by Bromberg, K.
I sigh heavily when I hear the sliding door open and Haddie walks out with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a pizza box stacked with plates and napkins on top. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. She walks toward me, the sun framing her tall figure, setting her blonde hair alight like a halo around her head. Long, lean legs stretch from short khaki shorts, and her oversized bosom is covered in an orange camisole. As usual, she is accessorized perfectly and styled flawlessly. And despite her tireless perfection that makes me feel inadequate in so many ways, I love her like the sister I never had.
“I’m starving,” I announce, sitting up from the chair to help Haddie place everything on the table.
“And I’m starving for information on what’s going on with you. On why you’re out here so deep in thought,” she prods as she pours red wine into the glasses, and I serve the pizza.
“Just like in our dorm room,” I say nodding at our meal, laughing at the memory .
She was my freshman year roommate. I could have never of guessed that first week of college orientation that the Barbie doll I roomed with would turn out to be my best friend. She waltzed into our dorm room looking like a model out of a Ralph Lauren ad campaign, so confident and sure of herself, her picture-perfect family following behind her. She slowly took in our meager surroundings, the painted brick walls and small closet space. My gawky self watched her, cringing at the thought of having to be reminded every morning of how inferior I was to this beautiful creature.
I sat picking at the hem of my dress as her parents left for good. She shut the door, turned to me, a huge grin on her heart-shaped lips, and said, “Thank God they’re finally gone!” I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she sagged against the door in relief. She angled her head, studying me, sizing me up. “I think it’s time to celebrate!” she said, hurrying over to her suitcase.
Within moments, she produced a bottle of tequila hidden deep in her belongings. She then flopped on my bed next to me. She unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up in the air between us. “To Freshman year!” she toasted, “To friendship, freedom, cute boys, and having each other’s backs.” She winced as she took a swig of the strong alcohol and then handed the bottle over to me. I looked nervously back and forth between her and the bottle, and then wanting desperately to be liked by her, took a swallow, the burn bringing tears to my eyes.
“My God, we were so naïve then. And young!” she reminisces. “We’ve been through so much since freshman orientation!”
“All we need is that cheap tequila to bring us back.” I laugh and then fall silent as the impending night starts to eat the sun’s rays. “Eight years is a long time, Had,” I say, taking a long drink of the tart wine, letting it soothe the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind.
“Long enough,” she says, taking a seat, looking at me, “that I know something is bugging you. What’s going on, Ry?”
I smile, so grateful to have a friend like her and feeling cursed at the same time because I can’t hide anything from her. I feel tears burn my eyes, the sudden onset of emotions surprising me.
Haddie leans forward, her perfectly tanned legs bending beneath her as she reaches out and places a hand on my leg. “What is it, Rylee? What has you so twisted up?”
I take a moment to find my voice, wanting to tell her everything, to get her opinion on whether I’m being obtuse about Colton. Maybe I know what she is going to tell me if I confess, and that’s why I find myself holding back. Not wanting to hear that it’s okay to let go and feel again. That being with someone else does nothing to tarnish Max, his memory, or what we had together.
“There are too many things. I don’t even know where to start,” I confess, trying to sift through my mental baggage. “I’m exhausted from work—worried about Zander’s lack of progress, wrapping up all of the details from the benefit last Saturday night,” I say, running my hands through my hair, “and the fact that I’m back to the house tomorrow to cover Josie’s shift because she’s sick …”
“Can’t someone else cover it?” she asks, taking a bite of pizza. “You’ve worked way too many hours this week. I’ve barely seen you.”
“No one can. Not this week. Everyone’s hours are maxed out because of all the extra time I had them put in for the benefit … and since I’m on salary … it’s left to me,” I explain.
“I understand why you do it, Ry—why you love it—but don’t let it kill you, sweetie.”
“I know. I know. You sound like my mother!” I take a bite of my pizza and chew it slowly. “The good news though, is that I think we secured the rest of the funding for the facility.”
“What?” she sputters, sitting up quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me? This calls for a celebration,” she says, clinking her glass with mine. “What happened? How? Details!”
“We’re still ironing out the final details before making anything public,” I say, trying to hide my contempt for how we secured the funding, “and then we’ll make an announcement.” I hope that my answer will be enough to keep her questions at bay.
“Okay,” she says slowly, eyeing me, wondering why I’m not being more forthcoming. “So then what’s up with your auction date thing that Dane was telling me about?”
I look down, twisting the ring that sits on my right ring finger. I worry it around and around out of habit. “Not sure yet,” I say, looking up, noticing her watching me twist my ring.
She looks up, tears in her eyes. “It’s because the anniversary is coming up soon isn’t it? That’s why you seem so overwhelmed?” She scoots out of her chair and sits next to me, wrapping her arms around me.
For a brief moment, I allow myself to give in to the memories and to the thoughts that surround the approaching date. I haven’t really put the two together, my sudden sentimentality and my scattered emotional state over the possibility of acting on the nonexistent connection with Colton. I guess I’m subconsciously ignoring the traumatic date, wanting to close my eyes to the grief that will forever exist in the depths of my soul.
