Raced Page 8

  “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.

  The limo swerves quickly to the side of the road and stops with a jerk. I know Sammy thinks Becks is gonna hurl. Did he really drink that fucking much? Lightweight.

  Becks opens the door beside him and climbs out. “Hey, Wood?”

  I’m confused by the amusement in his voice when he’s supposed to be getting sick. “Yeah?” I ask as I angle my head out to look at him, beer in hand, lights from passing cars flashing over his face.

  “Feel that?” he says, lifting his face up to the sky. “That’s the fucking arctic chill right there!”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s starting to ruin my buzz here so I’m getting pissed.

  “Dude, you’re barebacking, we’re taking chicks to Vegas with us, and that has to mean Hell is most definitely freezing over. What in the fuck is this world coming to?”

  I just shake my head at him. “Get in the car, Beckett. If I’m gonna be around a pussy, it sure as fuck needs to be one I can get enjoyable use out of … and you, my friend, are being one but hell if I’d enjoy you.”

  He slides i
n the car next to me and just stares at me, a smirk on his mouth and amusement in his eyes.

  Me and my fucking mouth.

  “Okay, Sam, we’re good to go!” Becks says with a chuckle, and the car starts to take off.

  I open the top of another beer. I think I’m going to need this to deal with him tonight. I’m not fucking hers. Becks is just out if his damn mind if he thinks I’m a kept man.

  I’ll tire of her. I always do. Shit, one woman isn’t going to be able to change my MO. There’s not enough game in the world that can change this player.

  We drive for a bit, both of us staring out the window to the world beyond until he finally breaks the silence. “Really?” he asks with a shake of his head, meeting my eyes. And I know what he’s asking. Are you sure? Is she really worth it? Is Rylee really going to Vegas with us?

  Is she the real-deal voodoo?

  I purse my lips for a second and nod my head. “Damn straight, she is.”

  Here is a new chapter from FUELED. Rylee received the extremely ‘romantic’ poems that Colton composed in Nashville, but this scene takes you to how exactly those poems came about. A bit more bromance here, but also the reason behind Colton’s slip the next morning when he casually called Rylee his girlfriend. I hope you enjoy this new piece of the puzzle.

  “You know what I think?”

  “Huh?” I look over to where Becks is sitting on the chair across from me, but I move too fast and the room spins for a minute before I can focus again.

  “I think,” he says, laughing and tilting God knows what number beer we’re on at me, “I think we need to have a moment of silence.”

  “Who died?” I’m drunker than I thought. What did I miss? I lift my bottle to my lips and try to figure out what he’s talking about.

  “Your single, non-pussy-whipped self.”

  “Bullshit!” I spout through his damn laughter that’s a little too loud right now for my drunk ears.

  “Bullshit?” he says as he scoots to the edge of his chair, and I want to tell him not to stand, that he’ll fall on his ass. Then again, he’s fucking with me and I could use a good laugh at his expense so I refrain. “Were you just not looking at your phone like you wanted to call her and get off?”

  I lay my head back and laugh because hell if he’s not right. It’s been five fucking days since I’ve had her, since she stayed the weekend at my place. Hours occupied with sex that rocked my world and downtime where she challenged me, pushed me, laughed with me. A first for me on so many levels, but the most important one was that I wasn’t freaked the fuck out about it.

  And that never happens.

  “It’s called Skype,” I tease, closing my eyes momentarily. No amount of alcohol can fuck with the perfect image in my head of answering my iPad to find Rylee sitting on her bed, lace and garters and come-fuck-me-gear on the other end of the picture connection. Manicured fingernails parting pink flesh to show me just what I’m missing. Dirty talk I’d never expect to fall from her lips but perfectly fitting in that telephone-sex rasp of hers.

  “Exactly. When have you ever had Skype-sex? You usually snap your fingers in whatever town you’re in and you can pick from the hundred that come running and drop to their knees.” I hear the pop of a bottle top and then another and open my eyes to see him holding a fresh one out to me.

  I think for a second as I accept it and fuck if he’s not right.

  “See? I told you. When you brought her to Vegas with us I thought she was just a passing fad. Thought you were testing the waters because you weren’t used to having a challenge and it got a rise out of you. Literally,” he deadpans, drawing a shake of my head. “But, Wood, after the past few weeks, you bailing from work early to go to go-kart tracks and shit … It’s more than obvious that we need to say our parting words and have a moment of silence for your dearly departed dick.”

  “Becks—”

  “Shh!” he responds¸ trying to hold his pointer finger to his lips but his depth perception is so off I laugh when he tries several times to get it there despite his dead serious face. “A moment of silence is needed to kiss your unvoodooed ass goodbye.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” I tell him but know I’m lucky to have him as my partner in crime.

  “Shh!” he says again, and I give up. I take a deep breath and roll my eyes but humor him and remain silent. I swear he’s passed out but he’s still sitting at the edge of the chair and hasn’t fallen over.

