Skylar

Oh, God.

Could I make any more of an ass out of myself today?

I can’t believe Colton and I had to stop making out because of some childhood trauma with my father. I have no idea what possessed me to spit out that closely-held story. I’ve never told anyone that before. But Colton Wild is my kryptonite: he makes me say and do things I never would otherwise. And worse than that, he makes me want to tell him everything—to open up my heart and soul and bare every dirty secret I’ve ever kept.

Colton helps me put his sweatshirt back on. Then he leads me into his kitchen, where he picks me up and sits me on the beautiful stone countertop. He gently shifts my knees apart so he can step in between my thighs, and then he reaches above my head for something.

When he brings his arm back down, he’s got two weird-looking shot glasses in his hand.

“What are those?” I say.

He hands me one of the glasses.

“Boulder.” I poke at the set of embossed mountain peaks attached to the glass, which is actually shaped like a mini beer mug. “Did you buy these when we were there?”

“My dad did. He wasn’t able to drink alcohol by then, because of all the meds he was on. So we pretended: we did shots of OJ and other healthy drinks, like green juice, every morning.”

“That’s really sweet.” I touch his hand. “But what do these cute shot glasses have to do with my swearing?”

“Nothing.” He breaks into a boyish grin. “I just wanted to show them to you. Besides, the kitchen is the only place I could think of to bring you just now.”

Something about the way he says that last part makes my stomach lurch.

“Why are we in the kitchen?” I get out.

Colton’s eyes fill with such heat that I feel like my nipples are going to pop out of his sweatshirt.

“Living room, I’ll want to bend you over the couch. Bedroom, I’ll want to strip you on the bed. Anywhere with a wall, I’ll wrap your gorgeous legs around my waist and…” His gaze turns so liquid with lust that I bite my lip.

He clears his throat. “But in the kitchen? The appliances fill up all the wall space, and the counters are cold and hard. So is the table.”

“Lots of people like to fuck in kitchens.”

Our eyes meet.

“Do you?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “I don’t, personally. I like the same things you just described.”

Colton puts the shot glasses down on the counter and squeezes his eyes shut. Five beats of silence pass between us. When he reopens them, the lust is gone from his face, and I swallow down my disappointment.

“So.” His tone is even and calm. “What do others—people who care about you—think of your swearing? Do they disapprove of it like you do?”

“Well, other than a couple of coworkers who I hang out with once in a while, my brothers and my mom are my only real inner circle. Nothing’s changed there.”

“That’s cool. I remember how protective your brothers were of you.” Colton’s eyes sparkle. “They were good guys.”

“Still are. On both counts.”

I smile as I tell him how my brothers think my swearing gives a tough dimension to my sweet, innocent look. “Not that cursing is a necessary complement to self-defense, of course. But in my case, Ben and Nick felt that it…”

“Helped you stand up for yourself.” Colton puts his hands on my thighs. “That’s a good thing, right?”

I shrug. “I don’t normally use curse words abusively, so I suppose I’m not doing anything wrong. But with you, I just, I don’t know. I feel so…”

Colton assesses my expression. “Do I make you feel out of control, Skylar?”

Yes. So much. And I can’t handle it. I can’t handle him. He’s standing here between my legs, his mouth inches away, with his hot hands on my thighs. The heat from his skin is seeping through the sweatpants—his sweatpants that I’m wearing—and the sensory overload is enough to make me explode. Colton’s presence and energy are so big, so powerful, that I need to step back.

Just like when I was sixteen, I have the urge to run. I jump off the counter, forcing him to step back. I land on my feet, and immediately grab my handbag and head for the door.

“I’m so sorry,” I say in a soft voice as I leave the kitchen. “I can’t stay.”

Colton’s hand catches my waist before I reach the hallway.

“Hey.” His breath tickles the back of my neck. “Don’t run just because you’re afraid. Please.”

I lean my back against his chest for a split second, and his strong arm comes around me, holding me to him.

“I have to go, Colton.” I force the words out at the same time that I break away from his embrace. “I’ll call a cab. And please don’t say you’ll drive me home, because I’ll politely refuse the offer.”

I find my shoes, which are dry enough to put on.

Colton walks with me to the front door, and then blocks it with his huge body. “I won’t drive you home. But I want your number, Sky. Your actual, honest-to-God real cell phone number, where I can call you to say hi, and text you dirty messages before you go to sleep.”

