Fueled(book two)(21)

I hope he can see the disbelief in my eyes. The shock on my face. The temerity in my posture. I start to process the hurt that’s surfacing—the feeling of rejection lingering on the fringe—when it hits me.

He’s trying.

He may be telling me he needs a break, but he’s also telling me I have an option. I either give him the space he needs to process whatever’s going on in his head or I can choose the arrangement route. He’s telling me he wants me here as a part of his life—for now anyway—but he’s just overwhelmed by everything.

He’s trying. Instead of pushing me away and purposely hurting me to do so, he’s asking me—using a term I told him to use if he needs some space—so I can understand what he’s requesting.

I push down the hurt and the dejection that bubbles up because regardless of my acknowledgement, his proverbial slap still stings. I take a deep breath, hoping the pit stop he’s asking for is the result of a flat tire and not because the race is almost over.

“Okay.” I let the word roll over my tongue. “A pit stop it is then,” I offer up to him, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around him and use the physicality of it to reassure myself.

He reaches out and brushes a thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes a depth of unspoken emotions. “Thank you,” he whispers to me, and for just a second, I see it flash in his eyes. Relief. And I wonder if it’s because he’s relieved I chose pit stop over an arrangement or because he gets to walk away right now without being pushed any further.

“Mmm-hmm,” is all I can manage as tears clog in my throat.

Colton leans forward and I close my eyes momentarily as he brushes a reverent kiss on my nose. “Thank you for last night. For this morning. For this.” I just nod my head, not trusting myself to speak as he runs his hand down the length of my arm and squeezes my hand. He pulls back a fraction, his eyes locking on mine. “I’ll call you, okay?”

I just nod my head again at him. He’ll call me? When? In a couple of days? A couple of weeks? Never? He leans forward and grazes my cheek with a kiss. “Bye, Ry.”

“Bye,” I say, barely a whisper of sound. He squeezes my hand one more time before turning his back and walking down the walkway. Pride over the small step he took today tinged with a flash of fear fills me as I watch him climb in the Range Rover, pull out of the driveway, and until he turns the corner from my sight.

I shake my head and sigh. Taylor Swift’s definitely right. Loving Colton is like driving a Maserati down a dead end street. And with what he just said to me, I feel like I just slammed into it head first.





Haddie and I have been like ships passing in the night the past couple of days, but she is awfully curious as to my cryptic notes about my night with Colton. I’m still confused as hell at what happened between leaving Colton’s house and arriving at my doorstep. The two differing vibes have left me confused and moody and desperate to see him again, see if what I thought was between us was real or if I’d imagined it. At the same time, I’m angry and hurt and my heart aches at what I want so badly to be but am afraid never will. I have over-thought and over-analyzed every second of our drive home, and the only conclusion is that our connection unnerves him. That my willingness to return when all others would have run scares him. And even with that knowledge, the past few days have been unsettling. I’ve shed a few tears from my doubts and Matchbox Twenty has been on repeat on my iPod. It has also helped that I have a job where I have to work twenty-four hour shifts to occupy my time.

I take a sip of my Diet Coke, singing along to Stupid Boy, and finish adding ingredients to the salad when I hear the front door slam. I can’t fight the smile that spreads on my lips when I realize just how much I’ve missed Haddie these past few days. She has been so busy working on projects for a new client that PRX is trying to land she’s basically been sleeping at the office.