The Driven Series Boxed Set - Limited Edition (Driven #1-4)

by K. Bromberg

  So this is how it’s going to go? Fucking hell, Donavan. I take a step back, needing the distance from his touch, and we stand in silence staring at each other. I look at the man that broke down in front of me earlier and is trying to distance himself from me now, trying to regain his isolated state of self-preservation. His request stings but I refuse to believe him, refuse to believe that he feels nothing for me. Maybe this all spooked him—someone too close when he’s used to being all alone. Maybe he’s using his fallback and trying to hurt me, put me in my place, so I can’t hurt him in the long run. I so desperately want to believe that’s what this is about, but it’s so hard to not let that niggling doubt twist its way into my psyche.

  I hope he can see the disbelief in my eyes. The shock on my face. The temerity in my posture. I start to process the hurt that’s surfacing—the feeling of rejection lingering on the fringe—when it hits me.

  He’s trying.

  He may be telling me he needs a break, but he’s also telling me I have an option. I either give him the space he needs to process whatever’s going on in his head or I can choose the arrangement route. He’s telling me he wants me here as a part of his life—for now anyway—but he’s just overwhelmed by everything.

  He’s trying. Instead of pushing me away and purposely hurting me to do so, he’s asking me—using a term I told him to use if he needs some space—so I can understand what he’s requesting.

  I push down the hurt and the dejection that bubbles up because regardless of my acknowledgement, his proverbial slap still stings. I take a deep breath, hoping the pit stop he’s asking for is the result of a flat tire and not because the race is almost over.

  “Okay.” I let the word roll over my tongue. “A pit stop it is then,” I offer up to him, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him and use the physicality of it to reassure myself.

  He reaches out and brushes a thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes a depth of unspoken emotions. “Thank you,” he whispers to me, and for just a second, I see it flash in his eyes. Relief. And I wonder if it’s because he’s relieved I chose pit stop over an arrangement or because he gets to walk away right now without being pushed any further.

  “Mmm-hmm,” is all I can manage as tears clog in my throat.

  Colton leans forward and I close my eyes momentarily as he brushes a reverent kiss on my nose. “Thank you for last night. For this morning. For this.” I just nod my head, not trusting myself to speak as he runs his hand down the length of my arm and squeezes my hand. He pulls back a fraction, his eyes locking on mine. “I’ll call you, okay?”

  I just nod my head again at him. He’ll call me? When? In a couple of days? A couple of weeks? Never? He leans forward and grazes my cheek with a kiss. “Bye, Ry.”

  “Bye,” I say, barely a whisper of sound. He squeezes my hand one more time before turning his back and walking down the walkway. Pride over the small step he took today tinged with a flash of fear fills me as I watch him climb in the Range Rover, pull out of the driveway, and until he turns the corner from my sight.

  I shake my head and sigh. Taylor Swift’s definitely right. Loving Colton is like driving a Maserati down a dead end street. And with what he just said to me, I feel like I just slammed into it head first.

  HADDIE AND I HAVE BEEN like ships passing in the night the past couple of days, but she is awfully curious as to my cryptic notes about my night with Colton. I’m still confused as hell at what happened between leaving Colton’s house and arriving at my doorstep. The two differing vibes have left me confused and moody and desperate to see him again, see if what I thought was between us was real or if I’d imagined it. At the same time, I’m angry and hurt and my heart aches at what I want so badly to be but am afraid never will. I have over-thought and over-analyzed every second of our drive home, and the only conclusion is that our connection unnerves him. That my willingness to return when all others would have run scares him. And even with that knowledge, the past few days have been unsettling. I’ve shed a few tears from my doubts and Matchbox Twenty has been on repeat on my iPod. It has also helped that I have a job where I have to work twenty-four hour shifts to occupy my time.

  I take a sip of my Diet Coke, singing along to Stupid Boy, and finish adding ingredients to the salad when I hear the front door slam. I can’t fight the smile that spreads on my lips when I realize just how much I’ve missed Haddie these past few days. She has been so busy working on projects for a new client that PRX is trying to land she’s basically been sleeping at the office.

  “My goodness, I’ve missed you, silly girl!” she announces as she comes into the kitchen and wraps her arms around me in a soul-warming hug.

  “I know.” I hand her a glass of wine. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go get changed and get your butt back here so we can catch up.”

  “And you better not hold back on me,” she warns with one of her looks before leaving the kitchen.

  Our dinner has been eaten, and I think we are on our second or third bottle of wine. The fact that I’ve lost track tells me it’s been enough for me to relax and tell Haddie everything. Her no-holds-barred responses to my replay of events have left me gasping for breath from laughing so hard.

  As Should I Stay plays softly on the speakers around us, Haddie leans back against the chair behind her and stretches her legs out on the floor. Her perfectly manicured toes are a bright pink. “So, have you talked to him since then?”

  “No. He’s texted me a couple of times, but I’ve only given him one word responses.” I shrug, not having any more clarity after relaying everything to her. “I think he might have a clue I’m hurt about something but he hasn’t asked.”

