Real (Real, #1)(22)

I’m not sure if I’m willing to face them in order to let this thing with her play out. And I know that makes me a man weaker than most but hell if I want to relive the horror that’s robbed my soul more than once in a lifetime.

But then again why in the hell am I even wasting time thinking shit like this that I’m never going to allow. Love’s not a possibility for me. Relationships have strings and expectations. Those are hard limits I won’t cross, can’t cross.

And yet here I am, curious what it is about her that I just can’t let go.

“What wo-would you l-like?” The barista stammers when she recognizes me as we step up and thank f*ck for that because she pulls me from all of the crap I am overthinking.

Fucking Rylee is rubbing off on me with her reading too much into shit. I can think of other things I’d like to rub off on when it comes to her.

The image that flashes in my head is so very welcome and makes me chuckle and shake my head. I think the cashier catches the suggestive tone of my laugh and infers the direction of my thoughts because she blushes. She busies herself with the cashier buttons as she takes our order and I can’t resist, as we walk away I make sure to say thanks and wink before flashing a huge grin.

We’re lucky to find a table in the corner since the place is packed, and I enjoy the view of Ry’s ass when I pull her chair out before I sit down myself. We sit and stare at each other for a few moments, smirks on our faces and questions in our eyes.

“You know that after what you did today, you’ve most likely reached idol status with the boys now.”

I roll my eyes at her. A hero, I’m far f*cking from that. If she knew what I was thinking in line, she’d see I’m more a coward than anything. Idols don’t hide in corners when monsters enter the room to steal things from them that can never be replaced. They fight back, they overcome, they escape and save the f*cking day—not cower and cry and plead when pain is headed their way.

They don’t need to call to superheroes because they become one themselves.

I can’t answer her because I know the truth, so I avert my gaze and focus way too intensely on the muffin in my hand. I take a bite, pushing the ghosts back in their closet and finally look up to see her eyes fixed on where I just licked a crumb from my lip.

My thoughts vanish instantly as my dick stands up and takes notice of her physical reaction. She lifts her eyes to mine and we stare at each other for a moment, the buzz of the coffee shop allowing a comfortable silence between us despite the unspoken desire in both of our eyes.

“Ace.” The barista calls my name and unknowingly breaks our connection. I stand to get my coffee and smile at Rylee, letting her know this visual conversation is far from over. And hopefully my vision will get the sight of her naked and beneath me sooner rather than later.

The thought occupies my mind as I doctor my coffee and the need to have her again only intensifies as I sit back down in front of her. I take a sip, the drink scalding my tongue. “Now I can think clearly.”

And sitting here with her in front of me and the boys’ status redeemed at school causes all kinds of clarity. Like how I sure as f*ck want to let her in a bit, see where this takes us.

I’m not sure how to do it or where to go from here.

I’ve got a whole cup of coffee to figure it out, though, and time’s a wasting.





Haddie’s game changer conversation with Colton on the phone is probably one of the most requested scenes from FUELED to be written from Colton’s perspective.

I enjoyed trying to figure out what was going on in his mind when he dealt with Haddie and her pull-no-punches attitude. I laughed at his reaction when he finds out Rylee is out drinking tequila.

We all rooted for Haddie in this scene in the original version, but this one adds a bit more to it when we know what exactly Colton was thinking.



Why does it f*cking matter?

I pace the confines of the greenroom, restless and on edge.

Why should I care if she’s watching or not?

“Ten minutes, Colton.”

I whirl around at Kimmel’s production assistant peeking her face through the doorway, agitation giving way to aggravation. I just grunt a response, too wrapped up in my own goddamn head to say anything else.

Fuck! I wish I could yell it out! Get the pent up bullshit off of my chest. But I don’t. Can’t. It’s my own damn fault. My own f*cked-up head ruling my life.

I’ve got to get it together and soon before I walk out on stage and make a fool of myself because my head is wrapped around something else. Someone else. Just like I wish my body was.

Fucking Rylee.

I shouldn’t.

I should.

I shouldn’t.

Aw, f*ck it!

My fingers are dialing before I even give myself a chance to stop.

What the f*ck am I doing? I want this but I don’t. Need her but don’t want to need her. Whiplash is an understatement to describe the f*cking tug-of-war raging inside of me right now.

Man the f*ck up, Donavan. Grab your balls back and put them firmly in place. Wanting to f*ck her is okay. You’re calling because that’s all you want to do. Nothing else. You don’t need her. You don’t need anyone.

I keep repeating the words to myself, the lie so ludicrous no way in hell I’d even convince Baxter of it. Fuck. I’m about done with the pussification of my thoughts, finger hovering over the end call button when music blasts on the other line. I freeze.