Page 54 of Slow Burn (Driven 5)
I laugh with him, at him, because there has to be some real magic there if it’s turned the poster boy for how to be a player into a bona fide one-woman man. Her voodoo pussy most definitely had to have had some special powers to transform that fucker.
“Shit,” I say, reaching forward and holding my bottle up to him, “that’s worthy of a toast right there.”
He shakes his head once and a lopsided smirk says it all. “Here’s to nipples, because without them, tits would be fucking pointless.” We clink the necks of our bottles together as the mixture of way too many damn beers and my best friend happy as fuck has me laughing so hard, I take my sunglasses off to wipe my eyes.
Heads around us turn to look at the two of us laughing together, but it’s Colton. I’m used to him causing a scene wherever we go, so I don’t even think twice. But this time when I look up, I lock eyes with Haddie momentarily before she shoots daggers at me and looks away.
“Fuck, that’s like the arctic chill, man.”
“Thanks for the play-by-play, Donavan.” As if I need his commentary on Haddie right now.
“Anytime, brother, anytime. What the fuck did you do to her, anyway?”
“No clue.” I shake my head and then lean back and pull the bill of my hat down over my eyes, my silent gesture that the conversation is over.
“Seriously? You think that hat covering your eyes is going to stop me? You know me better than that. C’mon, dude.”
“Leave it.” I snap the words at him. Then I’m pissed I’m taking my shit out on him because all I keep thinking of is the image of Haddie standing in my place the other night with nothing but heels and a skirt on, nipples hard, hair falling over her shoulders.
And I stopped her? What the fuck is wrong with me? One minute I’m telling myself I’m not letting her go without a fight, and then the next, I wake up alone, her perfume on my sheets, the scent of our sex still on my skin.
Fucking Dante. It has to be because of him. What does he have that I don’t? I’ve never even heard her mention the name of an ex, let alone one who has this strong of a hold on her.
Goddamn estrogen vortex.
It’s fucking with my head because I’m sitting here, thinking about it, when I should be shooting the shit with Colton. Instead, I’m questioning everything: my own thoughts, my own feelings, even Dante.
I keep thinking back to that night, trying to pinpoint how the hell we went from fighting to her crying to her wanting more to her being gone. And it’s her falling apart that I keep going back to. It has to be everything with her sister’s death coming to a head and just exploding all at once since it seems she’s held it in all this time.
Sure we’ve known each other—hung out casually—for the past year and a half, but for a year of that time she was dealing with Lexi’s illness and then the aftermath of her death. I’ve seen her fire ebb. Her defiance slip. And hell yes, she grabs onto it every now and again, but the balls-to-the-wall, take-no-prisoners Haddie Montgomery I met that first night in Vegas seems lost. Feistiness snuffed out. Carefree demeanor now a jumbled goddamn mess of extreme highs and lows.
But hell, even grieving and a shadow of her usual self, she’s that fucking sip of Macallan sitting on a bar lined with every other alcohol known to man. Cream of the crop, top-notch class.
Motherfucking perfection.
And I can’t even think about her taste. Damn woman is addictive. Heat and sweetness, with a fucking mixture of unpredictable thrown in that has just enough edge to make you question what’s going to happen next and where the hell she’s going to take you after that.
And it doesn’t matter really because you know you’re already going along for the ride, regardless of the destination. Heaven or Hell, she makes both sound desirable.
With my prolonged silence, I expect a smart-ass remark about how I must be whipped already or how the ride feels without a saddle, but Colton doesn’t say anything like I’d expect. His trademark use of humor to escape any conversation that’s serious in nature doesn’t come. And I appreciate it, take a moment to be thankful for a friend who’s known me so long he knows I need a minute to wrap my head around everything.
So I start thinking of solutions. How to fix this problem: my wanting her and her pushing me away despite the desire clear as day in her eyes. The alcohol in my blood tempts me to resolve it by walking over to Haddie right now and tossing her over my shoulder. Lock her in a goddamn room with me until she talks, tells me how either Dante or Lexi is preventing something more from happening between us.
I need to get some fucking peace of mind and clarity for the first time since she pressed her lips against mine weeks ago.
“She’s had a rough go of it the past year.” Colton’s voice breaks our silence and probably in the nick of time because I’m about two minutes away from making a scene. My own goddamn emotions are a clusterfuck of chaos—I’m pissed at her for pushing me away, but I also want to wrap my arms around her to take that look of confusion out of her eyes and ease the anger that’s just beneath the surface that’s so tangible, it tinges the taste of her kiss.
“That she has,” I murmur softly, not wanting to elaborate since my thoughts are already owned by it all.
“Ry’s worried about her.”
And fuck, why did Colton have to say that? Because if her best friend is worried, then I’m sure as hell going to be concerned. I keep my hat over my eyes, my head leaned back, and my own voice impassive. “Understandably.”
Silence weighs heavy between us as he figures what to say next because I’m sure my lack of a response to his loaded question is unexpected. “You really fucking like her, don’t you?”
I lift the brim of my hat up and angle my head over to the side to look at him, sure the answer is written all over my face. “Just trying to figure out what to do about it since it seems she only wants to be brown-bagging it.”
He smirks at me. “Keep at it, dude. If Rylee could break me down and cause this,” he says, holding up his hand where his wedding band rests, “then shit, anything is possible.”
