by K. Bromberg
Haddie makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Damn. That face is a definite work of art. You need to make sure you frame it between your legs every chance you get.”
I choke on my drink as I look over at her and catch the wink she gives me. I burst out laughing. “Where in the hell do you come up with this stuff?”
“I have my sources.” She shrugs with a naughty smirk on her lips.
I just laugh at her and shake my head as I turn my focus back to the interview. As Colton rounds the desk, one of Jimmy’s papers flies off of it, and Colton bends over to pick it up. The slew of women in the audience go ballistic at the sight of Colton’s ass in tight jeans, and Haddie laughs out loud. Colton turns around, shaking his head at the audience and their reaction.
“Well that’s a way to make an entrance!” Jimmy exclaims.
“Was that planned?” Colton asks as he plays to the audience.
“No. There was such a large whoosh of air from the exhales of your female fans in here that they blew that paper off the desk.”
The audience laughs and a woman screams, “Marry me, Colton!” I want someone to tell her to stick a sock in it.
“Thank you.” Colton chuckles. “But none of that will be happening for a while.”
“And the audience keels over in sorrow.” Jimmy laughs. “So, how’s it going man? Good to see you again. What’s it been? A year?”
“Something like that,” Colton says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankle over his opposing knee. The camera pans in for a close up of his face, and I breathe deeply. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how striking he is.
“How do you not just stare at him all day when you’re with him?” Haddie asks. I smile but don’t respond. I’m too busy watching. “My God he’s fine.” She groans in appreciation.
“And how’s your family?”
“They’re doing good. My dad just got back a couple of days ago from being on location in Indonesia so I got to catch up with him, which as you know is always a good time.”
“Yes, he’s quite the character.” Colton laughs at the comment and Jimmy continues. “For those of you who don’t know, Colton’s dad is Hollywood legend, Andy Westin.”
“Let’s not give him a big head by using the word legend,” Colton says as Jimmy holds up a picture of his dad with his arm around him at some event. “There he is,” he smiles with sincerity.
“So what have you been up to lately?”
“Just getting ready for the upcoming season to start. First race is at the end of March in St. Petersburg, so we’re getting ramped up for that right now.”
“How’s the car running?”
“It’s looking good so far. The guys are working hard to get it dialed in.”
“That’s great. Now tell me about your new sponsors this year.”
Colton rattles off names of several of his advertisers. “And we picked up a new one this year in Merit Rum.”
“Smooth rum,” Jimmy says.
“Yeah, I can’t complain about getting paid to drink good alcohol,” Colton smiles, rubbing his thumb and forefingers over his shadowed jaw.
“I think we have a snippet of your new commercial for them.”
I whip my head up to look at Haddie. “Have you seen it yet?”
“No.” She looks as surprised as I do. “I’ve been so busy on this new client I haven’t even caught up to speed with our other accounts.”
“We just shot this the other day,” Colton says.
The screen fills with Colton zipping his Indy car across a track, the Merit Rum logo splashed across his car’s nose. His sexy rasp of a voice overlaying the scene. “When I race, I drive to win.” The scene switches to him playing football on the beach with a bunch of other guys. Bikini clad women are on the sidelines cheering them on with drinks in their hands. He’s shirtless with a pair of low-slung board shorts on. His chiseled torso is misted in sweat, sand sticking in some patches here and there, and an arrogant grin is on his face. He stretches out, dives for a pass, and catches it as he crashes into the sand. His voice says, “When I play, I always play hard.” The commercial switches to a scene in a nightclub. Lights blaze and the crowd dances. Shots flash across the television. Colton laughing. Colton holding a drink and taking a sip while relaxing in a booth surrounded by gorgeous women. A shot of whom you assume is Colton dancing among a couple of women because all the screen shows is hands on hips, fingers gripping in hair, and mouths meeting in a kiss. The camera switches to a picture of Colton, his arm wrapped around the waist of a beautiful woman, the camera filming at their backs as they leave the club. He turns and looks over his shoulder, a smirk on his face saying “you know what happens next.” The camera cuts to an empty Merit Rum bottle on the table at the club. “And when I party?” Colton’s voice says, “I only drink the best. Merit Rum. Like no other.”
“Wow.” Haddie breathes. “The ad turned out great.”
