Driven

CHAPTER 14

I sleep in late. So exhausted from everything that I’m able to sleep past my normal six-thirty, ingrained wake up. It’s nine by the time I’m in my exercise gear and downstairs.

Haddie is sitting at the little table in the kitchen, bare feet with bright pink painted toes propped on the empty chair across from her. She eyes me cautiously from behind her cup of coffee. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” I mutter, my normal sunny morning self absent. “I’m gonna go for a run,” I tell her as I fasten my audio player to my arm.

“I figured,” she says referring to my attire. “Are you grumpy just because you want to be … or because you are forcing yourself to run after too much alcohol and off-the-charts sex with an Adonis?” Sarcasm is rich in her voice. “I’m surprised you can even walk today.”

I sneer at her. “Sounds like someone is a little jealous,” I counter.

“Damn right I am,” she laughs at me. “I have more cobwebs now than you do.” I laugh out loud at her, my grumpiness abating. “Seriously, though … you okay?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I’m going to take your advice. Try and live in the moment … all that stuff.” I shrug.

She nods slowly at me, “Don’t try to sound so convincing!” she says drolly as she stands from her chair, knowing I need to work through things myself. “I’m here if you need me. Have a good run.”

“Thanks.”

***

The fresh air, pavement beneath my feat, blaring music in my ears, and moving muscles feels masochistically cathartic as I enter my fifth and final mile. I needed this. Needed to get out, clear my mind, and give myself time to think all at the same time. My muscles, sore from last night from the mixture of dancing and great sex, are now limber and moving on autopilot. As much as I think I should go for an extra mile, my stupidity in overlooking breakfast before my run has my body telling me that I won’t last that far. Pitbull blasts in my ears, the song’s constant beat driving my feet and spinning my head back to thoughts of last night.

Oh, Colton. My head is still trying to wrap itself around what happened. He’s the chance I have been looking for. To be carefree. To live in the moment. To be alive, not just living. I resolve that I can have sex with Colton with emotion. The emotions just have to be fueled by excitement and anticipation and lust rather than love and devotion and the hope of “more.” I just need to keep being the sassy, smart-mouthed woman I’ve been all along because the minute he thinks there’s an inkling of more, he’ll be out the door. And it—him, me, us—will be over.

I ponder this my last quarter of a mile, recalling how he made me feel physically last night. I guess there’s something to be said for lots of experience as I can attest that the man is skilled in the many facets of sexual dexterity. I blush at my thoughts, steeling my resolve that I can be with Colton without falling in love with him. I hope. That I’m going to enjoy every second of it because I know he’s not the staying kind.

Teagan and Sara’s “Closer” fills my head as I turn the corner onto my street, my footsteps faltering as I see a white Range Rover parked in my driveway. The rhythm has been knocked clear out of my stride at the shock of seeing him here. I can’t help the hum that comes from deep in my throat in pure appreciation at the sight of Colton leaning up against the front fender of the car, his dark figure haloed by its white. A navy blue shirt fits snugly over his torso, hinting at the corded muscles underneath. Muscles I can still feel on my fingertips. A pair of printed board shorts sits low on his hips and his long, lean legs cross casually at the ankles completed with a pair of flip-flops. Casual suits Colton very well. It lightens the intensity he instinctively exudes. His head is bent down concentrating on the phone in his hands, and his unruly hair is spiked with gel to perfection in a stylish, messy disarray. The pang of desire that hits my body is so strong, so overwhelming that I almost have to bring a hand to my torso to stifle it. I force myself to remember to breathe as I push my body to start moving again.

To go home. To go to Colton.

Shit. I’m in serious trouble. I admire him from afar, looking so unbelievable and attractive, and I realize that everything I thought about on my run—every stipulation, every rationalization, every justification of why it’s okay to sleep with him—doesn’t matter. Seeing him right here, right now, I know that I’ll do anything it takes, whatever the consequences, to be with him again. To repeat how he made me feel last night.

Almost as if on cue, Colton glances up from his phone and locks eyes with me. A slow, smug grin lights up his face as I run my last few steps, turning up my driveway. I methodically pull my ear buds out, laughing to myself that Christina Aguilera’s “Your Body” is blasting, an anthem to the pure and reckless enjoyment of the male form. I can feel his eyes run up and down the length of my body, taking in my skin-hugging Capri exercise pants and matching razor-back tank top, a V of sweat down the front of my bust.

