Cheyenne too. Part of her backstory surprised even me. I didn't expect to write it the way I did, but she let me know what happened and I had to go with it (sounds silly I know, but that's how it feels).
I hope I'm doing them justice and that I'm on the right track with this book!
It's sort of scary, but I'm enjoying it. LOL.
For fun here's an UNEDITED teaser. Remember, this book is set in college so it's a little more adult than my YA.
Last night plays on reverse in my mind. It starts from the feel of Colt’s arm around me, flashes to the car ride, the shed, Gregory, the drinking.
My heart seizes. Oh, God. I made a fool of myself. I was such an idiot! I squeeze my eyes shut as though that will somehow make it go away, but I know it won’t. It happened and there’s no changing it. No changing any of the things that happen to us.
All there is to do is move on.
I'm about to try and sneak out of the bed and save Colt and I both dealing with…I don’t even know what. I can’t say the morning after, because nothing happened besides him seeing me the way no one else ever has. The way no one should.
I try to move and his hand squeezes. It’s then I realize where it is. On my breast.
Holy crap. How do I get out of this one? I try to move again and this time he stirs.
“Mornin,’” His voice is rough from sleep.
“Hey…I need to get up, but…ummm.”
His hand jerks back. “F*ck. Sorry. Reflex.”
And I know I need to thank him. To say something because what he did was huge and he didn’t have to do it. Most guys wouldn’t. Not after everything that’s gone down between us, but instead of thank you, what comes out is, “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure. It’s right next door. Are you planning on sneaking away, Cinderella?”
Getting out of the bed, I turn to him. Big mistake. Huge. He's probably the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen. He has his shirt off and there’s that tribal tattoo on his right shoulder and leading all the way down his arm. His muscles are hard, his grin cocky. It makes me hate him a little. “From princess to Cinderella?”
“I’m kidding. Go to the bathroom.” He gets up and follows me. His pants hang low. Not too low and they’re help up by a belt, but that sliver of boxer briefs shows against his belly.
“Are you planning on coming with me?”
“No, but I’d like to brush my teeth. Beer doesn’t taste as good the next day.”
Ugh. He’s right. I stand in the hallway, letting him brush his teeth first, before he walks out.
“I’ll be in bed. Just come back in when you’re done.”
Locking the door behind me, I fall against it. I don’t feel like Cinderella. More like Dorothy in Oz. I have no idea what’s going on here.
When I needed someone it was Colt who helped me.
I don’t like needing help. I don’t know if I like him, but he was there. He’s been there a lot. And even though I don’t like it, there’s something about him that pulls out my secrets. Like he’s a magnet: my past, my secrets and my pain, little shards of metal unable to resist his pull. I don’t understand and I don’t even know if I want to, but it feels good having some of those things siphoned out.
“Stop thinking so much, Chey.” I go to the bathroom, wash my hands and then rinse my mouth with some mouthwash on the counter.
Running my fingers through my hair I try and make it not look as though I didn’t sleep like the dead last night.
Which I did. For the first night since I found out, I really slept.
I pull open the door, trying to leave those thoughts behind. Colt’s in his bed, when I get there, one arm flung over his face and the blanket up to his waist. He opens the eye that isn’t covered, looks at me and then closes it again.
I stand there, not sure what to do. That isn’t like me and I don’t like it, but I don’t even understand the space we’re in right now, so I’m not sure how to navigate it.
“I don’t bite…well, unless you want me to.” Part of his mouth quirks up. “I already told you how much women like my mouth—”
“Stop! I swear you’re so disgusting.” But I still walk over and sit on the edge of the bed. I let a deep breath out, suck another one in. It’s the only sound in the room, but I feel the burn of his eyes on me. “Thanks…I…”
Colt sighs. “Don’t. You don’t have to say thanks.”
“You took care of me.”
I turn to him, almost needing to look away again because it’s so much harder this way. “For most of my life I’ve never been able to count on anyone. Even when I could, I hated it. I mean, really depend on someone. Not pretend to or play it off. You saw me at my worst…the part of me I hate and I don’t want anyone else to see, but you were there. That means something to me.”
“If that was your worst, you’re good. You’ll be okay, Chey. I don’t doubt that for a second.”
I don’t know why his words make me want to smile. Still, I can’t make myself do it. “You called me Chey…”
“Eh. I had a rough night. I don’t feel like fending off an attack this morning if I called you princess.”
I take him in, the blond hair that always looks like he ran his fingers through it. Those tattoos and the hard edges of his face only softened by the dimples. When I look at him, I see control. I don’t know why because I don’t really have it with him. We fight like crazy, but somehow I feel safe and like I have some kind of power I never knew I was missing.
“There was only a few people in the yard. F*cking potheads and people too drunk to know what the hell was really going on. Adrian talked to them though. I doubt think you’ll have to worry about people giving you sh*t.”
In this moment I’m not thinking about last night. I don’t care who saw or what happened. All I can concentrate on are the curve of his lips. The muscles of his abs and how they ripple.
“Sh*t,” he lifts his hand and I’m surprised when he touches my hair. “You’re really trying to kill me aren’t you? You’re eating me alive with your eyes.” Then, he pulls me to him, his tongue gently probing my mouth. I open up and let his lips wipe away any residue of thoughts besides Colt and what he’s doing to me.
“Come here,” he says against my mouth and then he’s kissing me again. I climb over and straddle his waist. Colt’s hand weaves through my hair and rests of the back of my head, deepening our kiss. The pressure inside me builds.
His other hand slides up the back of my shirt and even though I know it’s wrong and it’s not the right way to deal, each touch masks another thing that I don’t want to think about. When he’s touching me, it’s a definite, something I know. His touch is black and white when nothing else in my life is, even when I believed it to be so...
And I have to cut it off there.
More from me soon :)