Raced by K. Bromberg

her. Rylee gathers her dignity and pride, throws the caution flag up, and walks out.
    She has a restless night filled with nightmares from her past. She and Haddie have a come-to-Colton talk about how it’s okay to have mindless sex with him to get over Max, about how it’s okay to clear the cobwebs and live a little.
    Rylee wakes up with a new resolve from the tearful woman who left the hotel the night before. She’s going to try to just go with the flow when it comes to Colton. See what happens. She goes for a run and when she returns, guess who’s standing in her driveway waiting for the woman who ran out on him?
    There was something humorous in figuring out Colton’s reaction to Rylee’s transformation from the upset woman the night before to this confident temptress challenging him with her words and her body. It was also a hard scene to write because once again, Colton’s motivations were almost schizophrenic in nature. His continual need to explain to himself why he’s there, that he’s just trying to be a good guy, apologize for being an ass, makes you want to shake him so he sees what’s right in front of him.

    Why the fuck am I here? Seriously, Donavan? Chasing her like a damn chick after last night. After I fucked her and then freaked the hell out and basically pushed her away. Like that doesn’t have douchebag written all over it.
    Walk away, Donavan. Lift the right foot, then the left, and walk around the fucking Rover. Leave the complication alone and ease what-the-fuck-ever is that weird pressure in my chest.
    Do it.
    Now.
    Move your ass.
    I look up, conviction in my head but resistance in my soul, and the air punches from my lungs. Lead now weighing down my fucking flip-flopped feet.
    My God she’s gorgeous. Like knock me to my knees gorgeous. What girl can be sweaty in workout gear, jeans and a T-shirt, or dressed to the hilt like last night and be hot as fuck in all three?
    She runs the rest of the way toward me and hell yes I look at the way her tits bounce in her snug little tank thingy. I groan inwardly as I remember the weight of them in my hands. The taste of them on my tongue.
    “Hi.” She breathes out and although she looks winded I like to think her quickened breath is because of me.
    “Hello, Rylee.” It’s all I can manage to say. Thoughts flicker through my head. How I should apologize. How I should demand to know why she makes me feel like this when I don’t even know what this is.
    “What are you doing here?” Confusion mars her gorgeous face as those eyes of hers search mine for an explanation I can’t even give her. One that I know but am not able to put sound to the words because then it would make her … make this too fucking real.
    And I don’t do real. I do quick. I do easy. I do rules and draw lines that never get crossed.
    So why the fuck am I here, then?
    I look at her, such a goddamn contradiction in everything she is, and have the urge to tell her the truth but know the truth will push her away. I want to tell her she burned me last night. Fucked me into feeling more than just the physical when I’m so used to being numb. Made me feel raw and vulnerable when I’m always guarded.
    And I couldn’t handle it. She looked in my eyes so deeply I could see the truths she saw there reflected in her own eyes and it scared the fuck out of me.
    Demons best be left untouched or else they destroy. Collateral damage be damned. Been there, done that shit.
    She angles her head at me. Her eyes still reflect hurt, but I also see surprise and thank fuck for that because it means I still have a shot. The question is after last night and the goddamn hurricane of emotions that ripped through me during and after we had sex, I’m not quite sure what the shot I’m looking for is.
    Redemption? Apology? Forgiveness? Another chance?
    Pick one, Donavan, because she proved last night she doesn’t play the games you’re used to so figure out the answer to her question, the one you