Real (Real, #1)(23)

“Rylee’s phone can I help you?”

I can barely hear her voice above the music and I’m immediately irked. And then I’m pissed at myself for even caring when I shouldn’t be because she doesn’t even really matter in the first place. Nice try, Donavan. Keep telling yourself that and you just might believe it.

“I’m looking for Ry. It’s Colton.”

“Who?” she shouts and I wince from the sound coming through the phone.

“Colton.” My patience is about to run out. Why the f*ck is Ry not answering her phone? And where exactly the hell are they?

“Who? Oh hey, Colby!”

What? I stop pacing and grit my teeth. What the f*ck is going on here? “Who’s Colby?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Colby.”

“Not hardly,” I say, jaw clenched, anger bristling. Whoever the f*ck Colby is, he’s going to wish he wasn’t Colby if I find him trying to talk to Ry again.

But this is just for sex. Yeah, that’s it.

“Who?”

And now I feel like I’m being f*cked with. Does Ry not talk about me? Does whoever this person that’s close enough she trusts to answer her phone not know who I am? Impossible.

You called pit stop, f*cker. No rings, no strings. She can do what-the-f*ck-ever she wants. So why do I want to punch the mirror in front of me?

I force a swallow down my throat, hating that I care if she’s talking about me and hating that I don’t care even more. Fucking Christ. I’ve been voodooed. Fucking sucked in by her magic and I never even knew it.

Uneasiness and disbelief crawls up my spine. I shake it off. No f*cking way. There’s no way I’ve been taken by her goddamn *. Time to prove it.

“Colton Donavan,” I say, authority in my voice. Time to quit playing f*cking games here.

“Oh, hiya, Colton, this is Haddie. Rylee’s roommate.”

Thank Christ, we’re finally getting somewhere. “Hi, Haddie. I need to talk to Rylee.” Need to? Why the f*ck did I say I need to? I don’t need anything from her.

“Mmm-hmm. Well look, she’s a little drunk right now and a lot busy, so she can’t talk to you, but I’d like to.”

Drunk? Rylee? In a club on a weeknight? I’m so not liking the images in my head right now. Images like the f*cking commercial I’m about to debut. Bodies grinding. Hands groping. Sexy clothes.

I can’t help the groan that falls from my mouth and f*ck if Haddie doesn’t hear it because she laughs at me. Fucking laughs. I grind my molars and hope no one is grinding on Ry right now.

“So here’s the deal. I don’t know you very well, but from what I do, you seem like a decent guy. A little too much in the press from your shenanigans if you ask me as you make jobs like mine a little harder, but hey, no press is bad press, right? But I digress …”

“Thanks for the PR consult. Don’t think I asked.” I roll my shoulders as I look at the signatures of past guests on the walls and shake my head in frustration. Be nice. She’s the only way you’re going to find out what the f*ck is going on. “Are you guys having something to drink with dinner?” I seriously just asked that? Fish much, Donavan? And then that laugh of hers again as if the joke’s on me.

Fuckin’ A.

“Wine for starters, but now we’ve moved on to shots. Tequila. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you really need to get your shit together when it comes to Rylee.”

Wait a minute. Tequila? Images flash in my head of the last time I saw Ry doing a shot of that shit. It was after she left me at the Merit Rum party. Stood at the bar, downed the shot like a goddamn pro, and then ran from me. My dick pulses at the memory of what came next though: possession, claiming, some of the best f*cking sex of my life.

“Yes, I was talking to you, Colton.” She misunderstands my silence. Must think I’m not listening but instead am thinking of what it was like to see Rylee naked for the first time. Soft skin. Perfect f*cking tits. Sinking into her. Hearing that sigh? Goddamn perfection.

So why the f*ck is she in some club and not here with me? Because I called a damn pit stop. Motherf*cker. I shake my head, the barrage of questions I want to ask fill my head but never have the chance to come out.

“I. Said. You. Need. To. Get. Your. Shit. Together,” Haddie repeats, annoyance and don’t-f*ck-with-my-friend in her tone. But hell yeah, I want to f*ck her friend. I start to speak, shout at her so she can hear me above that goddamn music, but she cuts me off.

“Rylee’s a game changer, babe. You better not let her slip through your fingers or someone else is going to snatch her right out from under your nose. And from the looks of the sharks circling tonight, you better kick that fine ass of yours into high gear.”

Sweet Christ! This is a one way conversation and yet I’ve just been knocked speechless. Sharks circling. Those f*cking innocent eyes of hers and body that screams of sin put on display for others to watch. To touch. To want.

Fuck. Me.

“Where are you guys?” I’m about ready to blow off Kimmel, repercussions be damned. “Where?” I demand again.

“Like I said, she’s quite busy right now choosing which guy will buy her next drink, but I’ll let her know you called.”

“Goddammit, Haddie! Where the f*ck are you?” I bite the words out, ready to leave. To go get her. Claim her. Anything just so I can feel her again. Can have the peace she brings me again.