The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  Leave it to Becks. The only person that can put me in my place. The only person I’ll allow to call me on it. The only person that knows me well enough to know I’m pissed and to ask in our guy speak what the fuck’s wrong.

  “It’s nothing,” I shrug.

  He chokes out a long laugh and shakes his head at me. “Yeah. It’s nothing alright,” he says, unfolding himself from his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “Since you’re so talkative, I think I’ll be on my way then.”

  Fuck this. Before Becks reaches the door, I’m shoving my wallet into my back pocket, grabbing my cell, and striding toward the door. “Let’s go,” I mutter as I walk past him, knowing that he’ll be right behind me. And I’m right because I hear his quiet laugh behind me. The one that says yep, I was right.

  I give the universal ‘another round’ motion to the waitress with the nametag stating Connie. If she’s just going to stand there and stare, she might as well do something to earn the free show. Shit. My buzz is humming now and I’m just starting to relax. I’m not drunk enough to push away my shitty mood, but I’m making progress.

  Connie swivels her hips as she comes over to the table with our drinks in her hands. She leans over the table to set them down, making sure that I get the eyeful of tits she’s putting on display. She’s unquestionably hot in all of the right ways and in all of the right places. I’d definitely hit it—another time, another place, maybe—but I stifle back the smartass comment on my tongue about how all of a sudden from the drink request to the drink arrival her shirt just got lower and her skirt just got shorter. “Is there anything else I can get you two gentlemen?” she asks with a suggestive tone to her voice and her tongue licking over her lips.

  “We’re good here,” Beckett deadpans, shaking his head and breaking her attempt at flirting. He’s used to this shit and is a fucking saint for dealing with it all these years in his subtle, calculating way.

  A text pings on my phone, and I reach for the fresh bottle as I look at it. “Smitty’s on board,” I tell him. I should be happy that Smitty’s coming to Vegas with us. We’ve shared plenty of wild outings in the past. He’ll definitely help get rid of my fucked up mood.

  If I’m so happy, then why am I disappointed that it isn’t Rylee’s name on my phone’s incoming text?

  “Cool. Almost the whole gang then,” Becks says, leaning back in his seat and taking a long pull on his beer. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting patiently for me to talk.

  I lean forward and place my head in my hands for a moment, trying to shake my head out of where it keeps returning. Fucking Rylee.

  “You want to tell me what we’re doing here, Colton, at almost six o’clock on a Friday night? Who the hell put that stick up your ass?”

  I just shake my head as I peel the label on my bottle and keep my eyes down. “Fucking Rylee,” I mumble, knowing I’ve just opened the proverbial can of worms by admitting it to him.

  “That so, huh?” he muses. I lift my head up slowly and meet his eyes, surprised by the lack of smartass comments that are his typical style. He peers at me over his beer bottle as he takes another sip, and I just nod my head. “What the hell’d you do to her?”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Becks.” I laugh. “Who says I did anything?”

  He just gives me a look that says look who we’re talking about here. “Well…”

  “Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutley nothing,” I bark out, tossing back my shot to help bury the fact that I’m lying to my best friend. “She’s just frustrating.”

  “Like that’s a fucking news flash. We’re talking about a woman here, aren’t we?”

  “I know. She’s just gotten under my skin and now she’s playing the hard to get card. That’s all.” I sigh, leaning back in my chair so I can meet Beckett’s stare.

  “She told you no?” Becks coughs out in shock. “Like no, no? Are you shitting me?”

  “Nope.” I catch Connie’s eye again for another round.

  “Well shit, Wood. We are leaving for the city of sin in a couple of hours. I’m sure there’s a hot piece of ass there that you could tap for the night to forget about her. Or for that matter, several hot pieces.” He shrugs and a slight, antagonizing smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Since all you’re doing is just fucking Rylee…because that is all you’re doing, right? Fucking her? There’s no commitment there to ruin. No voodoo pussy hex.”

  I know he’s trying to push my buttons. Get a reaction one way or another as to where I stand when it comes to Ry. But for some reason I don’t take the bait. It’s gotta be the alcohol running through my veins. Instead, I shrug at him in agreement about finding someone else for the night, but for some reason I have no desire to. None. And why the hell does that kind of comment—that I’m just fucking her—piss me off. This is Beckett I’m talking to. My best friend and brother for all intents and purposes—the man I discuss everything with, and I mean everything—so why does his off the cuff remark bug me?

  It’s like she still has my balls in her grip.

  God Damn.

  “She’s got a hot friend.”

  Becks looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Come again? I’m not following you.”

  “Well, we can swing by Rylee’s place on the way to the airport and the two of them can come with us.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain can process the thought.

  Beckett chokes on his swallow of beer and starts coughing. The look on his face is one of complete shock. Apparently I did grow an extra head.

  I ignore him and turn my concentration back to my beer’s label. Where the hell did that come from? Taking Rylee to Vegas with me? The one place I can most likely forget about her for a while? The ultimate place to use pleasure to bury the pain. Taking a girl to Vegas with you is like taking a wife to your mistress’ house. That’s why I’ve never done it. Never even thought about it. Avoided it at all costs. Companions, dates, whatever they’re called, always stay home. They never even know I go. No exceptions. So why in the hell did I just suggest it? And more importantly, why the hell do I want her to go more than anything?

  I must be outside of my fucking mind. Voodoo pussy.

  Motherfucker.