  Haddie snorts loudly. “C’mon, Ry, he’s a guy! Which means first of all he has no clue and, secondly, he’s not going to ask even if he does think you’re pissed.”

  “True,” I concede, giggling. The aura of sadness that’s been around me for the past few days continues to dissipate with my laughter.

  “But that’s no excuse for him being a dick,” she says loudly, raising her glass up.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call him a dick,” I argue, silently chastising myself for defending the one person that is responsible for my current confused and miserable state. Haddie just arches an eyebrow at me, a smarmy smirk on her face. “I mean, I am the one who told him to take a pit stop if he needed to deal with things instead of push me away. I just don’t understand how he’s kissing me one minute and then the next minute asking for one.”

  “Let me think about it a minute,” she says, a look of amused concentration on her face. “My head’s a little fuzzy from all this wine.”

  I giggle at her and the determined look on her face as she tries to work through everything. “Okay, okay, I got it,” she shouts victoriously. “I think that…hmmm…I think that you freaked him the fuck out, Rylee!”

  I throw my head back laughing hysterically at her. A drunk Haddie means a fouled mouth Haddie. “That’s very astute, Had!”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” She throws her hands up and luckily her wine doesn’t slosh over the side. “I mean from what you’ve told me, you opened up to him, you talked about stuff, he fucked you seven ways from Sunday—”

  I have to stop myself from spitting my wine out of my mouth at her last words. “Jesus, Haddie!”

  “Well, it’s true!” She shouts at me like I’m a dumbass, holding my gaze until I nod my head in compliance. “Anyway, back to what I was saying…you guys were flirty and fun and serious and had a great time. He found himself liking you in his surroundings. He saw himself being okay with you in his element. And then in walks his Dad. Having someone else see you there…with him…made it real for him. All of it combined probably freaked Mr. I-Only-Do-Casual out, Rylee!”

  I eye her over the rim of my glass, adjusting my knees that are pulled up to my chest. Her words ring true to me, but it doesn’t dissipate the hurt I feel. The ache that only reassurances from him can soothe. I need to do a better job of gua
rding my heart and pulling back more. I need to not give so freely to him when he isn’t in return.

  “God,” I groan, laying my head on the back of the couch. “I’ve never been this wishy-washy in my life over something like I am over him. I’m driving myself crazy sitting here whining like one of those chicks I swore I’d never be. The ones we make fun of. ” I sigh. “Shoot me now!”

  Haddie giggles at me. “You are kind of all over the place when it comes to him. Shit, the two of you are giving me fucking whiplash.”

  I continue to stare at the ceiling, expressing my agreement of Haddie’s unsolicited opinion by giving a non-committal grunt before I lift my head back up and look at her. “You’re probably right about the freaking out part,” I muse, taking a sip to drain the rest of my glass, “but in all fairness, he told me from the start that he couldn’t give me more.”

  “Screw fairness!” she shouts, raising her middle finger emphatically.

  I laugh out loud at her. “I know, but it’s my own damn fault for falling in lov—”

  “I knew it!” She jumps up, pointing at me. I close my eyes and shake my head, cursing myself for slipping. “Shit, I need some more wine after that revelation!” She starts to walk past me and then steps back to look me in the eye. “Listen, Ry, have you cried over this? Over him?”

  Uh-oh! She has her “I’m going to get to the bottom of this” look on her face. I just stare at her and my silence is enough of an answer. “Listen. I know he looks like a damn Adonis and probably fucks like a stallion, but, sweetie, if he’s what you want, then it’s time to make him sweat a little.”

  I snort at her. “That may be easy for you. You’ve played these games before, but I have absolutely no fucking clue what to do.”

  “You turn the tables on him. You’ve shown him what life’s like when you’re around…now that he’s into you, you need to show him what it’s like when you’re not. Let him know that he’s not your every breath or thought—even if it fucking kills you.” She sits on the arm of the chair and stares at me. “Look, Ry, every guy wants to be him and every girl wants to fuck him. He’s used to being wanted. Used to people pursuing him. You need to act like you did in the beginning—before you went and fell in love with the bastard—and let him chase you.” I just stare at her, shaking my head at her frankness. She tilts her head and twists her lips up as she thinks. “I know he made you cry, but is he worth it, Rylee? I mean really worth it?”

  I stare at her, tears pooling in my eyes, and I nod my head. “Yeah, he is, Haddie. He…he has this side to him that is the exact opposite of the brooding, bad boy player the media portrays him as. He’s sincere and sweet. I mean it’s more than just the sex.” I shrug, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth when she arches her eyebrow at me. “And yes, it’s really that good—”

  “I knew it!” she shouts and points her finger at me. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

  “Shut up!” I shout back, giggling along with her. She stands, wobbling a bit before grabbing my empty glass.

  “C’mon, spill the deets for dried up old me. How’s his Aussie kiss? How many times did he make you come when you went to his house?”

  I blush a deep crimson, loving and hating her at the same time. “Aussie kiss? What in the hell are you talking about?”

