Beckett, who’s leaning against the open door of the car, meets my eyes as we approach, uncertainty evident in his before nodding his head at me and sliding into the car next to Haddie. Sammy stops, but I continue forward toward Colton.
The click of my heels on the concrete alerts Colton that I’m near, but he remains facing away from me. I trace the lines of his body’s silhouette against the expansive glitz of the Vegas strip, his imposing figure painting a striking contrast to the sparkle of lights beyond. I stop a few feet from him and watch his shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession as his tension slowly abates.
When he finally turns to face me, his shoulders squared, his eyes dancing with fire, and his jaw rigid with tension, I realize I’m wrong in thinking his anger is gone.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” His voice is ice cold.
His words hit me like whiplash, taking me aback with unbelievable force. I thought he was angry at the guy he punched, not with me. Where the hell does he get off being pissed at me? If he was paying attention to his date, he’d know the answer. “What do you think I was doing, Colton? That I was—”
“I asked you a question, Rylee,” he grits out.
“And I was trying to fucking answer it before you so rudely cut me off,” I spit at him, having no problem going toe-to-toe with him tonight. Maybe my intake of alcohol has taken a bit of the edge off, so I’m not intimidated by his intensity. His eyes pierce through the darkness and into mine. Then again, maybe not. “I was buying a drink, Colton. A drink. That’s it!” I throw my hands up as I shout at him, my voice echoing off of the concrete walls.
He looks at me, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he regards me. “Buying a drink, Rylee? Or flirting around to get someone to buy a drink for you?” he accuses, taking a step closer to me. Despite the lack of light, I can see the fire burning in his eyes and the rage fueling the tension in his neck. Where is all of this coming from?
What. The. Fuck? How dare he accuse me of paying attention to other guys when he was up there preoccupied with Ms. Bunny of the Month? I was being cool, not getting pissed off about how touchy-feely Cassandra was with him, trying to forgo the juvenile emotions I wanted to feel over it. But fuck it. If he’s going to get mad about a guy offering to buy me a drink and touching me even though I said no, then I’m sure as hell going to be pissed about her blatantly displayed attraction to him. Attraction that he certainly didn’t reject.
I’m done with this conversation. Alcohol and anger only result in words you can’t take back in the morning. And we’ve both had way too much to be rational. “Whatever. We’re done here,” I huff as I turn on my heel, intent on heading back to the limo.
“Answer me,” he commands as he grabs my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I see Beckett step back out of the limo, a wary look on his face as he stares down Colton over my shoulder. The silent warning is obvious, but the message behind it is unclear.
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m waiting,” he says, keeping his hand on my arm but stepping around to block my path toward the car.
“I was buying myself a drink. That’s it. Big fucking deal!” I jerk my arm out of his grasp, fatigue from the night’s events suddenly hitting me like a bat to the back of the head.
Colton’s eyes bore into mine as if he’s looking for my betrayal or confession of wrongdoing. “There was plenty of alcohol up top. Was that not good enough for you?” he taunts. “You had to go trolling for a guy to buy you one?”
His words slap at me, knock the wind from my sails. What the fuck is his problem? I can’t believe that he’d even think that first of all, but second—and shockingly so—I’m surprised by the quiver in his voice that hints at a touch of insecurity.
Like I could want something more after having him.
I take a step toward him, my voice low but implacable. “I don’t need a man or bottle service to make me happy, Colton.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Uh-huh.” He snorts derisively, cleary choosing to not believe me. He’s obviously dated some choice women.
I sigh, frustrated already with our conversation. “You’ve spent enough money on tonight. On me. On everything.” I huff. “You may be used to all of your women needing that to be satisfied. Not me.”
“Of course not.” He snorts sarcastically.
“I’m a big girl.” I continue ignoring his flippant comment. “I can buy my own damn drinks and pay my own way, especially if when you pay it means that you have some kind of ownership over me.”
His eyes widen at my words. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Does he not realize he does this? That he gives so charitably in exchange for people to like and love him? “Look, you’re a very generous guy. More so than most people I know, but why?” I place my hand on his arm and squeeze. “Unlike most people in there, I don’t expect you to pay my way.”
“No girlfr—no one I’m with pays when they’re with me.”
“That’s very chivalrous of you.” I run my hand up his arm and lay it on his cheek, my voice softening, relieved that we have seemed to skirt around having this argument. “But I don’t need any of that pomp and circumstance to want to be with you.” He just stares at me, emerald irises trying to comprehend the honesty in my words. “You have so much more to give to someone than material excess.”
I think my words have hit their mark because Colton falls silent, a war of emotions flowing through his eyes before they break from mine and look out at the city of sin. The muscle in his jaw tics as he pushes down whatever demons he’s fighting internally. I notice his posture stiffen as he shakes my hand off his face, and I can sense his discomfort with the direction our conversation has taken. “You let a guy put his hands on you,” he says in a dangerously quiet voice.
At first I’m hurt by his accusation, but when I look in his eyes, I see it. I see the truth behind Beckett’s revelations about his feelings for me. I see that he’s scared by it and unsure of how to handle it. I see that he’s looking for a reason to pick a fight as a way to deny his feelings.
He wants a fight? I’ll give him a fight because just below my surface is the fear that maybe I’m just what he needs and he might never acknowledge it. That he is exactly what I need and someone like Cassandra just might take that chance away from me. My mind flashes back to the thought of her hands on him. “And your point is what?” I counter with more confidence than I feel. “I’m not going to apologize because someone else finds me attractive.” I shrug. “You sure as hell weren’t paying any attention to me.”
He ignores my comment as only he can, shrugging it off as if I’m at fault here. “I’ve told you before, Ry, I don’t share.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Well neither do I.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The bewildered look on his face tells me he really has no clue as to what I’m talking about. Typical, clueless male.
“Oh c’mon, Colton. Most of those women in there want you, and you were more than willing to be touchy-feely with them.” I throw up my hands in frustration when he looks at me as if I’ve gone crazy, so I figure I’ll give a specific example. “You seem to have no problem having your hands on Cassandra and hers on you,” I accuse, flipping my hair like her and placing my hand on his chest, batting my eyelashes.