Page 84 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
Why the hell is he talking about cereal? “Come again?”
His flashes me a grin. “Magically delicious.”
I don’t even fight the laugh that falls from my mouth. Colton Donavan at his finest. “You are so fucked in the head.”
“And your point is …?”
“My point is … you’re right. About all of it.”
His laugh fades as his eyes meet mine over his bottle of beer. “Life hasn’t been easy for her this past year.” His statement is completely matter-of-fact, and as much as I know he’s right, it still fucking sucks. All of this.
“True”—I bob my head in agreement, synapses trying to fire through the alcohol-induced haze—“but I just don’t get it. Why tell me there’s something between us and then tell me she’d rather have someone else?”
“And you believe her about the someone else?”
I look at Colton and try to process the look he’s giving me. His eyes are apologizing, telling me something…. Vague hints of what it might be float in the far-off distance, but I can’t seem to pull them close enough to comprehend. “Her words were about as clear as fucking Crisco.”
Colton laughs at my pain and the fact that Crisco is anything but clear. Sounded good, anyway.
“Fuck! All I know is that she said she was working things out with Dante, wanted to give it another shot.”
“The roommate, the ex-boyfriend?” The startled look on his face rivals how I feel. “Well, all I know is that she’s going through a lot of shit right now and—”
“What shit?” I immediately recall the look Colton was giving me moments ago. What was he apologizing for? For the fact that Haddie is blowing me off or because he knows something I don’t? “Colton—”
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t wonder boy himself.” The voice off to my right snaps my mind from Colton and ignites my temper like a blowtorch lighting a candle.
“The ex?” Colton’s voice is low and even as he asks me the question. His eyes tell me to calm the fuck down but his posture says, Fuck off, Dante. Game on.
“Dante.” I nod my head without even looking at him, knowing if I do that urge I had earlier to push someone else around will come back tenfold. I glance over to Colton and see him checking Dante out, his hand sliding up to the neck of the empty beer bottle in his hand, just in case.
Gotta love a friend who’s willing to break a longneck for you to have your back.
“Why are you over here crying in your beer? Is it cuz you fucked the fight out of our little filly?”
Now that comment has me raising my eyes to meet Dante’s. The warning I flash is met with a matching dare from him. Who the fuck does this guy think he is, and what the hell is he talking about?
Doesn’t matter. None of it matters except he just disrespected her, and that’s all I need to know.
You don’t disrespect women. Ever. Whether you’re sleeping with them or not.
“Leave it,” the king of hot tempers warns from his place across from me in the booth.
“I’ve got this,” I tell Colton as the adrenaline begins to surge through me, my mind fixating on the asshole and how he deserves everything that’s coming to him if he keeps this shit up.
Dante’s laugh mocks me. “Apparently you don’t got this.” I’m already sliding out of the booth when he makes the comment. “You might want to brush up on your skills because when I was with Haddie the other night, she sure as hell couldn’t get enough. More I believe was her word of choice.”
My mind flashes back to Haddie on the kitchen table at the farmhouse, telling me, More, and my synapses don’t need to fire because I don’t even need to think.
I just react.
I collide with Dante, moving at full force. I don’t even bother throwing a punch, don’t even think about it because I want the fucker on the ground. And he’s solid, but so am I, when I connect. Our momentum forces us into the table behind him.
Glass breaking and shouts from afar barely register as we fall to the ground cussing at each other. He gets in the first punch as we scramble for positioning, and I feel the connection, hear the whoosh of air as it escapes my lungs from the kidney punch but don’t feel a goddamn thing. I’m so amped up from the past week that my churning emotions manifest in the impact of my fist as I gain top position.
The connection of my fist against his gut feels like a small weight is lifted from my shoulders. And fuck does it feel good.
He lands one.