My cell phone’s already in my hand. And I don’t have any hesitations when I give the phone over to him.

He takes it from me solemnly and stares down at the blocked screen.

“You want my passcode?”

I’m offering him more than a simple phone code, and he knows it. His eyes light up in happy surprise, but he simply nods.

“Bolder.” I spell it out for him.

Colton glances at me, before typing in the word. “Special meaning?” he says as he returns to focusing his attention on my phone.

“Just…some regrets I have.” I don’t say the whole truth—that I wish I’d been bolder in Boulder ten years ago, and not run away from the only guy who’s ever made me feel anything real in this world.

“Funny thing about regrets.” He looks up from my phone as I hear his beep in his pocket. “When I’ve finished living this life, I’d rather say I tried too many things than not enough.”

“Like what things?”

“Like this,” he says as he leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips. “I’m not giving up on you, Sky. Even if I didn’t have your number”—he hands me back my phone—“I bet you’d be a little easier to find this time. I know where you work at least. And we’re in the same city now.”

“Have you ever seen me on TV?” I ask, my cheeks heating at how arrogant the question sounds. “I just got a regular on-air slot for interviews, but they also give me a lot of filler crap.”

“I don’t watch TV.”

“Right.” I give him a look.

But he shrugs. “Seriously, unless it’s sports, odds are I haven’t seen it. Or an eighties movie—I watch those all the time.” He winks at me. “But I’ll look for you now, Skylar Rosewood. I’m going to program my television so I never miss a single segment of ARTWAVE. Even if that means I have to watch that prick Maxwell White eye-fuck you when you interview him.”

I laugh. “I can assure you I don’t stand for any line-crossing when I’m on the job.” I press the number for my favorite cab service and hold the phone to my ear as I open the front door. “Good-bye, Colton.”

He leans over and kisses my cheek, so gently I get obvious shivers up and down my body. He grins. “I’ll be in touch, Sparky. Thanks for coming over.”

---

It’s five o’clock when Angie pops her head into my tiny office.

After the cab drove me from Colton’s to my apartment, I changed into a pair of black dress pants and a white top, and dashed into my car. I made it to my job in record time, locked myself in my office, and didn’t come out.

I’ve spent every hour since I fled Colton’s house trying to tame my racing pulse and stop my body from aching for him. Between my legs, in my heart—all of me craves Colton’s touch.

Promise me you won’t stop this time.

I cannot believe I said that to him. I lost complete control of myself and just let my hormones take over. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I wanted Colton today, and the very memory has me nearly moaning out loud. In my damn office, where I’m being paid to work, not get off on some guy.

Which is why I have to avoid him. He’s too big, too powerful, too…much. This is why I gave him the wrong number ten years ago: Colton Wild has the power to break through all my protective barriers, and that’s terrifying.

“Haven’t seen you all day. You ready? We’re heading next door.” Angie’s blond hair hangs perfectly over her shoulder as she leans her hip against my doorframe. Like a lot of the women in my line of work, she could easily pass for a model. My red hair always stood out, and not in a good way. Blond seems to make everyone feel safe; I, on the other hand, have been called everything from “Carrot Top” to “Annie.”

“I’m coming.” I don’t particularly enjoy weekly happy hour with my department, but I do it, because being close with my colleagues is vital for my career. If they don’t like me, they won’t want to help me with an interview, or a lead, or a promotion.

I’m lucky in that I genuinely like my coworkers. For the most part, they’re all good people who just want to succeed, like me. But I’m not a sociable person, and hanging out beyond work hours has always felt like more of a chore than a fun time. Tonight, however, happy hour is a relief. I’m looking forward to spending a couple of hours where I can relax with a drink, and listen to other people’s stories, rather than the one story I have on a loop in my brain—Colton’s lips on mine.

Angie and I head next door together. As soon as we walk into Tommy’s Bar, our group calls to us from the large corner booth. My department staked a claim to this booth over a year ago, and ever since, this is where we sit. Meg, Morgan, Ted, Brianna, and Monty. While Angie and I do the on-air interviews, Meg and Morgan work in post-production, Ted does the camerawork, and Brianna and Monty are Glenn’s assistants. Glenn’s our boss, and he rarely comes to Tommy’s, although he’s been known to surprise us every so often.

