Raced by K. Bromberg Page B

stand to get my coffee and smile at Rylee, letting her know this visual conversation is far from over. And hopefully my vision will get the sight of her naked and beneath me sooner rather than later.
    The thought occupies my mind as I doctor my coffee and the need to have her again only intensifies as I sit back down in front of her. I take a sip, the drink scalding my tongue. “Now I can think clearly.”
    And sitting here with her in front of me and the boys’ status redeemed at school causes all kinds of clarity. Like how I sure as fuck want to let her in a bit, see where this takes us.
    I’m not sure how to do it or where to go from here.
    I’ve got a whole cup of coffee to figure it out, though, and time’s a wasting.



Haddie’s game changer conversation with Colton on the phone is probably one of the most requested scenes from FUELED to be written from Colton’s perspective.
    I enjoyed trying to figure out what was going on in his mind when he dealt with Haddie and her pull-no-punches attitude. I laughed at his reaction when he finds out Rylee is out drinking tequila.
    We all rooted for Haddie in this scene in the original version, but this one adds a bit more to it when we know what exactly Colton was thinking.

    Why does it fucking matter?
    I pace the confines of the greenroom, restless and on edge.
    Why should I care if she’s watching or not?
    “Ten minutes, Colton.”
    I whirl around at Kimmel’s production assistant peeking her face through the doorway, agitation giving way to aggravation. I just grunt a response, too wrapped up in my own goddamn head to say anything else.
    Fuck! I wish I could yell it out! Get the pent up bullshit off of my chest. But I don’t. Can’t. It’s my own damn fault. My own fucked-up head ruling my life.
    I’ve got to get it together and soon before I walk out on stage and make a fool of myself because my head is wrapped around something else. Someone else. Just like I wish my body was.
    Fucking Rylee.
    I shouldn’t.
    I should.
    I shouldn’t.
    Aw, fuck it!
    My fingers are dialing before I even give myself a chance to stop.
    What the fuck am I doing? I want this but I don’t. Need her but don’t want to need her. Whiplash is an understatement to describe the fucking tug-of-war raging inside of me right now.
    Man the fuck up, Donavan. Grab your balls back and put them firmly in place. Wanting to fuck her is okay. You’re calling because that’s all you want to do. Nothing else. You don’t need her. You don’t need anyone.
    I keep repeating the words to myself, the lie so ludicrous no way in hell I’d even convince Baxter of it. Fuck . I’m about done with the pussification of my thoughts, finger hovering over the end call button when music blasts on the other line. I freeze.
    “Rylee’s phone can I help you?”
    I can barely hear her voice above the music and I’m immediately irked. And then I’m pissed at myself for even caring when I shouldn’t be because she doesn’t even really matter in the first place. Nice try, Donavan. Keep telling yourself that and you just might believe it.
    “I’m looking for Ry. It’s Colton.”
    “Who? ” she shouts and I wince from the sound coming through the phone.
    “Colton.” My patience is about to run out. Why the fuck is Ry not answering her phone? And where exactly the hell are they?
    “Who? Oh hey, Colby!”
    What? I stop pacing and grit my teeth. What the fuck is going on here? “ Who’s Colby? ”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Colby.”
    “Not hardly,” I say, jaw clenched, anger bristling. Whoever the fuck Colby is, he’s going to wish he wasn’t Colby if I find him trying to talk to Ry again.
    But this is just for sex. Yeah, that’s it.
    “ Who? ”
    And now I feel like I’m being fucked with. Does Ry not talk about me? Does whoever this person that’s close enough she trusts to answer her phone not know who I am? Impossible.
    You called pit stop, fucker. No rings, no strings . She can