  She lets out a naughty laugh and has an impish gleam in her eyes. “How’s his mouth down under?” she laughs, deliberately looking down at my crotch and then back up at me with a raised eyebrow. I just stare at her with my mouth agape and a giggle I can’t help bubbling out. “Let me live vicariously through you. Pretty please?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut in embarrassment, unable to look at her. “Well I’d say he speaks Australian like a damn native.”

  “I knew it!” she yells, wiggling her ass in a little victory dance around the family room. “And…” she prompts.

  “And what?” I play stupid.

  “His stamina, baby. I need to know if he deserves the Adonis label in more than just the looks department. How many times?”

  I twist my lips as I mentally run through the various times and places Colton and I had sex. “Hmmm…I don’t know, eight times maybe? Or nine? I lost count.”

  Haddie stops mid-dance and her mouth falls open before spreading into a wicked grin. “And you were able to walk? You little vixen. Good for you!” She turns and teeters before heading toward the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine. “Fuck, I’d put up with a whole lot of shit from a guy if he can perform like that. I guess I was right about the stallion part,” she teases from the kitchen, making a horse neighing sound that has me doubled over in laughter.

  My phone rings and for the first time in several days. I don’t jump up to get it. I’ve had enough to drink and have had enough false alarms that I know it’s not Colton. Besides, according to Haddie I need to make him sweat a little.

  Easier said than done. My resolve lasts two rings before I start to get up, stumbling in my inebriated state. I tell myself that I’m not answering it. No way. Haddie will kill me. But…even if I’m not going to answer it, I still want to see who it is.

  “Well if it isn’t the man of the hour,” I hear Haddie say as she beats me to it and reads the screen of my phone. I stare at her with confusion as she flips on the stereo and picks up my phone to answer it.

  This is not going to be pretty. Haddie drunk and being protective of me is not a good combination. “Give me the phone, Had,” I say but know it’s no use. Oh fuck!

  “Rylee’s phone, can I help you?” She shouts as if she’s in a club, her voice rising with each word. She grins at me and raises her eyebrows while he must be speaking on the other end. “Who? Who? Oh, hey, Colby! Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Colby. Who? Oh, hiya, Colton, this is Haddie. Rylee’s roommate? 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.” She laughs loudly at something he says. “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...” She laughs, making a non-committal sound at Colton’s response. “Wine for starters, but now we’ve moved on to shots,” she answers him. “Tequila. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you really need to get your shit together when it comes to Rylee.”

  I think my mouth just fell to the floor. I wish I could see the look on Colton’s face right now. Or maybe I don’t want to.

  “Yes, I was talking to you, Colton. I. Said. You. Need. To. Get. Your. Shit. Together.” She emphasizes each word. “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.”

  I’m so glad that I’ve had a lot to drink because if not, I would be dying of mortification right now. But the alcohol does nothing to diminish my pride in Haddie. The woman is fearless. Regardless of how I feel, I still glare at her and hold out my hand asking for my phone. She turns her back to me and continues making agreeable sounds to Colton.

  “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. Uh-huh, yes. I know, but I just thought you ought to know. Game. Changer.” She enunciates and laughs. “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!” She laughs deviously. “Good night, Colton. I hope to see you around once you figure your shit out. Cheers!” Haddie looks over at me, a smug smile on her face as she switches off the stereo.

  “Haddie Marie, I could kill you right now!”

  “You think that now.” She snickers, the neck of the wine bottle clinking against the rim of our glasses as she re
fills them. “But just you wait and see. You’ll be kissing my boots when this pans out.”

  We finish our wine quotient for the night and are sitting on the couch, mellow, relaxed, and a little drunk, talking about the other events of the week. The local eleven o’clock news is wrapping up on low in the background when a spot for what’s next on Jimmy Kimmel Live runs. I’m listening to Haddie when we both hear Colton’s name mentioned as a guest. Our heads snap up and we stare at each other in surprise. With the events of the past couple of days, I’d completely forgotten his mentioning it to me.

  “Well this will be interesting.” She raises her eyebrows at me as she shifts her focus to the television.

  We watch the opening monologue, and although the jokes are funny, I don’t laugh. Maybe it’s the somberness from too much wine or the apprehension of what’s to come, but Jimmy’s just not making me laugh. I know that Jimmy will mention the array of women on Colton’s arm, and I’m not in the right frame of mind to hear it tonight.

  “So our next guest is, how do I describe him? A master of many talents? A man in the driver’s seat? Let’s just say he’s one of Indy’s brightest talents—being listed as the driver to bring the circuit back into the spotlight—and one of Hollywood’s hottest bachelors. Please give a warm welcome to the one and only Colton Donavan.” The crowd in the studio erupts into a frenzy of female screeches with a few mixed in I love yous.

  I suck in a breath as Colton walks out on stage in a pair of black jeans and a dark green button up shirt. Every part of my body leans forward in my seat as I drink him in. Study him. Miss him. The camera is at a distant angle, but I know firsthand the effect that his shirt will have on his eyes. How it will darken the circle of emerald around the exterior of the iris, leaving the center almost a translucent light green. He waves to the crowd as he walks, his megawatt smile in place.