Real (Real, #1)(24)

Because this is just f*cking. That’s all it is.

I shake my head and talk to Haddie as if I’m f*cking trying to persuade myself. “You know what? I don’t care where you guys are. She’s a big girl. Can do her own thing.” Jesus Christ, if you’re gonna lie, at least make it sound convincing.

“Uh-huh, yes. I know, but I just thought you ought to know. Game. Changer,” she says, like I’m a f*cking two-year-old. As if I don’t already know it. As if I didn’t already cause this f*cking situation because I called a pit stop to convince myself otherwise.

“Oh and, Colton? If you make her fall, you better make damned certain you catch her. Hurting her is not an option. Understood? Because if you do hurt her, you’ll have to answer to me, and I can be a raving bitch!” Her taunting laugh fills the line. “Good night, Colton. I hope to see you around once you figure your shit out. Cheers!”

I go to speak, to participate in the conversation that’s just f*cked with my head more than it already is, and I hear a goddamn dial tone. What the f*ck? Did I actually just get an ultimatum? As if I don’t know I have shit to figure out.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I toss my phone on the counter and shake my head at my reflection.

Fucking hell.

Game changer? Like I didn’t already know that.

Goddamn women.

I roll my shoulders and audibly exhale.

Holy shit … I’ve been voodooed.

What the f*ck am I going to do about it now?





The bromance between Colton and Becks is a favorite of many. We first see it begin to emerge in FUELED when they are at the bar before the Las Vegas trip. This scene is a short one I wrote for the moment that Becks realizes Colton wasn’t lying, that they really are bringing Rylee to the City of Sin with them.



“Is there a reason Sammy is driving in the opposite direction of the airport?”

I need another beer. Need something to help numb the nonsense in my head telling me I really want this. Want her.

Fucking Rylee.

“I’m not that drunk. I do know the difference between east and west,” Becks says as he tips his own bottle back again. “You can’t pull one over on me.”

“She’s got a hot friend,” I repeat, hoping the idea will shut him the f*ck up and let me enjoy my buzz.

“Her ass better be f*cking blazing and her tits better be perfection if you’re actually dragging women—walking vaginas—to Vegas with us … land of free-balling, free-wheeling, The Hangover f*cked-upness. Seriously, dude? You’ve lost your f*cking marbles. Or handed over your balls.” He shrugs with a chuckle. “They’re about the same size.”

“Fuck off, Daniels.” I grunt at him as I lay my head back, the black interior of the limo all starting to fuse together as it spins like a f*cking car doing donuts on the track.

Or the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival with Rylee.

How I wouldn’t like to take her for a spin right now.

“Fucker? Are you listening to me?” Becks’s voice breaks through my thoughts. The ones Rylee commandeers even when she’s not even around.

“Yeah, what?” I angle my head over so that I can see him. “I was just thinking about … stuff.”

“Dude, get the voodoo * out of your head for a second.”

“Becks, there’s nothing more I’d like right now than to have my head in her wet, willing voodoo.”

“You are a disappointment to all men! Not only did you break the no barebacking pact, but you are f*cking grinning about it.”

“I need another beer if I have to listen to your whiny ass. Shit, we’re going to the City of Sin and I’m putting a hottie on your arm … so quit your bitching, pact broken or not.”

“I know you’re riding without a saddle now because it’s obviously f*cking with your head,” he says, holding up his hands to stop the retort he knows from years of friendship is on my tongue. The one about how much I want one of my two heads f*cked with.

“Really chaps your hide, doesn’t it,” I say, fighting the laugh I want to release because f*ck, even if I’m well on my way to getting drunk, I still know that was pretty damn witty.

“Fucking hilarious,” he says sarcastically, shaking his head. “Sooooo … how are you going to handle Vegas with a chick on your arm?”

I’m instantly irritated at the comment. And now I’m wondering why. What is it about what Becks says that angers me?

“Don’t look at me like that!” he says, and I can tell he’s getting into Becks-knows-all mode. Fuck! I so don’t need this right now. “Vegas is usually a flesh feast, so tell me how that’s going to go over with Wonder-Rylee there? Did you think of that, cowboy?”

I close my eyes and emit a sliver of a laugh. “The only all-you-can-eat-buffet I’ll be f*cking dining at will be Ry’s Thighs.” I quirk my eyebrows up at him, challenge given. Got a comeback to that one now, f*cker? “Besides, I wouldn’t doubt she’d throw down if someone got in her way. She fights for what’s hers.”

And the words are out there before I can f*cking take them back. Goddamn alcohol in my brain.

“What’s hers? Did you just officially acknowledge—admit—what-the-f*ck-ever that you’re taken?” Becks spits out his beer. “Stop the car, Sammy!” he yells.