And even stronger than my need to spew my guts is my wanting to ask him about her. Chicks talk about shit like this—guys don’t—so maybe Haddie talked to Rylee. Told her about why she’s pushing me away, that I confessed my love like a jackass.
God, this is so fucking frustrating.
“Sorry about Penzoil.”
Colton’s head startles with the whiplash of switching gears. “It happens,” he says, and I know I’ve had a lot to drink, but I’m not processing this laid-back guy responding to me very well. I feel like he’s holding back, walking on eggshells, and avoiding pushing me when that’s usually the norm.
Might as well just add a bit more discord to the eddy of confusion already whirling on the broken merry-go-round in my head.
“Nah. I fucked up. It’s on me. Got a lot on my plate.”
“You okay? Your parents and Walk okay?”
“Yeah, they’re cool…. Sorry. All’s good in the hood.” His genuine concern for my family has me immediately apologizing for the second time in mere seconds. I tilt the bottle to my lips, the flavor not even registering anymore because the potent taste of rejection is stronger. We sit there in comfortable silence before I finally confess, “It’s the goddamn Macallan.”
It’s all I give him, yet he nods his head before taking a swallow of his beer. “You don’t brown-bag Macallan, Daniels.”
“I’m aware of that,” I tell him, glad he caught the correlation between Haddie and the Scotch. “Can’t enjoy it—brown bag or not—if someone else is swigging from your bottle.”
He blows out a breath and slouches back in his seat with a shake of his head. “Dude, that’s rough.” His eyes glance up to read mine. “She blew you off?”
“In so many words.”
“I’d ask if you understand why, but by the empty bottles on the table and the mere fact that she’s a chick, I’d say the answer is a big, fat, fucking no.” I don’t fight the smile that pulls at my lips. “I told you dude, estrogen vortex. No use in even trying to figure it out.”
“Truth.” I tip my beer toward him and fall silent for a minute, the bottle in my hand easier to look at than Colton as the confession forms on my tongue. “It’s all your fault, you know.”
He chokes out a laugh, his face scrunched up as he tries to figure out just what in the hell I’m talking about. “This is gonna be good,” he says, clapping his hands together and rubbing them back and forth. “Lay it on me, brother. Can’t wait to hear your fucked-up logic.”
I glare at him. “You started all this shit. We—you and I—were perfectly fine—single and ready to mingle—and then you had to go and get struck by the almighty voodoo.”
His laugh is loud and draws attention from other patrons beginning to fill up the bar. “Struck? More like knocked me on my ass. Dude … I’m sorry…. Wait. No, I’m not.” He slaps his hand on the table. “I’m not going to apologize because when it happens to you, you’ll get it. All of it. The barebacking, being okay with someone holding your balls in their hands, the …” Colton’s head snaps up to mine as the puzzle pieces fall into place. His eyes widen as the smirk starts to play at the corners of his mouth. “No fucking way …”
“Viv?” I look away from him immediately and search for my new best friend and her constant supply of mind-numbing gifts.
“For the love of all things holy … you didn’t … you’re not … you fucking are, aren’t you?” he finally sputters out. And just what I need: Now Donavan knows I’ve been voodooed.
Let the shit storm begin.
I refuse to look up at him, don’t want him to see the misery in my eyes now that it’s unofficially out on the table. Fuck. Here comes the ribbing I deserve but sure as hell don’t need. Viv might as well double up the next round because I think I’m gonna need it.
“Nah …” Denial is my only option.
“Sweet Jesus, dude. I go on my honeymoon, you bang the maid of honor, and then you tie your dick in knots over her—”
“At least you acknowledge it’s long enough to tie in a knot.” I shrug, the beer sliding down so nice, and it feels like I can breathe a bit now that I’m no longer lying to my best friend.
He snorts out a laugh. “In your dreams, dude. Have another.”
“Fuck off. And thank you. I believe I will have another.” I lean my head back against the booth again and sigh, wanting to say more but not sure how much ammo I want to give him because I sure as hell don’t need to take any more shit right now from anyone.
“Good. I’m buying. That way I can get you good and drunk.”
“I believe I’m already on my way there,” I admit. He murmurs his consent, and I force my eyes open so the room stops spinning behind my eyelids. And so I don’t see that image of her standing there, mouth telling me to go but eyes begging me to stay. “I just … It doesn’t make sense…. I … Fuck!”
“That about sums it up.”
I appreciate his silence after the comment as I try to grasp the shifting thoughts in my head. “With Ry … did you … were you …”
“Confused constantly? My dick begging for more, but my head saying back the fuck up?” The quiet amusement in his voice tells me he gets it, understands where my head’s at right now.
“Basically.” I scrub my hands over my face. “This is so messed-up.”
“Yep. And if I wasn’t feeling your pain, I’d be laughing at you too.” I glare at him. “You, * perplexed? It’s just too fucking comical for words.”
“Fuck off.”
“Thank you. I believe I will be getting just that later tonight while you’re here crying in your beer. It’s easier all around if you just admit the Haddie Hex is in full effect.” I roll my eyes at him but stop when he clinks the neck of his beer against mine. “Voodoo, bro. Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“Ha. Now you’re all for it when a year ago you fought it every step of the way.”