I wipe a tear from my cheek and withdraw from the warmth of Haddie’s embrace. “Yeah.” I shrug. “Just too much all at once.” This is the truth, but I feel guilty about not telling Haddie the whole of it.
“Well, sister,” she says, handing back my glass of wine, “let’s drink a bunch more wine, wallow in pity, and laugh at our stupid selves.” Her sincere smile lifts my mood.
I clink my glass to hers, thankful for her friendship. “Cheers, my dear!”
I GLANCE AT THE CLOCK as I finish helping Ricky with his spelling words and shoo him off to play with the others. I have thirty more minutes on shift and then I’m off for a whole glorious two days. I actually have the elusive, rare weekend off, and despite letting Haddie talk me into being her date for a launch party for the newest rum product her company is promoting, I’m excited to have time to myself.
It’s been quite a day to say the least.
Earlier, the school called for me to pick up Aiden because he’d been in yet another fight. I received a lecture from the principal that if this keeps up, other measures might need to be taken for his education. I questioned him about whether the other boys, the ones who keep bullying Aiden, were receiving the same threat. He responded with a non-committal grunt.
I was happy to be able to work one-on-one with Zander while the rest of the boys were in school. Our counseling staff thought it was best to home school him until he started communicating verbally. Trying to teach someone who, for the most part, is unresponsive is a frustrating endeavor to say the least. All I want is for some kind of break through. Something tells me he knows how much I care for him. That I wish he still had his mother to soothe him. To hug him. To tell him she loves him.
The boys are keeping themselves busy while I’m at the table reviewing Shane’s paper for school. Jackson’s shift ended an hour ago and his replacement, Mike, is at a counseling appointment with Connor.
I’m thoroughly impressed with how well Shane is improving in
school, a result of our many one-on-one sessions with him. I glance over to the family room area where Kyle and Ricky have brought their box of baseball cards. They sit down on the floor next to the coffee table and turn their attention to the basketball game on the television. Zander is in his usual place, stuffed animal held to his chest and his eyes staring into space. Scooter is lying on the carpet, coloring in one of his Spiderman coloring books. I listen for the telltale sign of music in the back bedrooms to indicate that Shane is in his room. I finish making comments on Shane’s paper and shift my attention toward reviewing the meal and afterschool activity schedules for the next week.
I hear a knock at the front door and before I can even put my pen down, I hear Shane yell, “I got it!” from his bedroom. I smirk because I know he’s hoping it’s his “girl that is a friend.” She came over last week, and Shane is still on cloud nine.
“Look before you open,” I tell him as I rise from the table and walk toward the hall. As I reach the corner that leads to the foyer, Shane breezes past me, disappointment on his face. “It’s for you,” he says, plopping on the couch.
I turn the corner, figuring that there’s a delivery. The House is always receiving legal documents via courier, regarding our kids’ situations. I reach the doorway and when I step out, I come face to face with Colton. Despite his sunglasses, I know he’s looking me up and down. A lazy, lopsided grin on his face that causes his dimple to deepen, spreads across his face.
Damn my breath for catching at the sight of him. As much as I don’t want him here, don’t want the complication of what he has to offer in my life—a quick fuck that’s easily discarded—I am giddy at the sight of him. And this turn of events is not looking good for me.
I stop in the doorway, a smile spreading on my face despite knowing that he’s bad news for me. We stand, looking at each other, taking each other in for several moments. He’s in a well-worn pair of jeans, and a black T-shirt clings to his muscular torso. The simplicity of his clothing only adds to his devastating looks. His dark hair is windblown, wild, and sexy as hell.
Everything about him screams here comes trouble. And I’m standing right in his path like a deer in the headlights, unable to move. Willpower is only going to last me so long. I’m seriously screwed.
“Hello, Rylee.” The simple rasp of his voice saying my name has me flashing back to his mouth on mine. His hands on me. His vibrations propelling shockwaves through my body.
I cock my head to the side regarding him. “Hi, Ace,” I say guardedly. “Since when did you add stalker to your repertoire of talents?”
I slip my hands into the rear pockets of my jeans as I lean against the doorjamb. He removes his sunglasses, his emerald eyes blazing into mine, and then folds them to hang in the neck of his shirt. Their weight pulls the neckline down so several dark hairs curl out. I drag my eyes from the sight back up to his eyes.
He flashes me a lightning fast grin. “I’d be more than happy to show you my talents, sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes. “Womanizing is not a talent.”
“True.” He draws the word out and slowly nods his head, “but you’ve yet to see the true depths of my many others.” He arches an eyebrow, a roguish smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “And since you keep running, I can’t show you and we can’t solve our little problem about that date you owe me.” He takes a step closer, a playful look in his eyes. I retreat a step back into the foyer, leery of this dance we are engaging in. “Aren’t you going to invite me in, Ryles?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Donavan. I’ve been warned about guys like you.”
He smirks. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. His patronizing smile irks me. He takes another step closer, causing my pulse to quicken.
“What do you want? Why are you here?” I huff.
“Because I want my date with you,” he says, slowly enunciating every word. “And I always get what I want.” He places both hands on the doorjamb, leaning into it, his silhouette blocking the afternoon sun, his dark features haloed by the bright light.
