Driven

“Was that hard? Her being biological and you adopted?

He ponders the question, turning his head to look around the restaurant. “At times I think I used it for all it was worth. But when it comes down to it, I realized that my dad didn’t have to bring me home with him that day.” He plays with the label on his empty beer bottle. “He could have turned me over to social services, and God knows what would have happened since they’re not always the most efficient organization. But he didn’t,” he shrugs. “In time I grew to realize they really loved me, really wanted me, because when it came down to it, they kept me. They made me a part of their family.”

I’m a little taken back by Colton’s frank honesty for I expected him to evade any personal questions as he has thus far in regards to his cryptic comments. My heart breaks for the struggles of the little boy he was. I know he is glossing over the turmoil he must have went through finding his place in an already established family. “How was it growing up with parents so much in the public eye?”

“I guess it really is my turn for the inquisition,” he jokes before stretching his arm out resting his hand on the back of my chair, idly wrapping one of my curls around his finger as he speaks. “They did the best they could to insulate Quin and I from it all. Back then, the media was nothing like it is today,” he shrugs. “We had strict rules and mandatory Sunday night family dinners when my dad wasn’t on location. To us, the movie stars who came over for barbeques were just Tom and Russell, like any other people you invite to a family function. We didn’t know any differently.” He smiles broadly, “Man, they spoiled us rotten though, trying to make up for all I had missed out on in my early years.”

He stops talking when the food is served. We both express our gratitude to the waitress and add condiments to our burgers, deep in our own thoughts. I’m surprised when Colton speaks again, continuing to talk about growing up.

“God, I was a handful for them,” he admits. “Always creating a mess of one kind or another for them to have to clean up. Defiant. Rebelling against them—against everything really—every chance I had.”

I take a bite of my hamburger, moaning at how good it is. He flashes a smile at me, “I told you they were the best!”

“Heavenly!” I finish my bite. “Sooo good.” I wipe the corner of my mouth with a napkin and continue my quest for information on Colton. “So, why Donavan? Why not Westin?”

“So why Ace?” he counters, flashing me a combative grin. “Why not stud muffin or lover?”

It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing at those words falling from his lips. Instead, I angle my head, eyes full of humor, as I purse my lips and stare at him. I was curious how long it’d take for him to ask me that particular question. “Stud muffin just sounds all kinds of wrong coming from you,” I finally laugh, setting my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. “Are you evading my question Ace?”

“Nope,” he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.”

“That’s how you’re going to play this?” I arch a brow at him, “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

Colton’s eyes light up with challenge and amusement. “Baby, I’ve already seen yours,” he says, flashing me a lightening fast grin before closing the distance and brushing his lips to mine, and then pulling away before I get a chance to really sink into the kiss. My body hums in frustration and arousal at the same time. “But I’d be more than happy to see the whole package again.”

My thoughts cloud and my thigh muscles tense at the thought, sexual tension colliding between the two of us. When I think I can speak without my voice betraying the effect he has on my body, I continue, “What was the question again?” I tease, batting my eyelashes playfully.

“Ace?” he shrugs, darting his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. “Why do you call me that?”

“It’s just something that Haddie and I made up a long time ago when we were in college.”

Colton raises his eyebrows at me, a silent attempt at prompting me further but I just smile shyly at him. “So it stands for something then? And not just pertaining to me in particular?” he asks working his jaw back and forth in thought as he waits for an answer I’m not going to give him. “And you’re not going to tell me what though, are you?”

“Nope,” I grin at him before taking a sip of my drink, watching his brow furrow as the wheels in him mind turn in thought.

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing at me. “Always Charming and Endearing,” he smirks, obviously proud of himself for coming up with what he assumes the acronym stands for.

“Nope,” I repeat myself, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

He smile widens further as he tips his beer at me, “I’ve got it,” he says, scrunching up his nose adorably in thought, “Always Colton Everafter.”

The smirk on his face and the charming look in his eyes has me laughing out loud. I reach out and place my hand over his on the table and give it a squeeze. “Not even close Ace,” I tease. “Now it’s your turn to answer the question.”

“You’re not going to tell me?” he asks incredulously.

“Uh-uh,” I tell him, finding his reaction humorous. “Now quit avoiding the question. Why Donavan and not Westin?”

He stares at me for a moment, weighing his options. “I’ll get the answer out of you one way or another Thomas,” he tells me, his tone hinting with promise of things to come—of tactics of persuasion that triggers that all too familiar ache he causes within me to return with a vengeance.