Fueled (Driven, #2)(117)
“Well isn’t this an unexpected surprise,” her unmistakable voice chides, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. It takes everything I have from launching myself at her. From slapping that smug, smarmy smirk off of her face and showing her how I really feel about her.
And I’m just about to lay into her when the gentleman passing by catches my eye and nods at me, a murmured, “Rylee,” on his lips—a corporate sponsor.
I nod back at him, forcing a slight smile in greeting, knowing that as much as I’d like to attack Tawny right here and show her what I think of her, I can’t commit the professional suicide that would result from it. And I know that Tawny knows it because she works her tongue in her cheek as her smirk widens.
“What?” she says, looking me up and down. “You’re finally ready to forgive Colton for his indiscretions?” She quirks her eyebrows, so much more than contempt dancing in her eyes. And it’s not lost on me that the word ‘indiscretions’ is plural. I stare at Tawny, so many things I’d like to spew at her running through my mind. I physically have to clench my fists to prevent them from reaching out and slapping her. Anger is so thick in my throat that words don’t come. Feelings—emotions—hatred overwhelms, but words don’t come.
“Did you think he’d change just for you, doll? Maybe you should ask him what or should I say who he’s been up to these past couple of weeks.” A sliver of a laugh escapes her botox enhanced lips as she takes a step closer. “Neither Raquel nor Cassie nor…” she raises her eyebrows with the insinuation of herself “…had any complaints in your absence.”
Her words shock me at first and then catapult me into fury. “Go to Hell, Tawny,” I grit out as I take a step closer to her, infringing well inside the bounds of her personal space. My hands shake. My blood rushes. She has singlehandedly replaced my hope of reconciling with Colton with unfiltered ire and absolute despair. What should I expect? She’s the one who took it from me in the first place.
I’m done. So f*cking done. Just when I had worked myself up to believe that I was the one in the wrong—place the blame for all of this heartache on myself—here comes the truth, slapping me in the face. My hope splinters and falls to the ground around me.
“You know what?” I sneer, wanting to shove her up against the wall behind us and wrap my hand around her throat. “I don’t care who gets him anymore, but sure as hell, I’ll make certain it’s not you!”
She laughs coyly, my words not affecting her. “Well big shock, sweetie, you’ve already f*cked that up since Colton’s mine for the rest of the night.” She smirks, winking at me before turning and walking off. I stand there watching her back as she retreats, and I can’t even begin to process my whirlwind of thoughts.
He’s been with other women? This whole time he’s been trying to win me back, he’s been screwing his exes? Teagan’s words from the gala come back to me. What an ass I am. I actually believed him that he wanted me back. That he was willing to change for me.
The Big Bad Wolf definitely has tricked Little Red Riding Hood.
The all too familiar feelings of hurt turned into rage course through me. Before, where I would have run and hidden, right now—right now—I want to unleash my fury on Colton. Unload on him and tell him exactly what I think. And although it’s not the right time or place, my feet obviously don’t give a flying f*ck because before I know it I’m pushing through the entrance into the ballroom.
A woman on a mission.
When I enter, the venue is already full of patrons, seeing as this is one of the hot tickets for this evening. I scan the crowded room to try and catch a glimpse of Colton. It’s not hard—my body always seems to know just where he is regardless of location—but the congregation of people at the far corner, bordering on a small mob, confirms the hum that buzzes through my body.
A buzz at this point and time I wish would electrocute itself and die out because I’m done. I’m so f*cking done.
I stalk across the room, my heart thumping in my chest, noting that cleavage, legs, and form fitting seem to be the dress code of the evening. I hear Colton’s laughter erupt from mob causing me to roll my shoulders and my stomach to churn.
As I approach the gathering of people, I swear the group parts with my approach and opens up to highlight the spectacle before me. Colton stands amidst a crowd of women who willingly seem to adhere to the dress code of easy. He is completely relaxed and obviously the unyielding center of attention in this circle. Both of his arms are casually draped over the two women at his sides with one hand holding an empty snifter.
Something about his smile seems off. His eyes aloof. Something missing from his expression. Maybe this is just Colton in full, public persona mode. Or maybe, by the looks of the empty snifters on the table behind him, he’s drunk.
I stand from a distance watching the display of estrogen edged with desperation, my rage building, and just when I’m about to walk up and interrupt the little gathering, Colton looks up and his eyes lock onto mine. Some unnamed emotion flickers through them, but it’s gone before I can really comprehend it. I take a step forward as a diminutive smile ever so slightly turns up one of the corners of his mouth. And very slowly, very deliberately, Colton leans down to the blonde on his right—his eyes still on mine—and proceeds to kiss her. And I’m not talking a peck on the lips. I’m talking a full-blown kiss.