“Time to go, Colt!” Beckett shouts at him, a resigned look on his stoic face. “It’s not worth the lawsuit they’ll try to slap you with…” And then I see Haddie and several other guys from the crew in my periphery. The guys grab a still fuming but more collected Colton by the arms and take him from Sammy. Once Sammy knows that Colton’s taken care of, he turns to the men, dwarfing them with his sheer size, a look of amused contempt on his face as if he’s telling them, “Take a shot, I dare you.” They look at him and then back at each other before scattering quickly as security makes its way toward us.
I stand there shaking until Sammy puts his arm around me and escorts me out of the club.
When Sammy pushes open the door for me, the cold air of the night hits me like a refreshing blast after the stuffy, smoke filled club. He leads me to the outskirts of the parking garage where the lone limo sits apart from the rest of the cars in the lot. As we get closer, I see Colton’s back, his hands spread wide on the retaining wall bordering the edge of the garage, his weight leaning on them, and his head hanging down between his shoulders. I can sense the fury radiating off of him in waves as we draw near.
Beckett, who’s leaning against the open door of the car, meets my eyes as we approach, uncertainty evident in his before nodding his head at me and sliding into the car next to Haddie. Sammy stops, but I continue forward toward Colton.
The click of my heels on the concrete alerts Colton that I’m near, but he remains facing away from me. I trace the lines of his body’s silhouette against the expansive glitz of the Vegas strip, his imposing figure painting a striking contrast to the sparkle of lights beyond. I stop a few feet from him and watch his shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession as his tension slowly abates.
When he finally turns to face me, his shoulders squared, his eyes dancing with fire, and his jaw rigid with tension, I realize I’m wrong in thinking his anger is gone.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” His voice is ice cold.
His words hit me like whiplash, taking me aback with unbelievable force. I thought he was angry at the guy he punched, not with me. Where the hell does he get off being pissed at me? If he was paying attention to his date, he’d know the answer. “What do you think I was doing, Colton? That I was—”
“I asked you a question, Rylee,” he grits out.
“And I was trying to fucking answer it before you so rudely cut me off,” I spit at him, having no problem going toe-to-toe with him tonight. Maybe my intake of alcohol has taken a bit of the edge off, so I’m not intimidated by his intensity. His eyes pierce through the darkness and into mine. Then again, maybe not. “I was buying a drink, Colton. A drink. That’s it!” I throw my hands up as I shout at him, my voice echoing off of the concrete walls.
He looks at me, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as he regards me. “Buying a drink, Rylee? Or flirting around to get someone to buy a drink for you?” he accuses, taking a step closer to me. Despite the lack of light, I can see the fire burning in his eyes and the rage fueling the tension in his neck. Where is all of this coming from?
What. The. Fuck? How dare he accuse me of paying attention to other guys when he was up there preoccupied with Ms. Bunny of the Month? I was being cool, not getting pissed off about how touchy-feely Cassandra was with him, trying to forgo the juvenile emotions I wanted to feel over it. But fuck it. If he’s going to get mad about a guy offering to buy me a drink and touching me even though I said no, then I’m sure as hell going to be pissed about her blatantly displayed attraction to him. Attraction that he certainly didn’t reject.
I’m done with this conversation. Alcohol and anger only result in words you can’t take back in the morning. And we’ve both had way too much to be rational. “Whatever. We’re done here,” I huff as I turn on my heel, intent on heading back to the limo.
“Answer me,” he commands as he grabs my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks. I see Beckett step back out of the limo, a wary look on his face as he stares down Colton over my shoulder. The silent warning is obvious, but the message behind it is unclear.
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m waiting,” he says, keeping his hand on my arm but stepping around to block my path toward the car.
“I was buying myself a drink. That’s it. Big fucking deal!” I jerk my arm out of his grasp, fatigue from the night’s events suddenly hitting me like a bat to the back of the head.
Colton’s eyes bore into mine as if he’s looking for my betrayal or confession of wrongdoing. “There was plenty of alcohol up top. Was that not good enough for you?” he taunts. “You had to go trolling for a guy to buy you one?”
His words slap at me, knock the wind from my sails. What the fuck is his problem? I can’t believe that he’d even think that first of all, but second—and shockingly so—I’m surprised by the quiver in his voice that hints at a touch of insecurity.
Like I could want something more after having him.
I take a step toward him, my voice low but implacable. “I don’t need a man or bottle service to make me happy, Colton.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Uh-huh.” He snorts derisively, cleary choosing to not believe me. He’s obviously dated some choice women.
I sigh, frustrated already with our conversation. “You’ve spent enough money on tonight. On me. On everything.” I huff. “You may be used to all of your women needing that to be satisfied. Not me.”