I don’t like her hands on him. At all.
Mine. He tells me that all the time. It’s one of those possessive statements that I oddly find to be so damn arousing. And right now, I’d like to do nothing more than waltz up between the two of them and stake my claim on Colton as he did earlier to me in TAO.
But I don’t move. I just sit and watch them interact, talk, her giggle stupidly and bat her eyelashes at a ridiculously fast pace while she keeps her hand on him. Why don’t I move?
And then it hits me. They’re stunning together. Absolutely stunning and this is who most would expect him to be with: the blonde bombshell, fantasy for many a men with the devastatingly handsome playboy, the desire of women everywhere. The picture perfect couple by Hollywood standards. He may have come here with me, and will be leaving with me, but like every woman, I have my own insecurities about my looks and my sex appeal.
And right now, looking from the blonde beauty then back to myself, those insecurities have just been put on display for everyone to see. For everyone to scrutinize. Even if I’m the only one who seems to be doing it.
I bring my fingers to my lips in thought and a cat ate the canary grin starts to spread across my face.
Fuck insecurity.
Fuck perfect, long-legged blondes.
Fuck playing it safe.
I close my eyes momentarily, remembering the feel of Colton’s stubble scraping against the skin of my neck; his fingers bruising my hips as he helped me move over him; the look on his face as he came; the slight desperation with which he held me to him afterward in the room right next to where we’re sitting now.
I remember Beckett’s warning; trying to control Colton is like trying to grab the wind. He’s gotten the playboy title for a reason. The short time we’ve been together isn’t going to change that. Women are always going to be attracted to him, want him.
Cassandra obviously does. She’s a dead giveaway with her constant touching and monopolizing demand on his attention. With how she leans in to speak to him, her hand pressed to his chest, leaving it there as he puts his mouth to her ear in response.
I’m not going to be irrational and deny the fact that I’m a tad bit jealous—alcohol most likely fueling my insecurity. Or maybe I’m just hormonal…I don’t know. I’m a woman; insecurity is just par for the course in the grand scheme of things.
I snort out a laugh. Haddie looks over at me like I’ve lost it. “You’re okay with…” She lifts her chin in the direction of Colton and Cassandra.
I look at them a moment longer before I nod my head. “It’s not like I have to worry about him seeing her naked.” I laugh, referring to her Playboy centerfold spread. “A huge portion of the male population has already done that and probably jacked off to her.”
Haddie laughs out loud and shakes her head at me. I think she’s a little surprised by my lack of a reaction. “True. At least you don’t have staples in the middle of your body.”
“Exactly.” I smirk. “I have Colton in me instead.” I love the look of shock on her face as I suck down the rest of my drink. “I need a shot and I wanna dance. You coming?” I walk out of the alcove without looking to see if she’s following or not.
After downing our signature double shots of tequila, Haddie and I descend the stairs and enter into the rhythmic chaos of the dance floor. Songs come and go as we dance, and after a couple, I stop looking up at the balcony above to see if Colton’s watching me. I know he isn’t. That tingling of my skin telling me his presence is near is absent.
I’m thirsty and in need of a respite, so I motion to Haddie that I’m going to the bar to get another drink. Something to help dampen the dull edge of insecurity that is still holding my thoughts hostage.
I finagle my way up to the bar squeezing myself through the crowd, and prepare myself for a wait when I notice the numerous people in line. The guy beside me tries to start a conversation with me in his slurred voice, but I just smile politely and angle my body away from his. I focus my attention on watching the bartenders slowly inch their way back down the bar one order at time.
The man beside me tries again, grabbing onto my upper arm and pulling me toward him, insisting he’ll buy me a drink. I shrug my arm out of his grasp with an irritated but polite refusal. I think he’s gotten the hint, but I’m proven wrong when he places his hand on my hip and forcefully tugs me against his side.
“C’mon, gorgeous.” He breathes into my ear, the stale alcohol on his breath repulsing me. My discomfort grows, the hair on the back of my neck starting to rise. “Baby, I can show you a good time.”
I push against his chest, trying to separate myself from him, but he just tightens his grip on my hip. I turn to search the crowd for help from Haddie when the guy’s arm is suddenly yanked off of me.
“Get your fucking hands off of her!” I hear the growl a beat before Colton’s fist connects with his jaw. His head snaps back and the guy stumbles and trips over someone’s leg, landing on the ground. Despite my distaste for violence, a shiver of relief courses through me at the sight of Colton.
Before I can even react any further than shouting, “Colton, no!” one of the guy’s buddies takes a swing at him. His fist glances off of Colton’s cheek. I try to rush toward him, but my feet are cemented to the ground. Adrenaline, alcohol, and fear course through me. With lightning speed, Colton cocks his arm back to take another swing, murder in his eyes and an expressionless face. Before he can retaliate, Sammy’s arms close around him and pull him back. Colton’s rage is obvious. A vein pulses in his temple, his face is grimaced in restraint, and his eyes burn a threatening warning.