Driven

For now? Try for me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? That there is the possibility of a future? I try to stop my mind from reading into that comment through the filter of my hopelessly romantic heart, but I’m having trouble separating the two. Colton’s proximity and the words he just dropped like bombs on my rationality leave me stuttering as I try to respond coherently. “I thought you told me this wouldn’t work. That we have two differing sets of needs. That you … I think your words were, that you’re going to break me apart?” My words may sound strong and decided, but I’m anything but that.

He grimaces when I throw his words back at him and hangs his head, his voice soft. “Yeah, I know. I can’t prevent the inevitable. But I still want you to try?”

Blinded by my feelings for him, I ignore his admission of foreshadowed hurt because my head is still wrapping itself around that word try. He’s asked me to try. Am I willing to do that? For him? For a chance at us? To hope for the opportunity to show him that it’s okay to want more. That he deserves more. My train of thought derails when Tawny’s words flitter through my mind. You’ll think you can change him and his ways. And just when that happens, you’ll be over quicker than that last lap he just took. I shake my head, trying to rid her words from my head.

“Don’t answer yet, Rylee.” Colton’s voice is a plea, mistaking the shake of my head as a denial to his request. “Have dinner with me first before you tell me no.” I step back from him, needing the distance despite knowing I’m already going to tell him yes. “I have to have at least one more night with you. I need to.” His eyes search mine for an answer. “I’ll pick you up at three o’clock tomorrow.”

Now I’m the lemming running toward the cliff.

I stare at him. Since when do I let anyone make decisions for me? “I can drive, Colton,” I say exasperated that once again he’s made the decision for me. If I’m willing to try for him, shouldn’t he try for me as well?

“Nope,” he smiles holding the door open for me as we leave Starbucks. “I’m driving. That way you can’t run away.”

CHAPTER 23

“We don’t have to fix each other. Come over. We don’t have to say forever. Come over.” I hum along with the Kenny Chesney song that is playing softly, ironically, on the speakers of the Range Rover as we drive north along the coast on Pacific Coast Highway. I smile at the coincidence that Colton had texted me this song earlier in the day, and now it is playing on the radio as one of his security staff named Sammy drives me to wherever he is.

I reach beside me at my bag, rifling through the change of clothes and miscellaneous toiletries I presumptuously packed. I pull out my compact mirror to check my reflection. My hair is piled on the top of my head in a stylish yet effortless disarray of curls with several wisps hanging loosely around my face and onto my nape. I set down my compact and bring my hands back to check the tie on my neck where the straps of my blue maxi dress meet, leaving my back bare until just below my shoulder blades. I say a silent thank you to Haddie for her suggestion to wear the dress. Cute, casual, and just enough cleavage to keep him sneaking a peak she had told me over our second glass of wine.

As we drive north, the lush hills on my right give way to the ocean on our left. I place a hand over my stomach to try and settle the butterflies fluttering there for some odd reason. I shouldn’t be nervous to see Colton, but I am. Inexplicably I feel that tonight is going to be a turning point for whatever “we” are. I lean my head back and look out the window at the endless sea and hope that I can handle the repercussions of whatever that turning point may be. I close my eyes momentarily and wonder how an intelligent woman like me can knowingly walk into foreseeable devastation.

Taylor Swift’s “Red” is playing when we start through the town of Malibu. I listen to the words, relating to them. “Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street.” I shake my head, feeling like that dead end is going to come so much quicker than I want it to when it comes to Colton. Against my better judgment, I’m pressing the gas pedal trying to see where this takes us instead of slamming on the brakes.

Sammy turns left onto a street, the sign reading Broadbeach Road, and I am pulled from my thoughts to survey the neighborhood. Expensive houses line my left, bordering the coveted Malibu shoreline. Houses range in style from modern to Cape Cod to old world, with perfectly manicured landscaping and most behind gated walls.

Within moments we have turned up to a driveway where large wooden gates are swinging open for us. We pull through the gates onto a cobblestone and grass driveway and come to a stop. Sammy escorts me from the car and I look up at the two-story structure in front of me. It has an impenetrable-looking ledge stone façade, the top portion shaped like a stretched letter ‘U’ where an open-air deck sits between two sections of the house. There is an absence of windows on the walls that face me, giving it a formidable edge, and I can infer that the opposing walls are solely glass to showcase the Pacific. At ground level below the deck is a massive arched wooden door, and my eyes are drawn to it as it slowly opens.

Colton stands in the open doorway, stopping me in my tracks when a slow, lazy smile lifts one corner of his mouth. The sight of him is like a sucker punch to my abdomen. I struggle to breathe as I drink him in. He is all kinds of sexy, wearing a pair of worn blue jeans, faded black t-shirt, and bare feet. I’m not sure why the sight of his bare feet peeking out from beneath his pant legs is so attractive to me, but its worth another glance. I regain my wits despite the humming of nerves and start moving toward him again as his eyes do a languorous appraisal of my body. I reach the doorway and stop in front of him, my smile matching his.