  “Holy shit…” Beckett says on a long drawn out drawl. “I never thought I’d see the day that Colton Fuckin’ Donavan would say that.” He whistles out a sigh, and then I swear I can hear something click in that head of his. “You’re barebacking, aren’t you?”

  I can’t help my eyes from snapping up to his with the comment. Our universal guy speak for sticking with one woman. For thinking of more than just sex without strings. For fucking without a condom because you have complete trust in the other person.

  For being pussy-whipped.

  Neither of us have ever barebacked. Ever. Kind of a silent solidarity we have between us. Neither of us that is, until now.

  “Motherfucker!” Becks jumps up in his seat. “You are, aren’t you, you cocksucker!”

  “Shut the fuck up, Beckett.” I growl as I toss back the rest of my beer and raise my empty shot glass up to Connie who hasn’t stopped waiting attentively five feet away. Becks just sits and looks at me in silence until the newest round of shots are placed in front of us. I sit and stare back at him a while longer and let my comment settle between us, get comfortable rolling the idea around in my head…and then it hits me.

  Hell yes, I want Ry to go with us. Now what the fuck does that mean? I throw back the shot, hissing at its burn before scrubbing my hand over my face as numbness spreads into my lips. Beckett keeps looking at me like I’m some kind of circus show freak. I can tell he’s biting his cheek to keep from grinning at me, from saying the shit that’s flying through his eyes at a lightning pace.

  He holds his hand up to his ear and leans over the table. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly. What was your answer?”

  I can’t help the grin that pulls up one corner of my mouth. This is being tame for Beckett, so I’m grateful
that he’s keeping himself in check against my obvious discomfort.

  “No shit!” he says, shifting in his chair to stare at me for a little while longer with disbelief on his face. He looks down at his watch. “Well, if we’re going to take off on time, loverboy, we best be going.”

  “That’s all you’re going to say?” I ask incredulously.

  “I haven’t even started yet, Wood! I need time to process…it’s not every day Hell falls below zero.”

  Fine by me. If I can get away with only that being said right now, I’ll take it. I nod my head at him and start typing away on my phone. “I’m texting Sammy to come get us.” I tell him. The background music in the bar is playing, and I laugh at the fucking song playing. Of course it’s Pink. Rylee and her fucking Pink. I send my text to Sammy and then hover over her name on my phone. Before I know it, I’ve entered a quick one to Rylee as well.

  I’m in this far, might as well go balls deep.

  “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 in 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.”

  “YOU REALLY SAID THAT TO him?” Haddie asks incredulously, the look on her face over-exaggerated and hilariously funny.

  “I swear!” I told her, holding up my hand in testament. I look down at my phone where a text just pinged. It’s from Colton, and all it says is: Get this Party Started – Pink.

  Haddie doesn’t notice the odd look on my face when I read it because she is concentrating on filing her nails. What the hell? First the text about Matchbox Twenty today, which threw me for a loop, and now this? He’s a little all over the place and a lot confusing.

  “Shit! I’d have loved to see his face when you shut that door.”

  “I know.” I laugh. “It felt kind of good to leave him stunned for once rather than the other way around.”

  “See, I told you!” she says, pushing on my knee.

  “Besides the testosterone fest with Colton, did you and Tanner have a nice visit?”

  “Yeah.” I smile softly. “It was so good to see him. I don’t realize how much I miss him until—” a knock on the door interrupts me. I look over at Haddie, my eyes asking her who could be knocking on our door at seven o’clock on a Friday night.

  “No clue.” She shrugs, getting up to answer it since I have a slew of work papers strewn across my lap and on the couch beside me.

  Moments later I hear laughter and voices and Haddie exclaiming, “Well look what the cat dragged in!”

  Curious, I start to clear my papers when Haddie enters the family room, a broad smile on her face. “Someone’s here to see you,” she says,
a knowing look in her eyes.

  Before I can ask her who it is, Colton comes barreling into the room in a less than graceful stride with a laughing Beckett right behind him. Something’s amiss with Colton, and I’m not sure what it is until he sees me. A goofy grin spreads across his face and it looks out of place against the intensity of his features. Luckily, I’m shuffling up my papers because he unceremoniously plops down right beside me.

  “Rylee!” he exclaims enthusiastically as if he hasn’t seen me in weeks. He reaches out, calloused fingers rasping against my bare skin, grabs me, and pulls me onto his lap. All I can do is laugh because I realize that Mr. Cool and Always in Control is a tad bit drunk. No, make that well on his way to being drunk. And before I can even respond to his sudden appearance, Colton’s mouth closes over mine.

  I resist at first, but once his tongue delves into my mouth and I taste him, I’m a goner. I groan in acceptance and lick my tongue against his. It’s only been a few days but God, I missed this. Missed him. I forget that other people are in the room when Colton tangles his hand in my hair and takes possession of me, holding me so all I can do is react. All I can do is absorb the feeling of him against me. He tastes of beer and mints and everything I want. Everything I crave. Everything I need. I bow my back so my chest presses to his, my nipples tingling as they brush against the firm warmth of his chest. Colton swallows the moan he’s coaxed from me when his arousal pushes up through my thin pajama pants and rubs against me.

  “Should we clear the room?” I hear Haddie say before she clears her throat loudly, shocking me back to reality.

  I pull my head back slightly from Colton’s, but his hand remains fisted in my hair holding my curls hostage. He rests his forehead to mine as we both draw in ragged breaths of need.

  After a beat, he throws his head back on the couch and laughs loudly, his whole body shaking from its force, before choking out, “Shit, I needed that!”