Page 25 of Raced (Driven 3.50)
“I know you’re riding without a saddle now because it’s obviously fucking 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 fucked with.
“Really chaps your hide, doesn’t it,” I say, fighting the laugh I want to release because fuck, 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 fucking dining at will be Ry’s Thighs.” I quirk my eyebrows up at him, challenge given. Got a comeback to that one now, fucker? “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 fucking take them back. Goddamn alcohol in my brain.
“What’s hers? Did you just officially acknowledge—admit—what-the-fuck-ever that you’re taken?” Becks spits out his beer. “Stop the car, Sammy!” he yells.
The limo swerves quickly to the side of the road and stops with a jerk. I know Sammy thinks Becks is gonna hurl. Did he really drink that fucking much? Lightweight.
Becks opens the door beside him and climbs out. “Hey, Wood?”
I’m confused by the amusement in his voice when he’s supposed to be getting sick. “Yeah?” I ask as I angle my head out to look at him, beer in hand, lights from passing cars flashing over his face.
“Feel that?” he says, lifting his face up to the sky. “That’s the fucking arctic chill right there!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s starting to ruin my buzz here so I’m getting pissed.
“Dude, you’re barebacking, we’re taking chicks to Vegas with us, and that has to mean Hell is most definitely freezing over. What in the fuck is this world coming to?”
I just shake my head at him. “Get in the car, Beckett. If I’m gonna be around a pussy, it sure as fuck needs to be one I can get enjoyable use out of … and you, my friend, are being one but hell if I’d enjoy you.”
He slides i
n the car next to me and just stares at me, a smirk on his mouth and amusement in his eyes.
Me and my fucking mouth.
“Okay, Sam, we’re good to go!” Becks says with a chuckle, and the car starts to take off.
I open the top of another beer. I think I’m going to need this to deal with him tonight. I’m not fucking hers. Becks is just out if his damn mind if he thinks I’m a kept man.
I’ll tire of her. I always do. Shit, one woman isn’t going to be able to change my MO. There’s not enough game in the world that can change this player.
We drive for a bit, both of us staring out the window to the world beyond until he finally breaks the silence. “Really?” he asks with a shake of his head, meeting my eyes. And I know what he’s asking. Are you sure? Is she really worth it? Is Rylee really going to Vegas with us?
Is she the real-deal voodoo?
I purse my lips for a second and nod my head. “Damn straight, she is.”
Here is a new chapter from FUELED. Rylee received the extremely ‘romantic’ poems that Colton composed in Nashville, but this scene takes you to how exactly those poems came about. A bit more bromance here, but also the reason behind Colton’s slip the next morning when he casually called Rylee his girlfriend. I hope you enjoy this new piece of the puzzle.
“You know what I think?”
“Huh?” I look over to where Becks is sitting on the chair across from me, but I move too fast and the room spins for a minute before I can focus again.
“I think,” he says, laughing and tilting God knows what number beer we’re on at me, “I think we need to have a moment of silence.”
“Who died?” I’m drunker than I thought. What did I miss? I lift my bottle to my lips and try to figure out what he’s talking about.
“Your single, non-pussy-whipped self.”