“Look who’s here!” Ted calls out to me when Angie and I reach the booth. “The water nymph who scored a huge interview!”

Angie laughs as she and I sit down. “Yeah, Sky,” she says as she hugs me. “That is a huge score.”

“Although I hear it was more of a touchdown than an interview that you scored, Skylar,” Meg says. “Tell us what it was like to have football star Colton Wild save you from drowning!”

I glare at Ted. “I was not drowning. I was barely in past my ankles!”

“That wave carried you out pretty far,” he insists. His hazel eyes flash, like he’s remembering the moment with actual joy. “And Colton Wild just traipsed into the water after you like it was nothing. He scooped you up in his arms and brought you to shore.” He fans his face dramatically. “It was so romantic.”

I swear, every woman at the table lets out a swoony sigh.

“The man has muscles that go on for days,” Ted goes on. “And those baby blues—I swear, I almost passed out myself when we made eye contact. But his attention was all on Ms. Rosewood here. Of course, she needed the help—she’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for him!”

I turn to Angie and try to plead my case. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. I would have been fine.”

“I thought you were unconscious,” she says.

I exhale. “I was out for a few seconds. Not much longer.”

Ted raises his eyebrows at me.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “Colton rescued me from the jaws of death. Happy?”

“Much,” Ted and Angie say together.

I reach for a glass and pour myself some beer out of the pitcher placed in the center of the table.

Angie gasps. “You never drink draft beer!”

Ted winks and pretends to throw a football.

I give him another glare as I say to her, “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

I bring the glass to my mouth and swallow down half the beer.

Another gasp from Angie. “You always sip your drinks; you never chug them!”

“I am not chugging.” I speak in measured tones, trying to bring calm to the table.

Meg giggles. “I think this interview with Maxwell White has someone a little tense.”

Everyone grins at me, and then Ted raises his glass in a toast to my big break.

I smile, genuinely excited. But I’m also secretly relieved that the conversation has turned away from the real reason I’m chugging a beer at five o’clock on a weekday.

That reason would be the hot guy from my past, the one who just swept into my present like he belongs here. And I don’t know how to break the chemistry between us. If ten years apart didn’t change it, what will?

---

Two hours tick by, and I try to immerse myself in the happy hour chatter, but my mind is distracted. I pull out my phone to check my messages so often Angie threatens to take it away from me until we leave the bar.

My colleagues all think I’m obsessed with hearing from Maxwell White so I can confirm the interview date I tentatively set up with him this morning. I wish my obsession was about work. That would normally be exactly what I was worrying over: my career.

But tonight, my focus is on a different topic: men. One man exactly.

Colton still hasn’t tried out my number since I gave it to him earlier today. And part of me is surprised. He sounded so certain when he said he’d be in touch with me, and I’ve never thought of Colton as a patient man. So the lack of a phone call makes me wonder if he’s forgotten about me already. I tell myself that would be a good thing, a very good thing, and I try to ignore the sagging feeling in my chest, a sensation that’s a lot like disappointment.

I can’t be disappointed! Why should I be? I didn’t even want to give Colton my number. He insisted on it, and I wasn’t going to be such a jerk again, like I was when I was a kid, and lie to him. He deserves better than that. I hated giving him the wrong number the first time, but I wasn’t feeling safe in the world back then. Not that I am now, but my father isn’t literally chasing after me at this point, at least I don’t think he is.

Realizing my thoughts have taken a negative turn, I stand up and bid everyone good night.

I’m too buzzed to drive home, so I leave my car in the underground garage for the night, and hail a cab. I lean my head back against the seat and stare out the window as we drive through Los Angeles. I don’t usually sit with my loneliness; it’s not a feeling I like to acknowledge.

But hanging out with Colton this morning woke me up to the fact that I don’t like all of my life. I love my work, and I enjoy being independent, but sometimes I’d like to have someone to share my nights with. I’d like to come home to something other than my cat and dog, although I do adore them both.

As the cab pulls up to the curb outside my apartment building, I hand the driver some cash and get out.

My phone beeps as I’m fumbling with my key in the lock, and I push open the door before stepping inside.

Karma rushes me the moment I’ve shut the door behind me. She’s so excited that she’s up on her hind legs, clawing at my pants and panting.

