He shook his head. “You hate yourself because you don’t hate me.”
“Stop telling me how I feel!”
“I know how you feel,” he said, walking back over to me. “You feel good. Soft. Sexy.” He breathed the last word right into my ear, and I swallowed, frozen in place. No one had ever called me sexy before.
He ran his hands up my arms, then reached over and grabbed the zipper on my sweatshirt. “If you want your clothes back,” he said, sliding the zipper down slowly. “I can go and find them. But I’m going to need my sweatshirt back.” His knuckles grazed my breast again, and his touch sent electricity through me.
His eyes were on mine, and I couldn’t explain it, but in that moment, I felt this intense connection to him. I felt like he was supposed to be here, in my life. Or I was supposed to be in his. It was crazy, especially since he had just been pissing me off so bad.
Was this lust? I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt lust before. Yes, I’d noticed hot guys, in real life, and on TV and such, but this was different. It wasn’t just physical, which I’d always thought lust was. This was emotions and physical feelings all rolled up into one, pulling me up and down, high and low. One moment I hated this guy, the next minute I was resisting the urge to lie down on his bed and let him do whatever he wanted to me.
It was confusing and thrilling and made me feel like I was losing my damn mind. Even with Declan it hadn’t been like this.
Declan.
“It’s okay,” I said, shrugging the sweatshirt back onto my shoulders. “I can just wear this back to the shelter. Um, if it’s okay with you.”
Colt shrugged and backed away, and in a flash, I hated him again. How could his presence be having such an affect on me while he seemed so obviously unaffected?
Guys like him didn’t go for girls like me. I wasn’t hot enough, or rich enough, or interesting enough, and even though he’d called me sexy, I had a hard time believing it. He liked messing with me. Anything else didn’t make any sense.
When we got to his car, Colt opened the passenger side door for me.
“Thanks,” I said, sliding into the seat.
He walked around and got in next to me, then reached over and grabbed my seatbelt, pulling it across and buckling me in.
“I can put on my own seat belt,” I said. “I’m not a child.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I don’t usually wear my seat belt.” It was true. I wasn’t afraid of getting in a car accident. I wasn’t afraid of pain, or of death. I wasn’t afraid of anything except for being at the mercy of another person, or of never finding Declan again.
“That’s foolish.” He kicked the car into reverse and peeled out of his parking spot, then gunned the engine up the ramp and out onto the street.
“You’re not wearing yours,” I pointed out.
“I’m driving.”
“So?”
“So that means I’m in control.”
“So? What if someone smashes into you? You can’t control everyone else on the road.”
He shrugged in that nonchalant way of his, making it seem like he did think he could control everyone else.
“Do you, um… do you know how to get to Walnut Street?” I asked.
His Bluetooth rang before he could answer, and a little phone icon popped up on the screen in front of us. I shook my head. Some people had phones that connected to their cars, and other people, like me, had to borrow someone’s cell phone this morning just so I could make a call to try to get a job as a stripper. It was mind-boggling.
The caller ID said “Mick.”
Colt hit the answer button, clearly annoyed. “Yeah,” he barked.
“Where the fuck are you?” A man’s voice echoed through the speaker in the car. He sounded older, and pissed off as hell.
“I told you, I’m on my way.” Colt sat up in the front seat, applying a little more pressure to the gas.
“It’s pretty fucking bad, Colt,” Mick, whoever that was, said. “She’s all fucking bruised up. And the cops are – “
“I said I’d be there,” Colt barked.
“This is your mess. You better get down here and clean it up.”
The line went dead.
Colt reached over and hit the end call button angrily. He tapped his hand against the steering wheel impatiently, then sped up to fly through a yellow light before it