Raced (11 page)

Why does it fucking matter?

I pace the confines of the greenroom, restless and on edge.

Why should I care if she’s watching or not?

“Ten minutes, Colton.”

I whirl around at Kimmel’s production assistant peeking her face through the doorway, agitation giving way to aggravation. I just grunt a response, too wrapped up in my own goddamn head to say anything else.

Fuck!
I wish I could yell it out! Get the pent up bullshit off of my chest. But I don’t. Can’t. It’s my own damn fault. My own fucked-up head ruling my life.

I’ve got to get it together and soon before I walk out on stage and make a fool of myself because my head is wrapped around something else. Someone else. Just like I wish my body was.

Fucking Rylee.

I shouldn’t.

I should.

I shouldn’t.

Aw, fuck it!

My fingers are dialing before I even give myself a chance to stop.

What the fuck am I doing? I want this but I don’t. Need her but don’t want to need her. Whiplash is an understatement to describe the fucking tug-of-war raging inside of me right now.

Man the fuck up, Donavan. Grab your balls back and put them firmly in place. Wanting to fuck her is okay. You’re calling because that’s all you want to do. Nothing else. You don’t need her. You don’t need anyone.

I keep repeating the words to myself, the lie so ludicrous no way in hell I’d even convince Baxter of it.
Fuck
. I’m about done with the pussification of my thoughts, finger hovering over the end call button when music blasts on the other line. I freeze.

“Rylee’s phone can I help you?”

I can barely hear her voice above the music and I’m immediately irked. And then I’m pissed at myself for even caring when I shouldn’t be because she doesn’t even really matter in the first place. Nice try, Donavan. Keep telling yourself that and you just might believe it.

“I’m looking for Ry. It’s Colton.”

“Who?
” she shouts and I wince from the sound coming through the phone.

“Colton.” My patience is about to run out. Why the fuck is Ry not answering her phone? And where exactly the hell are they?

“Who? Oh hey, Colby!”

What?
I stop pacing and grit my teeth. What the fuck is going on here? “
Who’s Colby?
”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Colby.”

“Not hardly,” I say, jaw clenched, anger bristling. Whoever the fuck Colby is, he’s going to wish he wasn’t Colby if I find him trying to talk to Ry again.

But this is just for sex. Yeah, that’s it.

“
Who?
”

And now I feel like I’m being fucked with. Does Ry not talk about me? Does whoever this person that’s close enough she trusts to answer her phone not know who I am? Impossible.

You called pit stop, fucker.
No rings, no strings
. She can do what-the-fuck-ever she wants. So why do I want to punch the mirror in front of me?

I force a swallow down my throat, hating that I care if she’s talking about me and hating that I don’t care even more. Fucking Christ. I’ve been voodooed. Fucking sucked in by her magic and I never even knew it.

Uneasiness and disbelief crawls up my spine. I shake it off. No fucking way. There’s no way I’ve been taken by her goddamn pussy. Time to prove it.

“Colton Donavan,” I say, authority in my voice. Time to quit playing fucking games here.

“Oh, hiya, Colton, this is Haddie. Rylee’s roommate.”

Thank Christ, we’re finally getting somewhere. “Hi, Haddie. I need to talk to Rylee.” Need to? Why the fuck did I say I need to? I don’t need anything from her.

“Mmm-hmm. Well look, she’s a little drunk right now and a lot busy, so she can’t talk to you, but I’d like to.”

Drunk?
Rylee?
In a club on a weeknight? I’m so not liking the images in my head right now. Images like the fucking commercial I’m about to debut. Bodies grinding. Hands groping. Sexy clothes.

I can’t help the groan that falls from my mouth and fuck if Haddie doesn’t hear it because she laughs at me. Fucking laughs. I grind my molars and hope no one is grinding on Ry right now.

“So here’s the deal. I don’t know you very well, but from what I do, you seem like a decent guy. A little too much in the press from your shenanigans if you ask me as you make jobs like mine a little harder, but hey, no press is bad press, right? But I digress …”

“Thanks for the PR consult. Don’t think I asked.” I roll my shoulders as I look at the signatures of past guests on the walls and shake my head in frustration. Be nice. She’s the only way you’re going to find out what the fuck is going on. “Are you guys having something to drink with dinner?” I seriously just asked that?
Fish much, Donavan
? And then that laugh of hers again as if the joke’s on me.

Fuckin’ A.

“Wine for starters, but now we’ve moved on to shots. Tequila. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you really need to get your shit together when it comes to Rylee.”

Wait a minute
. Tequila?
Images flash in my head of the last time I saw Ry doing a shot of that shit. It was after she left me at the Merit Rum party. Stood at the bar, downed the shot like a goddamn pro, and then ran from me. My dick pulses at the memory of what came next though: possession, claiming, some of the best fucking sex of my life.

“Yes, I was talking to you, Colton.” She misunderstands my silence. Must think I’m not listening but instead am thinking of what it was like to see Rylee naked for the first time. Soft skin. Perfect fucking tits. Sinking into her. Hearing that sigh? Goddamn perfection.

So why the fuck is she in some club and not here with me? Because I called a damn pit stop. Motherfucker. I shake my head, the barrage of questions I want to ask fill my head but never have the chance to come out.

“I. Said. You. Need. To. Get. Your. Shit. Together,” Haddie repeats, annoyance and don’t-fuck-with-my-friend in her tone. But hell yeah, I want to fuck her friend. I start to speak, shout at her so she can hear me above that goddamn music, but she cuts me off.