I shake my head at his nerve and boundless conceit. “Not this time,” I disagree. I push the front door to shut and turn back on my heel down the hallway.
In less than a heartbeat, Colton grabs my upper arm, whirls me around, and has me pressed up against the doorjamb. “Keep fightin’ me, sweetheart. The feistier you are, the harder you make me.” There is a dangerous amusement in his tone that scrapes over me and prickles my senses.
Shit! How can he make those words sound like a seductive promise?
He presses his hips against mine, holding me against the hard, unforgiving wood. We’re both breathing heavily, and I’m unsure if it is from the physical exertion or from our proximity to each other.
Colton releases my upper arm and brings both of his hands to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing at my jaw line. His translucent eyes burn into mine, and I can sense an internal struggle in him, his jaw tensing in deliberation.
“As much as I’d like to warn you away from me, Rylee—for your own sake,” he murmurs, inches from my mouth, “all I crave is the taste of you.” His finger trails a line down the side of my neck, lighting my skin on fire. “It’s been too long since I’ve savored you. You. Are. Intoxicating.” His words are a staccato that match the quickening of my heart.
Oh fucking my! If that comment didn’t make desire flood every inch of my skin, nothing will. The man can seduce me with words alone. He’s pulling at me, testing my willpower, and making me want way more than I should. We breathe each other in for a moment as I try to form words in my head. Gain some semblance of coherence. His mere presence makes my synapses misfire.
“Why are you warning me,” I breathe, completely immobilized by the intensity of his stare, “when you’re going to take what you want anyway?”
He quickly flashes a grin before his lips are on mine, his hands on me, proving my point and then some. This kiss is not gentle by any means. I can sense his hunger, his fiery need as our teeth clash. His lips and tongue move at a frenzied pace against mine while his hand grabs hold of my ponytail and tugs down, holding me in place.
I relish this kiss as much as he does, for all of my pent-up frustration over him explodes within me. I am caught up in the hurricane that is Colton. I take as he is taking. I curl my arms around his torso, running my hands up his back, enjoying the firm delineation of his muscles as he moves with me. I nip at his bottom lip, aroused by the low moan that comes from the back of his throat. We press into each other, unable to get enough of each other’s touch—the only thought running through my head is that I want more.
I’m suddenly shocked back to reality like an angel losing her wings when I hear the boys cheering loudly in the family room at something to do with the basketball game. I push Colton back with two hands against his chest.
I try to catch my breath and my bearings by placing my hand against the wall and trying to steady myself. What the hell am I thinking? I’m making out in the doorway at work. For the second time. What the hell is this guy doing to me? When I’m around him it’s as if I’ve lost all sense of reality. I can’t do this. I just can’t. I’m shaken. Really shaken. No one has ever elicited such a blatant carnal reaction from me, and it scares me.
Colton stands across from me, calm as can be, keenly watching. Why do I feel as if I have just run a marathon and he looks like an uninterested bystander?
I finally find my voice. “You’re right,” I say ruefully. “I most definitely should stay away from you.” I look back toward the hallway as I catch a slight grimace on his face. “I need to check on the boys. You can see yourself out,” I tell him as I turn abruptly and walk back toward my responsibilities. My reality.
I enter the great room trying to plaster a natural smile on my face, but failing miserably. All the boys are where I left them and for that I am thankful—glad that no one ventured into the hallway to see their guardian acting like a teenager filled wit
h raging hormones.
Something in my periphery catches my eye. I turn to see Colton standing at the edge of the hallway, thumbs hanging in the pockets of his jeans, shoulder casually leaning against the wall. His face is expressionless, but those iridescent eyes say so much.
What now? Can’t he just leave me alone?
I glare at him, hoping my angst is reflected in my eyes. I see that Shane has taken notice of the stranger standing in his home. He turns his attention to Colton, sizing him up. His face scrunches as he contemplates the stranger, trying to place him.
“What do you want?” I scowl despite trying to keep the contempt out of my voice. The last thing the boys need to witness right now is a confrontation. I notice Kyle and Ricky’s heads pop up to look over the table like a pair of meerkats.
Colton glances at the boys and smiles politely, although I can see the tension in his eyes. “I told you, Rylee, I’m here to collect my winnings,” he drawls. “To collect what’s mine.” He smiles insolently at me, waiting for my reaction.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You owe me a date, Ryles.”
The boys have all turned their attention to us now. The basketball game has been forgotten. Shane is smirking since he’s old enough to sense sexual tension, even if he doesn’t quite understand it.
Colton walks toward me, purposely placing his back to our audience, blocking me from their vision so they can’t watch our interaction. I am grateful when he stops and stands at a respectful distance.
“Sorry, Ace,” I say sweetly so only he can hear me. “Hell hasn’t frozen over yet. I’ll let you know when it does.”
He takes a step closer, his voice just above a whisper. “It seems you know all about being cold, Rylee. Why stay frigid when you know I can heat you up?”
His words take a direct hit at my self-esteem. I see the anger at his arrogance but know I must calm myself down before I cause a scene in front of my kids.