Eliza Jane - In Too Deep

I glance up and see that he’s right. Colt’s dark eyes are locked on me from across the room. Yep, he’s definitely gorgeous. His eyes, which at first glance were brown, are actually hazel with flecks of deep green. And he has dark, thick eyelashes that I would gladly murder someone for.

I do my best to ignore him for the next hour, but the feeling that someone is watching me is unmistakable. I have no idea why he’d be looking at me, with a room full of girls and one who’s practically throwing herself at him. But I do my best to ignore him.

A few more sips from MJ’s flask provide me with the courage to steal a glance toward Colt. He’s sitting alone across the room in a bean bag chair, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. For some strange reason I think of Wes and my chest gets tight.

MJ purses her lips and directs a glare at Colt. “The jackass needs to keep his eyes to himself,” she complains.

I can see him looking our way. He chuckles at MJ’s obvious death glare.  “So other than the obvious, what’s with your hatred for Colt?” I look at her. “You and he never…”

“God, no.”

“Do you just despise him on principle then?”

She bites into her bottom lip, hesitating, as if deciding how much to tell me. Her eyes blaze, resolute. “He slept with my friend, Jewel. She only lasted here four months. When he broke her heart, she purposely failed out and got sent home so she didn’t have to see him.”

I grimace. “That’s awful. Was she a first year?”

She shakes her head. “Second year, but she and I started here around the same time. She was hilarious, smart, spoke six languages. It was such a waste – her going back to rot away in public school just to escape him.”

I nod. That is sort of horrible, but strangely, it’s something I can relate to. I can see how Colt’s attention could easily turn weaker girls into his playthings, to use once and then discard. And how it would feel after. I knew firsthand how bad it stung when a boy you gave your heart to moved on. I’d been inexperienced in love, well what I thought was love with Wes.

Wes was practically a high school celebrity at the local skate park. Flocks of girls sat on the curb watching him for hours. I’d been stupid enough to think he was mine when we started dating. I’d been on that ride before, and had no plans to get back in line.

MJ cuts into my private thoughts, continuing on. “Colt’s philosophy was if Jewel wasn’t strong enough to withstand that, she wasn’t cut out for this anyway. He didn’t even feel bad. I question if he has human emotions at all.”

I do my best to see only his bad qualities, which is difficult, since none of them are physical.

“Logan, pass me that flask.”

He gives me a strange look, but hands it over. I take a long swig, swallowing down the gasoline flavored tequila, but it does little to quench the uneasiness inside me. 

I stretch out in bed and try to shake the image of Taylor from my mind. She’s off limits, which makes keeping my thoughts clean right now even more difficult. I replay the way she drank from that flask. Determination burned in her eyes, as she licked the amber-colored liquor from her very kissable lips. That image is seared into my brain whether I like it or not.

But a girl like Taylor would never be happy with a once-and-done type of a guy. Which I remind myself doesn’t matter. I enjoy my lifestyle and I’m not looking to change that, no matter how bad I’d like her in my bed. I had it made – a different girl every weekend, more money than I knew what to do with and adrenaline pumping assignments. I wasn’t about to throw that away for a girl who would want commitment and romance. No thanks. That shit never works in the end anyways.

I’m not looking for a relationship, but figure there’s nothing wrong with a little flirting, especially when it seemed to have such a profound effect on her. Showing her the slightest attention left her flustered and pink-cheeked. And call me masochistic, but I liked provoking that response in her.

If I was smart, I’d ignore Taylor. Which shouldn’t be difficult, given there are several other girls I can and will entertain myself with. Then no one would get hurt, especially me. But somehow thoughts of her creep in before I can block them out.

I absently twirl the leather strings on my right wrist, which I caught myself doing whenever I felt anxious, which for some reason this girl makes me. She keeps me on edge.

I pick up my phone, scanning through my contacts, trying to put faces to the names of girls I’d bothered to enter. I scroll through and pick one at random, and wait while it rings.

“Hey. It’s Colt. Come over and keep me company?”

When I hang up the phone, a pang of regret claws inside me. I shake the feeling away. This is the only way, even if I am starting to have mixed feelings about it. I lay back against my pillow, knowing I have time to wait before she gets here. I close my eyes and try to relax. I hate how on edge I’ve been since Taylor arrived here. I haven’t felt this off in a long time. I run my hands over my face, remembering back to a time I don’t often think about.

My mom died my freshman year of high school.

That first year was hell. I returned to school two weeks after her funeral and I wasn’t prepared for the sad looks everyone gave me, and the fact that every teacher seemed willing to cut me endless breaks. I wanted to hide, to forget everything that had happened, but everywhere I looked, everywhere I went, there were constant reminders, both at home and at school.

I eventually got that chance to hide from all that sadness. At a party one weekend I met a pretty junior named Jess, but instead of pity over my situation, she took mercy on me and said she was going to help me to forget. The first time I came that night, I pretty much forgot my own damn name. I had been a shell, a walking broken shell my entire freshman year, and that night I found a way out. A way to forget about all the sadness and sorrow in my life, if only for an hour. Being with her that night was like a revelation. I’ll never forget it.

Of course at the time, I’d been stupid enough to think that our night together meant we were going to start dating. When she realized I was only a freshman, she’d laughed and patted my chest. She told me I was fun, but in no way dating material. That’d stung, but when I realized it was better that I didn’t get attached to anyone, I knew she’d actually done me a favor. She’d woken me from a long and tortuous depression and showed mI could actually be happy again.  Well, if not truly happy, at least distracted from the aching sadness.

I spent every weekend after chasing after girls. It wasn’t hard. I’d grown to well over six feet by then and looked much older than fifteen. I never really examined my actions too closely. And now I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s just part of my survival instincts. Sex was the only closeness I got, and I couldn’t give that up. And I couldn’t risk love when it had the probability of ending so badly. 

After turning in the Russian assassin assignment to McAllister, I receive my next assignment.