Driven(book one)(58)

“With what Rylee?” she prompts when I remain silent.

“Guilt.” I say the word quietly and let it hang between us. Haddie reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it softly to reassure me. “I feel so guilty and hurt and used and so everything,” I gush.

“Used? What the hell happened, Rylee? Do I need to go kick the arrogant bastard’s ass right now?” she threatens, “because I’ll switch my tune. I mean, I was impressed when he called earlier to make sure that you’d gotten home all right and that—”

“He what?”

“He called at like 3:30 … somewhere around there. I answered the phone. Didn’t even know you were home. Anyway I came in here to check and told him you were home and asleep. He asked me to have you call him. That he needed to explain—that you took something the wrong way.”

“Hmmph,” is all I can say, mulling over her words. He actually called?

“What happened, Rylee?” she asks yet again, but this time I know she won’t be ignored easily.

I relay the entire evening to her from the point I left her until she woke me up screaming. I include my feelings about comparing “the after” to Max and how hurt and rejected I felt. “I guess I feel guilty because of the whole Max thing. I loved Max. I loved him with every fiber of my being. But sex with him—making love with him—came nowhere near what it felt like with Colton. I mean, I hardly even know Colton and he just turned on every switch and pushed every button from physical to emotional that …” I search for words, overwhelmed by everything. “I don’t know. I guess I feel like sex should have been like that with the guy I loved so much I was going to marry rather than someone that could care less about me.” I shrug, “Someone who just thinks of me as another notch on his bedpost.”

“Well, I can’t tell you that you’re wrong to feel, Rylee. If Colton made you feel alive after years of being dead, then I don’t see what’s wrong with it.” She squeezes my hand again, sincerity deepening the blue in her eyes. “Max is never coming back, Rylee. Do you think he’d want you be numb forever?”

“No.” I shake my head, wiping away a silent tear. “I know that. Really I do. But it doesn’t make the guilt go away that I’m here and he’s not.”

“I know, Ry. I know.” We sit in silence for a few moments, before she continues, “I know I wasn’t there, but maybe you misread Colton. I mean some of the things he said to you …”

“How is that possible, Had? He was swearing under his breath like he’d just made the biggest mistake. He was like a switch. One minute he was kissing me so tenderly and looking into my eyes and the next minute he was swearing and walking away from me.”

“Maybe he got scared.”

“What?” I look at her like she’s crazy. “Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends gets scared of what? That he thinks I’ll become attached to him after one night of sex?”

“One night of mind-blowing sex!” Haddie corrects, making me giggle and blush at the memory. “Well, you do wear your emotions on your sleeve. It seems you don’t do casual sex well.”

“Oh, like it’s a class I can take over at the ‘Y’? I mean, I may be easy to read emotionally, but I’m not in love with him or anything,” I defend whole-heartedly despite knowing full well that what I felt between us tonight was more than just full-blown lust. Maybe I did scare him. That final moment between us in the bed, when he held me and stared into my eyes, really got to me. Made me see possibilities and hope. Maybe he saw that and had to squelch it before it went any further.

“Of course you’re not,” Haddie says with a knowing smile, “but that’s not what I was talking about. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Girlfriends … maybe you got to him. Maybe he got scared of what he felt when he was with you?”

“Yeah, right! This isn’t a Hollywood romance movie, Haddie. The good girl doesn’t get the bad boy to change his ways and fall madly in love with her,” I say, sarcasm rich in my voice, as I fall back on my pillow sighing loudly. A small part of me relives Colton’s words from the night before. I am his. I could never be inconsequential. He can’t control himself around me. That small part knows that maybe Haddie is right. Maybe I scare him on some level. Maybe its because I am the marrying kind, as I’ve been told, and he’s just not looking for that.

“You’re right,” Haddie admits, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have one hell of a time losing yourself in hours of mindless sex with him.” She plops back on the pillow next to me, both of us laughing at the idea. “It could have its merits,” she continues, “there’s nothing like a good bad boy to make you let go. Remember Dylan?”

“How can I forget?” I reply, remembering the quick fling she had last summer with the gruff and gorgeous Dylan after ending her year-and-a-half-long relationship. “Yum.”

“Yum is right!” We both lapse in silence, recalling our own respective memories. “Maybe Colton is your Dylan. The one to get you over everything that happened with Max.”

“Maybe …” I think. “Oh God,” I groan, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well, seeing as it’s,” she lift her head to look at my clock, “Five in the morning, you should go back to sleep. Maybe give it a day, then call him back. See what he has to say and go from there. Remember our motto. Embrace your inner slut—be reckless with him and try not to think about tomorrow. Just think about the here and now with him. ”