“Hi,” I say breathlessly, my body still huffing from my exertion.

“Hello, Rylee.” The rasp of his voice saying my name is a hidden aphrodisiac, sending chills down my spine and eliciting a tingling in my belly.

“What are you doing here?” I look at him with confusion etched on my face hiding that my insides are privately jumping for joy, shocked that he is here in front of me.

“Well,” he says pushing himself off of the car as I walk to a stop in front of him. He exudes a confidence that most people would kill to have. “According to you, I took the checkered flag last night, Rylee,” a provocative smile grows on his lips, “but I seem to have neglected to collect my trophy.”

“Trophy?”

He takes my hand with eyes sparkling full of humor still locked on mine, and tugs on it, pulling me forcibly against his chest, “Yes. You.”

Oh. Fucking. My. Thoughts run chaotically through my head. How do I respond to that? To him? When all I can think about is the feel of his warm, hard body against mine, and the fact that he is here for me again after I ran out on him last night. I tell myself to breathe, his mere presence stripping me of the ability to perform the most basic of functions. I quickly try to regain my composure, telling myself that I need to keep our interactions on my terms—revert to my sarcastic nature—in order to make sure that I can keep my wits about me.

I hear Haddie’s voice in my head telling me to channel my inner-slut. To go for it.

I breathe in again before I raise my eyes to meet the challenge in his. His pure male scent, soap mixed with cologne fills my nose and clouds my head. “Well, Ace, I think you’ve got your eyes on the wrong prize.” I pull my hand from his and put it on his chest, playfully pushing him back, distancing his body from mine. Needing the space to keep a clear head. “If all you’re looking for is a trophy, you have your bevy of beauties you can have your pick from. I’m sure that one of them would be more than willing to be a trophy on your arm.” I skirt past him toward the front door. I turn back to face him, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth, “And become another notch on your belt,” I shrug as I take a step backwards. “You could probably start by calling Raquel, is it? I’m sure she’ll forgive you for last night. I mean, you were …” I turn around and take a step for the door, pretending that I’m searching for a word before shrugging and tossing over my shoulder, “decent. She’s probably thrilled with decent.”

I wish I could see the look on his face for the sharp intake of breath I hear tells me that I made a direct hit with my comment. I don’t have to wait long to find out because within a breath, Colton grabs my arm and spins me around to him, pressing my body against his.

“Decent, huh?” he questions, his eyes boring into mine. I see anger, humor, defiance, all mixed together with desire. His breath flutters over my face, his lips inches from mine—so close that I clench my fists to resist the temptation to kiss him.

It takes all of my composure to keep up my charade of nonchalance. To hide how much he excites me, ignites my insides and shatters my control with just the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch, and the hint of his dominant nature.

I deliberately bite my bottom lip and look my eyes up in thought before bringing them back to his, “Hmmm, a smidgen above average, I’d say,” sarcasm dripping from each word as I smirk at him, lying through my teeth and then some.

“Maybe I need to show you again. I assure you that decent is not an accurate assessment.”

He snorts loudly as I push away from him again and provocatively sashay my way up the front walk, “I need to go stretch,” I say sensing his movement behind me. “Are you gonna come?” I ask innocently, a victorious smirk he can’t see wide on my face.

“If you keep moving your ass like that, I am,” he mutters under his breath as he follows me into the house.

I lead him into the family room hoping Haddie is occupied elsewhere in the house and offer him a seat on the couch before I sit on the floor directly in front of him to stretch. I stretch my legs out to either side of me as wide as they can go and lower my chest to the ground, hands out in front of me on the floor. With the help of my sports bra and my chest pressing into the floor, my cleavage is pushed up and hedges over the top of my tank. I can see Colton’s eyes wander over my body, stopping at my chest, and taking in the flexibility I’m purposefully displaying to drive him crazy. I can hear his hiss of desire, and I see his throat work in a forced swallow.

“So, Colton,” I say, stretching out over one prone leg, turning my head to look at him. I stifle a smile as I recognize the lust clouding his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Christ, Rylee!” He runs a hand haphazardly through his hair, his eyes moving over the cleavage again, before raising up to meet my eyes. He unintentionally wets his bottom lip with his tongue.

“What?” I respond all doe-eyed, as if I have no idea what he’s agitated over. I’ve never played the femme fatale—never had the courage to—but something about Colton allows me to feel daring and bold. It’s a very heady feeling to watch him react to my subtlest motions.