My Maltipoo isn’t your typical well-bred toy dog. I found her wandering the streets three years ago, covered in burrs and with matted fur. It was January, and an especially cold day in Los Angeles, and the poor baby was freezing. Her eyes were so sad, and she was shaking. I picked her up, and brought her home to my apartment. She had no tags, so I posted ads and signs with her picture on it. I took her to the vet to be checked and scanned for a microchip. Nothing. I couldn’t find her owner anywhere.

So I kept her. And six months later, her fur “sister” River joined us, when I was sent to interview an artist who also runs an animal shelter. I walked away with a black cat who’d been left for dead on the side of the road, before some angel brought her to the shelter. As soon as I went to pat her, she eyed me suspiciously but let me touch her. That’s when I knew we were meant for each other. I took her home and named her River, after the name of the road where the artist said he found her.

I squat down and cuddle Karma in my arms, and then put out my free hand to pat River, who’s wrapped her tail around my leg.

The next half hour is spent feeding both of them, cleaning out the litter box, and taking Karma for a quick walk. I don’t like to go out alone if it’s dark, so summer nights are a lot easier for me. The sun hasn’t even started to set when I return to the apartment.

While Karma and River are busy chasing each other around the living room, I wander into the attached kitchen to grab the leftover takeout Thai food I’d ordered last night.

When my phone beeps again with an unread text, I turn around in a full circle before locating it on the floor in my foyer, right where I’d dropped it when I stepped into the apartment and Karma jumped me.

I realize I never even checked who the text came from when I was unlocking the door. As I finally tap the screen, my heart flies into my throat.

Skylar. When can I see you again?

I smile widely at Colton’s forwardness. I like that he’s so open, and that he never hides his feelings. I love it, truth be told. I’m not used to being around a man who’s so comfortable with his emotions.

I’m not sure. You’re a lot to handle, I type back.

His response comes immediately: If you let me, I’ll show you just how much.

See, that’s exactly why I can’t see you. You’re trouble. Not taking my eyes off my phone, I grab my food and settle down on the couch.

I have your clothes. They’re dry and ready to be returned to your sexy body.

I forgot about my clothes. I really should have taken them home with me, but I couldn’t imagine staying at Colton’s house another five minutes, or I would have done something I regret.

I take in a deep breath. I don’t know if regret is the right word; I’m pretty sure my body would have enjoyed every second of having sex with Colton. But it wouldn’t be smart.

The thing is, right now I’m not so sure being smart is what’s best for me. Colton makes me smile, and what’s so bad about that?

I just know that I need some time to sort out my emotions. Because the way I feel for Colton overwhelms me.

I miss him already. Maybe I need a middle ground, a way to get closer to him without losing myself.

I stare down at the phone in my hand. The energy from his texts makes my hand warm and tingly. Before I can stop myself, I’ve texted him back again—You’re such a flirt—in response to his comment about my sexy body. He answers me right away, letting me know he only flirts like that with me. I don’t really believe him, but I do accept that what he and I have is electric, and rare.

We text for the next hour, and I keep the phone next to me on the sink while I brush my teeth and get ready for bed. Then I wish him a good night.

His last text comes through in that sweet yet wicked way only Colton can pull off:

I’ll dream of you and your hot-as-hell lips on mine. Sweet dreams.

I catch my expression in the mirror as I turn for bed.

I’m smiling. A real smile, something I don’t do often. I don’t let down my guard much, and for me, a genuine wide smile is about as common as a unicorn.

Kind of like the way Colton makes me feel, like I’d risk things for him. Things like my heart.

Which is why I need to slow my thoughts, and my attraction to him, if that’s even possible.

Making sure to leave my bathroom light on, I climb into bed and turn out my bedside lamp.

---

Gasp!

I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe, and no one is around to save me. I thrash my arms and legs, trying to loosen the hand at my throat, but it’s no use. I’m too small, and he’s going to win.

He always wins.

“Shut up and take it,” he slurs. His mouth reeks of cheap beer, and he’s inches from my face.

I give one last desperate kick, and connect with his crotch. He recoils in pain, and I rise up onto my elbows, taking in oxygen like it’s a gift.

I open my eyes.

I’m staring into my Los Angeles apartment, and I’m alone. Not completely alone: Karma and River are curled up at the end of my bed. I exhale and turn on my bedside lamp.