“Rylee’s a game changer, babe. You better not let her slip through your fingers or someone else is going to snatch her right out from under your nose. And from the looks of the sharks circling tonight, you better kick that fine ass of yours into high gear.”

Sweet Christ! This is a one way conversation and yet I’ve just been knocked speechless.
Sharks circling
. Those fucking innocent eyes of hers and body that screams of sin put on display for others to watch. To touch. To want.

Fuck. Me.

“Where are you guys?” I’m about ready to blow off Kimmel, repercussions be damned. “Where?” I demand again.

“Like I said, she’s quite busy right now choosing which guy will buy her next drink, but I’ll let her know you called.”

“Goddammit, Haddie! Where the fuck are you?” I bite the words out, ready to leave. To go get her. Claim her. Anything just so I can feel her again. Can have the peace she brings me again.

Because this is just fucking. That’s all it is.

I shake my head and talk to Haddie as if I’m fucking trying to persuade myself. “You know what? I don’t care where you guys are. She’s a big girl. Can do her own thing.” Jesus Christ, if you’re gonna lie, at least make it sound convincing.

“Uh-huh, yes. I know, but I just thought you ought to know. Game. Changer,” she says, like I’m a fucking two-year-old. As if I don’t already know it. As if I didn’t already cause this fucking situation because I called a pit stop to convince myself otherwise.

“Oh and, Colton? If you make her fall, you better make damned certain you catch her. Hurting her is not an option. Understood? Because if you do hurt her, you’ll have to answer to me, and I can be a raving bitch!” Her taunting laugh fills the line. “Good night, Colton. I hope to see you around once you figure your shit out. Cheers!”

I go to speak, to participate in the conversation that’s just fucked with my head more than it already is, and I hear a goddamn dial tone. What the fuck? Did I actually just get an ultimatum? As if I don’t know I have shit to figure out.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I toss my phone on the counter and shake my head at my reflection.

Fucking hell.

Game changer? Like I didn’t already know that.

Goddamn women.

I roll my shoulders and audibly exhale.

Holy shit … I’ve been voodooed.

What the fuck am I going to do about it now?

The bromance between Colton and Becks is a favorite of many. We first see it begin to emerge in FUELED when they are at the bar before the Las Vegas trip. This scene is a short one I wrote for the moment that Becks realizes Colton wasn’t lying, that they really are bringing Rylee to the City of Sin with them.

“Is there a reason Sammy is driving in the opposite direction of the airport?”

I need another beer. Need something to help numb the nonsense in my head telling me I really want this. Want her.

Fucking Rylee.

“I’m not
that
drunk. I do know the difference between east and west,” Becks says as he tips his own bottle back again. “You can’t pull one over on me.”

“She’s got a hot friend,” I repeat, hoping the idea will shut him the fuck up and let me enjoy my buzz.

“Her ass better be fucking blazing and her tits better be perfection if you’re actually dragging women—
walking vaginas
—to Vegas with us … land of free-balling, free-wheeling,
The Hangover
fucked-upness. Seriously, dude? You’ve lost your fucking marbles. Or handed over your balls.” He shrugs with a chuckle. “They’re about the same size.”

“Fuck off, Daniels.” I grunt at him as I lay my head back, the black interior of the limo all starting to fuse together as it spins like a fucking car doing donuts on the track.

Or the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival with Rylee.

How I wouldn’t like to take her for a spin right now.

“Fucker? Are you listening to me?” Becks’s voice breaks through my thoughts. The ones Rylee commandeers even when she’s not even around.

“Yeah, what?” I angle my head over so that I can see him. “I was just thinking about …
stuff
.”

“Dude, get the voodoo pussy out of your head for a second.”

“Becks, there’s nothing more I’d like right now than to have my head in her wet, willing voodoo.”

“You are a disappointment to all men! Not only did you break the no barebacking pact, but you are fucking grinning about it.”

“I need another beer if I have to listen to your whiny ass. Shit, we’re going to the City of Sin and I’m putting a hottie on your arm … so quit your bitching, pact broken or not.”

“I
know
you’re riding without a saddle now because it’s obviously fucking with your head,” he says, holding up his hands to stop the retort he knows from years of friendship is on my tongue. The one about how much I want one of my two heads fucked with.

“Really chaps your hide, doesn’t it,” I say, fighting the laugh I want to release because fuck, even if I’m well on my way to getting drunk, I still know that was pretty damn witty.

“Fucking hilarious,” he says sarcastically, shaking his head. “
Sooooo
… how are you going to handle Vegas with a chick on your arm?”

I’m instantly irritated at the comment. And now I’m wondering why. What is it about what Becks says that angers me?

“Don’t look at me like that!” he says, and I can tell he’s getting into Becks-knows-all mode
. Fuck!
I so don’t need this right now. “Vegas is usually a flesh feast, so tell me how that’s going to go over with Wonder-Rylee there? Did you think of that, cowboy?”

I close my eyes and emit a sliver of a laugh. “The only all-you-can-eat-buffet I’ll be fucking dining at will be Ry’s Thighs.” I quirk my eyebrows up at him, challenge given. Got a comeback to that one now, fucker? “Besides, I wouldn’t doubt she’d throw down if someone got in her way. She fights for what’s hers.”

And the words are out there before I can fucking take them back. Goddamn alcohol in my brain.

“
What’s hers?
Did you just officially acknowledge—admit—what-the-fuck-ever that you’re taken?” Becks spits out his beer. “Stop the car, Sammy!” he yells.