“I know, Ry. I know.” We sit in silence for a few moments, before she continues, “I know I wasn’t there, but maybe you misread Colton. I mean some of the things he said to you …”

“How is that possible, Had? He was swearing under his breath like he’d just made the biggest mistake. He was like a switch. One minute he was kissing me so tenderly and looking into my eyes and the next minute he was swearing and walking away from me.”

“Maybe he got scared.”

“What?” I look at her like she’s crazy. “Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends gets scared of what? That he thinks I’ll become attached to him after one night of sex?”

“One night of mind-blowing sex!” Haddie corrects, making me giggle and blush at the memory. “Well, you do wear your emotions on your sleeve. It seems you don’t do casual sex well.”

“Oh, like it’s a class I can take over at the ‘Y’? I mean, I may be easy to read emotionally, but I’m not in love with him or anything,” I defend whole-heartedly despite knowing full well that what I felt between us tonight was more than just full-blown lust. Maybe I did scare him. That final moment between us in the bed, when he held me and stared into my eyes, really got to me. Made me see possibilities and hope. Maybe he saw that and had to squelch it before it went any further.

“Of course you’re not,” Haddie says with a knowing smile, “but that’s not what I was talking about. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends … maybe you got to him. Maybe he got scared of what he felt when he was with you?”

“Yeah, right! This isn’t a Hollywood romance movie, Haddie. The good girl doesn’t get the bad boy to change his ways and fall madly in love with her,” I say, sarcasm rich in my voice, as I fall back on my pillow sighing loudly. A small part of me relives Colton’s words from the night before. I am his. I could never be inconsequential. He can’t control himself around me. That small part knows that maybe Haddie is right. Maybe I scare him on some level. Maybe its because I am the marrying kind, as I’ve been told, and he’s just not looking for that.

“You’re right,” Haddie admits, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have one hell of a time losing yourself in hours of mindless sex with him.” She plops back on the pillow next to me, both of us laughing at the idea. “It could have its merits,” she continues, “there’s nothing like a good bad boy to make you let go. Remember Dylan?”

“How can I forget?” I reply, remembering the quick fling she had last summer with the gruff and gorgeous Dylan after ending her year-and-a-half-long relationship. “Yum.”

“Yum is right!” We both lapse in silence, recalling our own respective memories. “Maybe Colton is your Dylan. The one to get you over everything that happened with Max.”

“Maybe …” I think. “Oh God,” I groan, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well, seeing as it’s,” she lift her head to look at my clock, “Five in the morning, you should go back to sleep. Maybe give it a day, then call him back. See what he has to say and go from there. Remember our motto. Embrace your inner slut—be reckless with him and try not to think about tomorrow. Just think about the here and now with him. ”

“Yeah, maybe.” We sit in silence for a few moments. Am I just being an overdramatic female reading into things? Into his actions? I don’t think so, but deep down I try to justify his actions to myself. I know that I’ll do it again if given the chance and for my sanity, I need to rationalize everything to right the world back on its axis. The feelings and sensations he evoked in me were way too intense. Way too everything. Maybe it was just the fall from my alcohol buzz that made everything seem so off. Made him seem so detached. I scold myself. I know this isn’t the case, but I’m trying desperately to address my inner slut.

I’m way out of my league here. I just hope I can figure out how to play the game without getting burned in the end.

“Do you want me to stay in here tonight?” Haddie asks, breaking the silence. She used to sleep in my bed on the really rough nights to help me get through them nightmare-free.

“Nah. I think I’m okay. Thanks, though. For everything.”

She leans over and kisses the top of my head, “What are friends for?” she says as she heads for the door. “Good night, Ry.”

“’Night, Had.”

She closes the door and I sigh deeply, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running wild until sleep pulls me under.


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.