeps talking. My fractured heart shatters and splinters into a million pieces.

“This is how I’m used to dealing with pain, Rylee. I’m not proud of it, but I use women to cover up the hurt. I lose myself in them to block everything out.” He hangs his head for a second as my mind tries to grasp the shock waves his words create.

He’s just told me two things, and I’m not sure which one my scattered mind can focus on. His admission causes his comment from several weeks ago to float into my head. The comment he made in my house the morning after our first time sleeping together. How his 747 of baggage makes him crave the sensory overload of physicality—the stimulating indulgence of skin on skin.
But why
?

And at what point is a convenient explanation just a bullshit excuse for a playboy caught in his own lies? An opportune way for the man who always gets what he wants, to well, get what he wants. I can love the broken in him, but I can’t accept the lies any more.

“You told me the other day that we’re over. I’ll be the first to admit it’s fucked up, but I’m coping the only way I know how,” he says.

I search his face, looking so far within him that it scares me. I can see the pain in his eyes. Can hear the hesitation and utter shame in his confession.
Is this what I want
? A man who every time we have an argument or every time he gets spooked about our relationship turns to someone else? Runs off to another woman to help lessen the pain? I told him I loved him. I didn’t tell him I want to marry him and be the mother of his unwanted children for God’s sake.

“So you’re telling me that I’m so important to you that if you bag some unmemorable chick, you’ll forget me?” I shake my head at him. “That if we’re together, every time the going gets tough you’ll run off with Tawny or another willing candidate?
Gee, you're really building the foundation of a great relationship here
.” He tries to interrupt me, but I just hold up my hand to stop him. “Colton…” I sigh. “Coming to talk to you tonight was obviously a mistake. The more you talk, the more I’m really starting to realize I don’t know you at all.”

“You know me better than anyone!” he shouts, taking a step closer as I take one back. “I’ve never had to explain anything to anyone…I’m not doing a good job at it.”

“You can say that again,” I snip back at him.

“Let’s get out of here and talk.”

“Colton?” a seductive female voice calls to him from over my shoulder. Everything in my body tenses at the sound. Colton’s face blanches.

“Out!” He grates between gritted teeth at her.

I unclench my jaw and take in a deep breath. “Talking’s overrated. Besides, it’s obvious you found someone to help you bury the hurt.” I nod my head toward the door behind me. “And you know what? I think it’s time I try it too.” I shrug. “See if finding a guy for the night fixes everything like you seem to think it does.”

“No!” The pained look of desperation on his face upsets me, but I’m so far past caring right now. So far past feeling. So numb.

“Why not? What’s good for the goose and all that,” I say, adding another animal to the imaginary menagerie I'm building as he just stares at me. One last look. “Enjoy your cocktail party, Ace.”