I know she’s looking at it from strictly a public relations perspective, and she’s right. It’s a great ad. Sex appeal, product placement, and an environment that makes you feel like you are there. Makes you want to be like him.
And his lips are on another woman’s. I cringe at the thought.
“Great spot,” Jimmy says as the audience’s applause dies down. “I bet you had fun making that one.” Colton just smirks at him, a sliver of a laugh escaping his lips that says it all. “The camera loves you, man. How come you’ve never hit up your old man for a job? I bet the ladies wouldn’t mind seeing you on a jumbo screen somewhere.”
The audience shouts out in agreement. Colton just curls the corner of one lip and shakes his head. “Never say never.” He laughs and my stomach clenches thinking of millions of women getting to see him in action in some love scene. Theaters would sell out just for that.
“So tell me, Colton, what other things do you have going on?”
“Well we have a little something else in the works right now that legal doesn’t want me to officially announce yet because it’s still being wrapped up,” the crowd “awws,” and Colton holds his finger up in a just wait moment. “But, since when have I ever done what I’m supposed to?” Colton’s smirk is lopsided and mischievous as the audience laughs. I suck in my breath, shocked and pleased that Colton is going to give public notability to my company. “All I’ll tell you is my company is working with a corporation who cares,” he says, putting quotation marks on both title words of my company, “and we are uniting to raise money to benefit orphaned kids by providing better living situations for them…to give them more of a stable family environment on a permanent basis.”
“A cause near and dear to your heart.”
“Absolutely.” Colton nods, leaving it at that.
“How fantastic. Can’t wait until its official so we can learn more about it. But, I know you are not supposed to tell me.” Jimmy rolls his eyes to the audience. “How are you going to be raising the money?”
Colton goes through the whole explanation, answering Jimmy’s questions, and I just watch mesmerized, trying to decipher the Colton I know against the one that is on television before me. I see the same person and the same personality, but little nuances are different. I can see him holding back some. Playing up to the audience, and he definitely does it well.
“Well we’re running out of time,” Jimmy says and the audience grumbles, “but I think the audience might run me out of the studio if I don’t ask the question that they want to know the most.”
Colton looks around the audience, my favorite boyish smile spreading across his face. “What’s that?” he prompts.
“Well, every time we see you in print or on television, you always seem to have a buxom beauty on your arm.” Jimmy holds up the several magazine pages of Colton with various glamazons. “What’s your status now? Are you dating? Is there a special lady in your life right now? Or perhaps several special ladies?”
Colton throws his head back laughing, and I wait with bated breath for his answer. �
��C’mon, Jimmy, you know how it is—”
“No, actually I don’t.” The audience laughs. “And please don’t tell me you’re dating Matt Damon,” he deadpans.
This time I laugh at the startled look on Colton’s face over Jimmy’s long running joke over Matt Damon. “Definitely not Matt Damon.” He laughs and then shrugs. “You know me. I’m always dating,” Colton says, leaning back in his chair, hands gesturing casually to the crowd. “There are so many beautiful women out there, it’d be a waste to not enjoy them.” Colton flashes his panty-dropping smile to the audience. “I mean look at all the beautiful women in the audience out there tonight.”
“So in other words,” Jimmy says, “you’re avoiding the question.”
“I wouldn’t want to give away all my secrets,” Colton smirks, winking at the audience.
“Sorry, ladies. That’s all the time we have so I can’t delve any further.” The audience gives a collective groan. “Well, it’s been great seeing you again, Colton. I can’t wait to see you tear up the track this year.”
“Hopefully you can make it out to a race.”
“You can count on it. Best of luck to you.”
Colton stands and shakes Jimmy’s hand, saying something to him off mic that has him laughing. “Ladies and gentlemen, Colton Donavan.” Colton waves at the audience and the show cuts to a commercial.
Haddie sits up and flips off the television. “Well,” she muses, “That was entertaining.”
WHY DOES IT FUCKING MATTER?
I pace the confines of the greenroom, restless and on edge.
Why should I care if she’s watching or not?
“Ten minutes, Colton.”
I whirl around at Kimmel’s production assistant peeking her face through the doorway, agitation giving way to aggravation. I just grunt a response, too wrapped up in my own goddamn head to say anything else.
Fuck! I wish I could yell it out! Get the pent up bullshit off of my chest. But I don’t. Can’t. It’s my own damn fault. My own fucked-up head ruling my life.