“We need to talk about last night.” I see his eyes narrow as I switch positions, now lying on my back. I pull my right leg all the way up, pressing it to my chest, my shin inches from my nose. I lift my head up and look through the open V of my legs to encourage him to go on. He clears his throat noisily before continuing, taking a minute to remember his train of thought. “Why you left? Why you ran away? Again.”

I switch legs, taking my time to pull my other leg up, and stretch it over my head, making a low moan at how good it feels to elongate my tightened muscles. “Colton—”

“Can you please stop?” he barks out, shifting restlessly on the couch and adjusting the growing bulge that presses against the seam of his shorts. “Christ,” he swears again as I roll over into child’s pose, my bent rear in his view. “You in those yoga pants all limber and bending in half—you’re making me lose my concentration here.”

I look over my shoulder from my stretch and coyly bat my eyelashes at him. “Hmmm?” I feign as if I didn’t hear him.

Colton sighs in exasperation. “You’re gonna make me forget my apologies and take you right here on the floor. Hard and fast, Rylee.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage for his threat-laced promise sends shockwaves through me, my body more than eager for his skilled touch again. My lips part to remind my lungs to breathe. My nipples harden at the thought. I push myself up to a seated position, cross my legs, and adjust my top to try and hide my body’s excitement at his words. “Although I’m sure it’s me who should be apologizing, Colton.”

He ignores my words, his eyes holding mine, various emotions flickering through them. “Why’d you leave, Rylee?”

The command in his tone has me swallowing quickly, my confidence waning. I shrug, “A number of reasons, Colton. I told you, I’m just not that kind of girl. I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Who said it was a one-night stand?”

A bubble of hope sputters inside of me, but I quickly try to stifle it. Not a one night stand? Then what the hell was it? What the hell is this? I try to figure out what he’s looking for. What he might think this is between us. I look at his eyes, searching for a clue, but his expression gives nothing away. “What?” Confusion etches my face. “You lost me. I thought commitment wasn’t your thing.”

“It isn’t.” He offers up with a shrug, no other explanation given. “I don’t believe you.” He crosses his arms across his chest, biceps straining against shirtsleeves, and leans back into the couch. He quirks his eyebrows at me and waits for my answer.

“What?” He’s lost me.

“Your excuse for running last night. I don’t buy it. Why’d you leave, Rylee?”

I guess that’s the end of the no-girlfriend discussion. But what about the not-a-one-night-stand comment? As for an answer, how do I explain to him how he made me feel last night after he left the bed? Used and ashamed. How do I tell him he hurt me without sounding like I have feelings for him? Feelings mean drama, and he has let me know he doesn’t want or tolerate that in his life.

“I just—” I sigh deeply, pulling my hair tie from my ponytail and let my hair fall down my back, trying to find the right words. I look him in the eyes, figuring honesty is the easiest route. “You made it clear that you were done with me. With us …” I can feel the heat of my flush spread over my cheeks. Embarrassed that I am going to sound like a needy, whining female. “Cursing adamantly to demonstrate why my presence was no longer needed.”

He eyes me cautiously, his eyes blinking rapidly as he contemplates my words. I try to keep my face impassive, unexpressive so that he can’t see the hurt I feel, and yet I see a myriad of emotions fleet across his face as he struggles to gain his footing. “Sweet Jesus, Rylee!” he mutters closing his eyes momentarily, his mouth opening and closing as if he has more to say. Finally he looks back at me. “Do you have any idea … you made me—” He stops midsentence before standing abruptly and walking to the window. I hear him mutter a curse and I blanche at its severity. “I just want to protect you from—,” he stops again, a loud sigh the only completion to his sentence. He puts a hand to the back of his neck and pulls down on it while he rolls his head on his shoulders. He stands there momentarily, looking out at the front yard, both of us suspended in contemplative silence.

I made him what? Protect me from what? Finish the sentences, I plead silently as I watch his tense body framed by the mid-morning light. I just need an ounce of honesty from him. A sign that what happened meant more than just a quick romp. I’d give anything to see his face at this moment. To try and read the emotions he’s masking from me.

He turns back around and any hint of expression previously on his face is gone. “I asked you to stay.” He says the words as if they’re the only apology he’s giving for his actions. “That’s all I can give you right now, Rylee. All I’m good for.” His voice is gruff and laced with what I think is regret. I feel as if he’s trying to tell me so much more with these words but I’m not sure what. The words hang between us for a moment, his jaw clenched, eyes intense.