Another nightmare about my father. Another night where I’ll spend the next few hours sweating and anxious, wishing I could take my bad childhood memories and seal them up in a box, never to be thought of again.

But that’s not how trauma works. Trauma keeps coming, sometimes in little waves, and sometimes in one massive download to your brain.

My calf throbs, and I reach down automatically to rub the muscle. My fantasy kick must have delivered quite a blow, because I’m pretty sure I’ll be limping tomorrow.

My throat is parched and sore, as if I actually had a hand wrapped around it. I climb out of bed and go get a glass of water, and then use the bathroom.

When I return to the bed, I check the clock. It’s eleven-thirty. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour.

I glance at my phone sitting next to the clock on my bedside table. Feeling an aching loneliness and fear in my stomach, I pick up the phone and turn it on.

Just to reread Colton’s texts, I tell myself. They’ll make me feel less alone, and then I can go back to sleep.

Except I never want to go back to sleep after one of those nightmares.

Gripping my phone in my hand, I flip through my text exchange with Colton earlier. When I reach the last message in the thread, his flirty good night to me, I hesitate for just a moment, before typing—

I don’t suppose you’re up and want to talk?

My phone rings less than two minutes later.

I swipe the screen. “Hi, Colton. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“You can wake me any time, Skylar.” His voice is gravelly.

“Shit. I did wake you up. Didn’t I?”

He shushes me with a soothing sound that hits me straight me in the heart.

“Skylar. Are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”

I hold the phone so tightly my knuckles are white. “Colt…”

“Yeah?” He sounds wide awake now, all the gruffness gone from his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I suck in a deep breath. “I had a…bad dream.”

I bang my forehead with the palm of my free hand and groan. God, that sounded pathetic. Colton and I barely know each other, and I lead off our very first phone call with that?

But Colton, as usual, does the unexpected. “Tell me what happened.”

I loosen my death grip on the phone. “It was a flashback of a kind. About my parents. I’m not really in a place to relive it right now. I think I’d rather just…talk about other stuff. Something to get my mind off of it, so I can sleep.”

“I could tell you about the workout Dylan and I have planned for tomorrow. It’s super boring shit for someone who doesn’t like sports, but trust me when I tell you, I can talk a freaking blue streak about football. I’ll put you to sleep in no time.”

I laugh. “That actually sounds…nice.”

“You sure? I was kind of kidding. We can talk about something more interesting for both of us.”

“Nope, I’m listening—tell me more. What are these super fancy-ass exercises you and your cousin are going to do? Will they make your bodies even hotter?”

His resounding chuckle vibrates through my chest, and I completely relax my hold on the phone.

“Well, since my body couldn’t possibly get any hotter than it is, that would be hard to pull off. Emphasis on the word hard.”

I smile. “You’re so arrogant it’s shocking.”

“But you like it.” His tone is playful, but he wants to hear my answer.

“I like it,” I say softly.

“Good,” he says in a heady whisper. “So…” He clears his throat, and when he speaks next, it’s in a normal tone. “About tomorrow. Dylan has this obsession with resistance training, and making me run all over the damn field while he gets to stand there and hurl bullets at me.”

“Do you catch most of them?”

“Of course I catch them,” he says in a “don’t doubt me” manner. “One of these days, I’m going to catch the game winner in the Super Bowl.”

“I bet you will.”

“Will you be there?”

His question catches me off guard.

“Be…at the game?”

“Yeah. In my box, cheering me on. I have a feeling we’ll win if you’re there, Sky.”

“Um…I’m not sure. I don’t usually plan ahead with men.”

“That’s because you haven’t been with a man like me before. I’ve been planning for ten years what I would say to you if I was ever blessed to run into you again.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask the question I’m dying to know the answer to. “Did you say it yet? Whatever it is you were planning?”

“In so many words,” he says, going abruptly vague. “We’re still getting to know each other. Right?”

I’d like to get to know him. Intimately. But speaking to him like this is easier for me than being together in person. I can take the space to regroup, and I don’t have to look into those gorgeous blue eyes that can scan my face and know in two seconds what I’m thinking.

Colton’s so good—too good—at reading me. I need a way to even the playing field while I catch up and figure out how to handle how big my feelings are for him.

And that’s when I come up with a plan.