Driven

I relay the gist of the story to him, his face remaining impassive at the details. “And today, with you, is the first time he’s purposely interacted with anybody, so thank you. I’m more grateful than you will ever know,” I conclude, looking down sheepishly, a blush spreading across my cheeks as I’m suddenly uncomfortable again at his direct and undivided attention. I take a bite of the makeshift sandwich, and moan appreciatively at the mixture of fresh bread and deli fare. “This is really good!”

He nods in agreement with me. “I’ve been going to that deli forever. It’s definitely better and more my speed than caviar,” he shrugs unapologetically. “So why Corporate Cares?” he asks, his mouth parting slightly as he watches me savor my food.

“So many reasons,” I admit, finishing my bite. “The ability to make a difference, the chance to be part of a breakthrough such as Zander today, or the feeling I get when a child left behind is made to feel like he matters again …” I sigh, not having enough words to express the feelings I have. “There are so many things that I can’t even begin to explain.”

“You are very passionate about it. I admire you for that.” His tone is earnest and sincere.

“Thank you,” I reply, taking another sip of wine, meeting his eye. “You were quite impressive yourself today. Almost as if you knew what to do despite me telling you to leave,” I admit sheepishly. “You were good with Zander.”

“Nah,” he denies grabbing another piece of cheese, folding it in the bread, “I’m not good with kids at all. That’s why I’m never having them,” his statement determined and his expression blank.

I’m taken aback by his comment. “That’s a bold statement for someone so young. I’m sure at some point you’ll change your mind.” I reply, my eyes narrowing as I watch him, wishing I still had the option to make a choice like his.

“Absolutely not,” he states emphatically before averting his eyes from my gaze for the first time since meeting him. I can sense his discomfort with this topic of conversation. An oddity for a man so confident and sure of himself in all other areas of life. He looks out toward the tumultuous ocean and is quiet for a few moments, an unreadable look on his rugged features.

I think that my questioning statement will go unanswered, until he breaks the silence. “Not really,” he says with what I sense is a resigned sadness in his voice. “I’m sure you experience it first hand every day, Rylee. People use kids as pawns in this world. Too many women try to trap men with them and then hate the kid when the man leaves. People foster kids just to get the monthly government stipend. It goes on and on,” he shrugs nonchalantly, belying how affected he is by the hidden truth behind his words. “It happens daily. Kids fucked up and abandoned because of their mother’s selfish choices. I’d never put a child in that kind of position,” he shakes his head emphatically, still refusing to meet my eyes, his gaze following the surfer riding the wave a ways out. “Regardless, I’d probably fuck them up as much as I was as a kid.” He breathes deeply with his last statement and removes his cap with one hand while running his other hand through his hair in what I interpret as agitation.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand,” I falter as I start to ask without thinking. This conversation has unexpectedly gotten heavy quickly.

Annoyance flashes across his face momentarily before I watch him knowingly rein it in. “My past is basic public knowledge,” he states, my furrowed brow showing my confusion. “Fame makes people dig out ugly truths.”

“Sorry,” I say raising my eyebrows, “I don’t make it a habit of researching my dates.” I hide the unease I feel with this conversation in the sarcasm of my tone.

His concentrated green eyes lock onto mine, muscle pulsing in his clenched jaw. “You really should, Rylee,” his steely voice warns. “You just never know who’s dangerous. Who’s going to hurt you when you least expect it.”

I’m taken aback by his sudden comment. Is he warning me about him? Warning me away from him? I’m confused. Pursue me and then push me away? This is the second time today he’s issued a statement like this. What should I make of it?

And what the hell is with his comments about being messed up as a kid? His parents are practically Hollywood royalty. Is he saying that they did something to him? The fixer in me wants to probe but I can tell how unwelcome that prospect is by his reaction.

I cautiously glance over at him, to see his attention turned back toward the surf. It is in this moment I can see the pictures painted by the media of him. Dark and brooding, a little rugged with the dark shadow of hair on his jaw, and an intensity to his eyes that makes you feel as if he’s unapproachable. Unpredictable. The broad shoulders and sexy swagger. The bad boy who is too handsome for his own good mixed with a whole lot of reckless. The rebel women swoon over and swear they could tame—if they had a chance.

And he’s sitting here. With me. It’s mind-boggling, and I’m still unclear as to how this all happened and why it happened to me.

I clear my throat, trying to dispel the awkwardness that has descended on our picnic. “So, how ’bout them Lakers?” I deadpan.

He throws his head back and laughs loudly before turning back to me. All traces of Brooding Colton have been replaced by Relaxed Colton with eyes full of humor and a megawatt smile. “A little heavy?”

I nod, pursing my lips, as I grab for another piece of cheese. Time for a change in topic. “I know it’s an unoriginal question, but what made you get into racing? I mean why hurl yourself around a track at close to two hundred miles an hour for fun?”