I snort loudly, uncomfortable with the silence, trying not to read too much into his words. “C’mon Colton, we both know you didn’t mean it.” I rise from the carpet, grabbing my hair and twisting it quickly into a bun. He takes a couple of steps toward me, his lips twisting as if that action alone will prevent him from saying more. We stand a few feet apart, staring at each other, and each waiting for the other to make the next move. I shrug before looking down and twisting the ring on my right ring finger. I look back up at him, hoping my explanation will stifle any questions he has about having to manage my expectations of a possible future. Baggage equals drama to him, and he’s already admitted to me that he hates drama. “Let’s just say I left last night for reasons you don’t want to know about.” His eyes remain on mine, silently asking for more. I huff loudly. “I’ve got lots of excess baggage, Ace.”

I wait for the deep exhale from him—the impassive expression to glaze over his face reflecting a man distancing himself from complication, but neither happens. Instead, Colton’s mouth widens into a cocky smile and his green eyes fill with humor—both of which ease the severity of his countenance. “Oh, Rylee,” he empathizes with a trace of amusement in his voice, “I know all about baggage, sweetheart. I have enough of it to fill up a 747 and then some.” Despite his smiling façade, I see the darkness flicker in his eyes momentarily as some unpleasant thought holds his memory.

Holy shit. What can I say to that? How do I respond to him when he’s just hinted at a dark, sordid past? What the hell happened to him? I stare at him, eyes wide and my teeth worrying my bottom lip back and forth. Is this why he doesn’t do the girlfriend thing? I mean, talk about going from fun, flirty banter to a serious conversation. And why does this seem to be a common occurrence for us?

Because he matters. Because this matters. The words flicker through my head, and I have to push them away, afraid to believe.

He takes a step closer to me, and I lower my eyes momentarily to the visible beat of his pulse at the base of his jaw. My hands want to reach out and touch him. Console him even. To feel the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. I sigh softly before I look back up at him, a suggestive smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “This could be interesting,” he murmurs as he reaches out to play with an errant curl on the side of my face. His fingers roam to my haphazard bun and tug the self-sustaining knot. My hair tumbles free, falling down my back in a waterfall of curls. He runs a hand through it, stopping at the nape of my neck where my hair is damp with sweat. I cringe at the thought but he doesn’t seem to mind as he fists his hand in it, holding my curls ransom so that I can’t look away from him.

“How so?” I ask, a charge jolting through me, arousing me, at the possessive nature of his hold. He mesmerizes me; his eyes, the lines of his face, his sensuous mouth, the way his muscles pulse in his jaw when conflicted.

“Well, it seems that your baggage makes you so scared to feel you constantly pull away. Run from me,” his voice rasps, as he lazily trails a fingertip down my bare shoulder. I struggle to prevent my body from automatically leaning into his addictive touch. My body just reacts so instinctively to him that I can’t stop myself. He tilts his head to the side, watching my reaction. “Whereas mine? My baggage? It makes me crave the sensory overload of physicality—the stimulating indulgence of skin on skin. Of you beneath me.”

And therein lies the problem—when he refers to me, he speaks of feelings and emotions and when he refers to himself he is speaking of physical contact. I try to turn my mind off. I try to tell myself that the physical contact is what I want from him too. The only thing that I can have from him. Acknowledge it’s the only part he’ll share of himself with me.

It’s an easy thing to remember because Colton leans forward and brushes his lips tenderly against mine. All conflicting thoughts disappear with his touch. A soft sigh of a kiss that we slowly sink into. I part my lips for him, his tongue slipping inside to stroke gently and meld with mine. Unhurried, lazy strokes of tongue and fingertips as he runs them over my bare shoulders and up the vertebrae on my neck. I could kiss him like this forever in this hazy state of desire. His earthy scent envelopes me, his heady taste consumes me, and his incendiary touch ignites me. He groans with our kiss, the rumble of it caught within me, vibrating through me.

A warm, soothing ache seeps into my chest and spreads throughout the rest of my body. I turn my mind off and allow myself to just feel. To revel in the sensations that he evokes within me. He is my fire on a cold night, the sun warming my skin on a cool spring morning, the wind caressing my face on an autumn day—he is everything that makes me feel alive, and whole, and beautiful.

And desired.