  Yet.

  But his eyes are still closed when a huge-ass grin turns his mouth up and he claps his hands together and rubs them. “Shit, that was easier than I thought.”

  “What was?” My buzz is humming now and I’m finally relaxed after a fuck-all day with the Firestone guys and negotiations over shit they’re going to cave on in the end anyway.

  “Getting you to admit you’re a kept man now.”

  “Fucking Christ, dude!” I spit my beer out. “Kept? You’re calling me kept?” That’s like the equivalent of telling Jenna Jameson she’s a virgin.

  “It’s pretty fucking obvious when there’s a huge neon sign above your head flashing no vacancy for your stabbin’ cabin that you’re a kept man. Have a woman now.”

  “A woman now? I’m sure Ry would love to hear you refer to her as that.”

  He eyes me over his bottle. “So she’s not your woman, then? Because usually when you hang up the phone you don’t think twice, back to business. Now you hang up with a little smirk on your face and you’re lost in la-la land for a bit.”

  “La-la land?” I laugh.

  “What would you call it, then? Girlfriend-ville?” He eyes me. Dares me to deny his reference since I’m the self-proclaimed don’t do the girlfriend thing kind of guy.

  I begin to argue but then stop. Fucking Becks. He knows me like the back of my hand and yet this is uncharted fucking territory for me. A woman that I want to color outside the lines with. No, scratch that. A woman that fucks with me on so many levels that I’m so busy being challenged and seduced by her words, her body, and her defiance that I don’t even realize the parameters I’m used to controlling don’t really matter anymore … because she does.

  Fuckin’ A, he’s right, but hell if I’ll tell him that.

  “We’ll go with woman,” I concede, but the word girlfriend rolls around in my head, sticking here and there as I get used to the idea of it.

  “Holy shit!” Becks says, pounding on his chest acting like he’s choking and I just stare at him unamused despite the smile on my lips. He stops laughing and tosses a bottle cap at me as he leans back in his chair. “Well, admission is half the battle. Keeping her is the other half.”

  “Keeping her?” Dude’s got my head spinning. I mean, fuck, I just told her I’d try, asked her to spend the weekend at Broadbeach with me when no one ever has, and he’s talking about how to keep her? I didn’t realize she was going somewhere.

  “Baby steps, Becks. Don’t give me a heartache here. I hear keeping her but I think rings and strings and weddings and shit.”

  And he only thinks my reaction makes the whole situation funnier by how he curls up and can’t stop laughing. “The look on your face is priceless,” he finally gets out, “but I’m not talking about marriage.”

  Thank fuck for that. We can put away the defibrillators now. I look over at him, eyes telling him to get to the fucking point so I can enjoy my beer again without any more cardiac arrests.

  “I’m talking about romance. Shit girls like, man.”

  “You don’t need romance when you have my skills,” I tell him, already waiting for the smart-ass comment to come from his mouth.

  “Okay, one-pump chump.”

  “Fuck off!” I sneer and flip my middle finger up, but he’s laughing so hard he doesn’t even see it.

  “Shit. I’ve got to take a piss,” he says and rises on unsteady feet to head to the bathroom of my suite.

  I lift my feet up and prop them on the table in front of me, hands clasped behind my hea
d. Through the open balcony doors I can hear Bruno Mars’s newest song playing in the bar across the street, but in the muted silence I start thinking about the word girlfriend. Wondering if that’s a definition we really need when we have our own language between us. Then Beckett’s words start running over again in my head until he comes back out zipping up his fly.

  He walks over to the open doors and I feel a slight pang of guilt that he wanted to go hang out at the bar and I just didn’t want to deal with the crowd tonight. I’m usually interested in the eye candy and playing the game.

  But I just don’t feel like it this trip.

  I shake my head. What in the fuck is Rylee doing to me? All her talk about Scooter saying I Spiderman you and that look on her face as she sat naked on her knees beside me undoes me bit by bit when I’m already a mess of unraveled memories.

  I lean forward and grab another beer from the bucket of ice in front of me and stare at the label for a few minutes. “So uh, romance, huh?”

  I see his body register my words, but he keeps his face toward the street because he can tell I’m so far out of my fucking element here, the periodic table wouldn’t even be able to help me.

  Romance? I don’t do it. Flowers die, food gets eaten. It’s not real. I’ve watched people flip the switch on and off enough in my life between my dad’s movie sets to women wanting something with me that I’m not fucking stupid enough to see the farce.

  So why the fuck am I wondering what Becks thinks I’m screwing up here?

  “What are you not saying to me? You think I’m not giving her the flowery shit a girl wants so she’s gonna bail?” The thought doesn’t settle well in my stomach. In fact it makes me shove up out of my chair and walk back and forth.

  Well more like stumble.

  “I didn’t say shit, dude.” Becks keeps looking out the window. He knows he’s questioned me and I don’t take too easy to that.