I’ve got to get it together and soon before I walk out on stage and make a fool of myself because my head is wrapped around something else. Someone else. Just like I wish my body was.
Fucking Rylee.
I shouldn’t.
I should.
I shouldn’t.
Aw, fuck it!
My fingers are dialing before I even give myself a chance to stop.
What the fuck am I doing? I want this but I don’t. Need her but don’t want to need her. Whiplash is an understatement to describe the fucking tug-of-war raging inside of me right now.
Man the fuck up, Donavan. Grab your balls back and put them firmly in place. Wanting to fuck her is okay. You’re calling because that’s all you want to do. Nothing else. You don’t need her. You don’t need anyone.
I keep repeating the words to myself, the lie so ludicrous no way in hell I’d even convince Baxter of it. Fuck. I’m about done with the pussification of my thoughts, finger hovering over the end call button when music blasts on the other line. I freeze.
“Rylee’s phone can I help you?”
I can barely hear her voice above the music and I’m immediately irked. And then I’m pissed at myself for even caring when I shouldn’t be because she doesn’t even really matter in the first place. Nice try, Donavan. Keep telling yourself that and you just might believe it.
“I’m looking for Ry. It’s Colton.”
“Who?” she shouts and I wince from the sound coming through the phone.
“Colton.” My patience is about to run out. Why the fuck is Ry not answering her phone? And where exactly the hell are they?
“Who? Oh hey, Colby!”
What? I stop pacing and grit my teeth. What the fuck is going on here? “Who’s Colby?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Colby.”
“Not hardly,” I say, jaw clenched, anger bristling. Whoever the fuck Colby is, he’s going to wish he wasn’t Colby if I find him trying to talk to Ry again.
But this is just for sex. Yeah, that’s it.
“Who?”
And now I feel like I’m being fucked with. Does Ry not talk about me? Does whoever this person that’s close enough she trusts to answer her phone not know who I am? Impossible.
You called pit stop, fucker. No rings, no strings. She can do what-the-fuck-ever she wants. So why do I want to punch the mirror in front of me?
I force a swallow down my throat, hating that I care if she’s talking about me and hating that I don’t care even more. Fucking Christ. I’ve been voodooed. Fucking sucked in by her magic and I never even knew it.
Uneasiness and disbelief crawls up my spine. I shake it off. No fucking way. There’s no way I’ve been taken by her goddamn pussy. Time to prove it.
“Colton Donavan,” I say, authority in my voice. Time to quit playing fucking games here.
“Oh, hiya, Colton, this is Haddie. Rylee’s roommate.”
Thank Christ, we’re finally getting somewhere. “Hi, Haddie. I need to talk to Rylee.” Need to? Why the fuck did I say I need to? I don’t need anything from her.
“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.”
Drunk? Rylee? In a club on a weeknight? I’m so not liking the images in my head right now. Images like the fucking commercial I’m about to debut. Bodies grinding. Hands groping. Sexy clothes.
I can’t help the groan that falls from my mouth and fuck if Haddie doesn’t hear it because she laughs at me. Fucking laughs. I grind my molars and hope no one is grinding on Ry right now.
“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 …”
“Thanks for the PR consult. Don’t think I asked.” I roll my shoulders as I look at the signatures of past guests on the walls and shake my head in frustration. Be nice. She’s the only way you’re going to find out what the fuck is going on. “Are you guys having something to drink with dinner?” I seriously just asked that? Fish much, Donavan? And then that laugh of hers again as if the joke’s on me.
Fuckin’ A.
“Wine for starters, but now we’ve moved on to shots. Tequila. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you really need to get your shit together when it comes to Rylee.”
Wait a minute. Tequila? Images flash in my head of the last time I saw Ry doing a shot of that shit. It was after she left me at the Merit Rum party. Stood at the bar, downed the shot like a goddamn pro, and then ran from me. My dick pulses at the memory of what came next though: possession, claiming, some of the best fucking sex of my life.
“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 to
uch. 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?
“THAT SOUNDS GREAT, AVERY. ALL of the paperwork has been approved by HR, so I’d love to welcome you to the team. We’ll see you next Monday.” I hang up the phone and grab a pen, crossing that item off of my list. New girl hired, check.