I slide my hands under the hem of his shirt and splay them wide across his lower back. His taut skin heats beneath my touch. I need this connection with him like I need sunlight. For when we touch like this, when I can feel him like this, I have no doubt that I can do this. That I can be what he needs me to be for however long he’ll allow it. For the chance to be with him, to remain under his spell, I will push my needs aside and bury them so deeply that I can be whom he wants.

Colton cups my face in his hands, the kiss softening, stopping with a brush of lips so gentle that it sends chills up my spine. I sigh softly into him as he wraps his arms around me, strong muscles pulling me into the comfort of his warmth. I rest my head on his chest, smelling clean linen and fresh soap. I can hear his heart beating, strong and steady against my ear. I close my eyes, wanting this moment to last forever.

He rests his chin atop my head. I can hear him inhale a shaky breath before he speaks. “It’s unfathomable how much I want you, Rylee.” He pulls me tighter into him. “How much I’m drawn to you.”

I bask silently in his admission, a small smile on my lips. Maybe I do affect him. I shake the thought from my head, not wanting to overcomplicate, overanalyze or over think the simplicity and the sweetness of this moment between us.

“Rylee?”

“Hmmm?”

“Go out with me—on a real date.” I can feel his body tense against mine with his words, as if it’s painful to ask. To admit he wants this from me. “Go out with me, not because I paid for a date with you but because you want to.”

Elation soars through me at the thought of getting to see him again. Of spending time with him again.

“Say yes, Ryles,” he murmurs with a quiet desperation as he kisses the top of my head. “It’s unimaginable how much I want you to say yes.”

I lean back, shocked by the vulnerability I hear in his voice and sense in his body language. Why is he afraid I’ll say no when everyone else would say yes? I raise my eyes to his, trying to read the emotions flashing through the stark green of them. I see passion and humor, desire and challenge, promise and fear. Why does this beautifully tormented man want to spend time with ordinary me? I don’t have the answer but I know in this moment, looking at him, I can see so much more in his eyes than I think he wants me to. And what I see, it scares me on so many levels that I have to tuck it away for later when I’m all alone. I can analyze it then. Replay it then.

Hope then.

I raise a hand to run it against the roughness of his slight stubble, liking its coarseness beneath my fingers. The texture tells me that this moment is real. That he is really here with me. I lean up on my tiptoes and place a soft, closed-mouth kiss on his wonderfully sculpted lips. “Yes,” I breathe and with my answer, regardless of all of the psychological propaganda I barrage myself with, I know that Colton Donavan has just put the first fissure in the protective wall around my heart.

He nods his head subtly, a shy smile on his face, no words expressed. He pulls me into him one more time. “Tonight?” he asks.

I still, mentally looking over my calendar, knowing that I have no plans but not wanting to seem too eager.

“I’ll be here at six to pick you up, Rylee,” he decides for me before I have a chance to answer. He releases me and looks me in the eye to make sure that I hear him. All trace of vulnerability is long gone when I meet his eyes. It’s been replaced with the implacable confidence that is synonymous with his public persona.

I bite my bottom lip and nod in agreement, suddenly feeling shy.

He cups my chin, running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “See you then, sweetheart.”

“Bye,” I exhale, already missing him.

He walks to the front door, opens it, and then turns back to me, “Hey, Ryles?”

“Hmmm-hmmm.”

“No more running away from me,” he cautions before flashing a quick grin and closing the door behind him. With his departure, I can suddenly breathe again. His presence is so strong, so overpowering, it overwhelms the room. Infiltrates my senses. With him gone, I feel like I can process what just happened. Finally breathe.

I stand facing the door, and close my eyes absorbing everything that has just transpired. Nothing is solved. None of my questions are answered: Why he doesn’t do the girlfriend thing? What is this between us since it’s not a one-night stand? What was he really going to say when he said I made him, but never finished? What is he trying to protect me from? What kind of baggage fills his 747?

I sigh heavily. So much has been left unanswered, and yet I feel like so much has been expressed without being said. I sit down on the couch, my head reeling from my whirlwind of a week.

“Is he gone?” I hear Haddie’s hushed voice from the other side of the wall.

“Yes, nosy girl,” I laugh, “Come out here and give me your two cents.”

“Holy crap!” she shouts as she hurries around the wall and flops down on the couch next to me. “Hot date tonight!” she sings loudly, raising her arms up in the air. “Whew, I need to take a cold shower after that.”

“You watched?” I blush quickly, embarrassed at the thought of having an audience.