“Fought it until I realized a voodoo * is a grown man’s Lucky Charms.”
Why the hell is he talking about cereal? “Come again?”
His flashes me a grin. “Magically delicious.”
I don’t even fight the laugh that falls from my mouth. Colton Donavan at his finest. “You are so fucked in the head.”
“And your point is …?”
“My point is … you’re right. About all of it.”
His laugh fades as his eyes meet mine over his bottle of beer. “Life hasn’t been easy for her this past year.” His statement is completely matter-of-fact, and as much as I know he’s right, it still fucking sucks. All of this.
“True”—I bob my head in agreement, synapses trying to fire through the alcohol-induced haze—“but I just don’t get it. Why tell me there’s something between us and then tell me she’d rather have someone else?”
“And you believe her about the someone else?”
I look at Colton and try to process the look he’s giving me. His eyes are apologizing, telling me something…. Vague hints of what it might be float in the far-off distance, but I can’t seem to pull them close enough to comprehend. “Her words were about as clear as fucking Crisco.”
Colton laughs at my pain and the fact that Crisco is anything but clear. Sounded good, anyway.
“Fuck! All I know is that she said she was working things out with Dante, wanted to give it another shot.”
“The roommate, the ex-boyfriend?” The startled look on his face rivals how I feel. “Well, all I know is that she’s going through a lot of shit right now and—”
“What shit?” I immediately recall the look Colton was giving me moments ago. What was he apologizing for? For the fact that Haddie is blowing me off or because he knows something I don’t? “Colton—”
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t wonder boy himself.” The voice off to my right snaps my mind from Colton and ignites my temper like a blowtorch lighting a candle.
“The ex?” Colton’s voice is low and even as he asks me the question. His eyes tell me to calm the fuck down but his posture says, Fuck off, Dante. Game on.
“Dante.” I nod my head without even looking at him, knowing if I do that urge I had earlier to push someone else around will come back tenfold. I glance over to Colton and see him checking Dante out, his hand sliding up to the neck of the empty beer bottle in his hand, just in case.
Gotta love a friend who’s willing to break a longneck for you to have your back.
“Why are you over here crying in your beer? Is it cuz you fucked the fight out of our little filly?”
Now that comment has me raising my eyes to meet Dante’s. The warning I flash is met with a matching dare from him. Who the fuck does this guy think he is, and what the hell is he talking about?
Doesn’t matter. None of it matters except he just disrespected her, and that’s all I need to know.
You don’t disrespect women. Ever. Whether you’re sleeping with them or not.
“Leave it,” the king of hot tempers warns from his place across from me in the booth.
“I’ve got this,” I tell Colton as the adrenaline begins to surge through me, my mind fixating on the asshole and how he deserves everything that’s coming to him if he keeps this shit up.
Dante’s laugh mocks me. “Apparently you don’t got this.” I’m already sliding out of the booth when he makes the comment. “You might want to brush up on your skills because when I was with Haddie the other night, she sure as hell couldn’t get enough. More I believe was her word of choice.”
My mind flashes back to Haddie on the kitchen table at the farmhouse, telling me, More, and my synapses don’t need to fire because I don’t even need to think.
I just react.
I collide with Dante, moving at full force. I don’t even bother throwing a punch, don’t even think about it because I want the fucker on the ground. And he’s solid, but so am I, when I connect. Our momentum forces us into the table behind him.
Glass breaking and shouts from afar barely register as we fall to the ground cussing at each other. He gets in the first punch as we scramble for positioning, and I feel the connection, hear the whoosh of air as it escapes my lungs from the kidney punch but don’t feel a goddamn thing. I’m so amped up from the past week that my churning emotions manifest in the impact of my fist as I gain top position.
The connection of my fist against his gut feels like a small weight is lifted from my shoulders. And fuck does it feel good.
He lands one.
I land one.
He cusses me out in between our fists flying. I don’t even hear what he’s saying because all I think is Keep opening your mouth and give me access to knock those perfect teeth of yours out.
But the feeling of impact as I land a punch is fleeting because my mind keeps fixating on the fact that he was with Haddie the other night. That she asked him for more when she hasn’t asked me for anything but to leave.
I see red. Can’t see anything else because my mind is so preoccupied with Haddie, with the idea that this asshole touched her.
It’s Colton’s harsh call of my name that breaks through my hypnotic fog of anger. It’s his hands I fight off as they try to pull me away from Dante. And I struggle against him, even when I come to my senses and realize that Dante is securely pinned beneath me, face splattered with the same blood staining my knuckles.
“Goddamn it, Becks! Get off him.” Colton’s strong enough that his arms wrapped around my shoulders prevent me from continuing. “They’re gonna call the cops if you don’t break it up.”
I grunt in agreement, my breath too labored and my head too filled with rage to answer him. I’d take the cuffs in an instant if it meant that Dante was properly put in his place.
“You sure?” he asks me, and I nod before he releases his hold on my arms.
And God strike me dead for lying to my best friend, but the minute he lets my arms go, my fist connects with Dante’s jaw again. The sound of my knuckles hitting him ricochets through my head in a satisfying crunch.