“No, no, no, it wasn’t like that,” she corrects. “I was in the kitchen when you guys came in the house. If I would’ve left, you’d have seen me, and I didn’t want to distract from your floor show,” she teases, referring to my stretching routine. “I heard only.”

I blush at the thought of her listening to our conversation, but find comfort in the notion that she’d listened. Now I can get an unbiased opinion about our exchange.

“Ace? Does he know what that stands for?”

“Nope!” I smirk, recalling Haddie and my private acronym and the words it represents.

“Damn, Ry,” Haddie shakes her head, “the man’s got it bad for you.”

I falter in my immediate response. Her statement blindsides me. I pick at the cuticle on the side of my nail for a moment, trying not to jump to conclusions. “Nah, it’s more like pure, unadulterated lust.”

“Not how I see it,” Haddie responds, my eyebrows quirking up in question to her comment. “Smitten is the word that comes to mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, c’mon, Rylee! Hard and fast?” she sputters.

“That’s just sex,” I shrug, “Not commitment.”

“It’s unfathomable how much he wants you?” she tries.

“Sex again,” I correct.

“Unimaginable how much he wanted you to say yes to tonight?”

“Because he thinks it will lead to sex,” I reply, a smile on my face from having fun with this game.

“How about when he said it wasn’t a one-night stand?” she tries again, eyes full of humor. Her heart shaped lips form a smile, thinking she’s proven me wrong this time.

“Semantics,” I answer. “Maybe he wants a thirty-night stand? I mean he only said it wasn’t a one-nighter.”

“Your incorrigible,” she laughs at me, grabbing my knee and squeezing it lightly. “But hell, at least it’d be thirty days worth of great sex, Rylee!” she gushes, her excitement for me palpable. “You’re going out with him again tonight! On a real date!”

“I know,” I sigh, shaking my head at the thought of getting to spend more time with Colton. “At least there might be conversation tonight before we have sex,” I joke, although a rational part of me admits its truth.

Haddie bursts out laughing. “Oh, Rylee, my sensible friend,” she pats my leg, “this is going to be so much fun to watch you experience.”

I quirk my eyebrow at her and shake my head, filled with so much love for her and so much confusion over the situation with Colton. I sigh deeply, leaning my head back on the comfortable couch, and angle it to the side so that I can look at her. “Did I handle that right, Haddie? I tried so hard to be what he wants and—”

“You are what he wants, Rylee, or he wouldn’t have tracked you down to your house.” She is exasperated at having to explain this to me. Again.

“What did you just say?” The magnitude of her comment hits home. How does Colton know where I live? I’ve never told him. Something to ask him.

“C’mon, Ry,” she says oblivious to my train of thought, “What you did was brilliant! You walk out on him after sex last night and the next morning he shows up at our doorstep. I mean—” she shakes her head, a knowing smile on her lips, “that’s more than just sex, Ry. The man’s got it bad for you.”

I feel her words take hold and enter into my conscious, but I’m afraid to believe them. Afraid to hope that there’s a chance at anything with Colton. My head tries to shut out the surge from my heart, but it fails miserably. The hopeless romantic in me allows me a moment to daydream. To hope. I close my eyes sinking in to the glimmer of possibility and the warmth of the idea.

“Shit!” I scrub my hands over my face as panic hedges its way through my thoughts.

“What?” Haddie opens her eyes, narrowing them as she looks over at me.

“What if I can’t do it?”

“Which part of it are you referring to?” she questions warily. “Because it’s a little late, sister, if the it you’re referring to is sex.”

“Very funny.” I huff. “I meant what if I can’t turn off the emotions. What if I fall for him, Had?” I sit up and run my fingers through my hair, and the action makes me think of Colton’s fingers there earlier. “I mean he’s arrogant and overconfident and he warns me away but tells me he’s drawn to me and he’s reckless and he’s passionate and sexy as hell and…so, so much more.” I press my fingers to my eyes and sit there for a minute, Haddie allowing me the moment to absorb everything. “I know without a doubt that it’s a good possibility.” I look up at her. “Then what? “

“It seems he’s not the only one who’s smitten,” she says softly before I glare at her. She scoots over next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. “No one can fault you for being afraid, Rylee, but life’s about taking chances. About having fun and not always playing it safe. So what if he’s a little reckless? The fact that he scares you might be a good thing. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone,” she leans back and wriggles her eyebrows. “Have some wild, reckless sex with him. He obviously likes you. Who knows, maybe it will turn into something more. Maybe it won’t. But at least you took the chance.”