K. Bromberg - Fueled

As I take a seat on a bench in one of the many gardens of the hotel, my phone rings. I look down, debating on answering it, but know that this might be the one person that might help me get my head on straight.

“Hey, Had,” I say, trying to muster up as much normalcy as possible.

“What happened?” Her insistent tone rings through the phone line loud and clear. I guess I failed at fooling her.

The tears come. They don’t stop. When they eventually subside, I relay the events of the evening. Haddie speaks. “That’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

What? “Come again?”

“Well first of all, Tawny. She’s just a jealous bitch trying to get to you and she succeeded!”

“Whatever…” I blow my nose, completely dismissing Haddie’s remark.

“Seriously, Ry…that’s like Bitch 101. If you can’t have the guy, make the girl the guy wants doubt him so that you can have him.” She sighs loudly. “I’m not proud to say it, but I’ve done the exact same thing before.”

“Seriously?” My mind starts to comprehend what she’s saying.

“Rylee…for a smart girl sometimes you’re really dumb.”

“Way to add insult to injury, Had.”

“Sorry, but it’s true. You’re so wrapped up in your own head right now that you’re not seeing it from the outside. If Colton wanted to fuck around, then why would he pursue you relentlessly? The guy’s got it bad for you, Ry. Tawny’s just one of those devious bitches that’s going to get her due sometime. I hope Karma kicks that bitch’s ass sooner than later.”

I start to hear what Haddie is saying. When the hell did dating become so complicated? When the someone you’re dating is so incredibly worth the fight .

“I hear what you’re saying, Haddie, but what about tonight then ? The kiss. The…he cheated on me.” I breathe the last part out.

“Did he though?” she says, and it lingers on the line between us.

“Fucking Christ, Haddie! You’re not helping me here.” I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“I’m not in your shoes, Ry. I can’t tell you what to do—what to feel—all I can tell you is to use your gut instinct.” She sighs. “Women are vicious bitches and men are confusing bastards—you just have to figure out which of the two you trust the most.”

“Fuck!” I groan, feeling less resolved than when our conversation began.

“Love ya, Ry.”

“Love ya, Had.”

I hang the phone up and walk some more along the edge of the golf course thinking about Haddie’s comments and lack of advice. I wander around the grounds of the resort, attempting to stop my mind from thinking, but I’m unsuccessful. I walk past one of the hotel cocktail lounges and uncharacteristically find myself turning into it and taking a seat at the bar. The lounge is not overtly busy, but it’s not quiet by any means either. Both the bar and the various tables are peppered with patrons, some alone and others coupled here and there.

It’s not until I take a seat that I realize how much the arches of my feet ache from my heels and my aimless wandering. I look up at the clock on the wall and am astounded to see that over two hours have passed.

I lean into the back of the chair and shake my head at the day’s chain of events that have hit me like a head-on collision. I order a drink and take a long sip on the straw as my attention turns to the television in the corner to the right of me. Of course the channel is on something or other pertaining to the race tomorrow—the whole city has been transformed for the road track—so I can understand why the television is tuned to it. Unfortunately for me, the panel of men on the program discuss one Colton Donavan and review his highlights from last year. Images of the number thirteen car at various venues flash on the screen. I swear I can’t escape the man no matter where I go.

Without thinking, I lean forward as I hear the announcers mention Colton’s name. “Well, Leigh, Donavan seems to be lighting up the track this week,” one announcer says. “He’s been like a man on a mission the way he’s barely letting up in the turns in his practice runs.”

“He’s obviously worked on his skills in the off season because it’s definitely showing. I’m just wondering if he’s running a little too hard. Going in with a game plan that’s a little too aggressive for the race tomorrow,” the other announcer observes. “Maybe taking too many risks. He’s definitely driving like a man scorned for sure though.” The other announcer laughs, and I just roll my eyes at the comment.

“If he runs laps tomorrow like he did today, he’s set to break a course record.”

The screen flashes to the media headshot of Colton and then flashes back to the highlights. Ludacris’ The Rest of My Life plays as the background music during the spotlight of Colton’s testing runs, and I shake my head for I couldn’t think of a more fitting song.

I sigh heavily and take another draw on my straw, averting my eyes that are drawn to the sight of his face on television.

“Rough day?”

I turn to face the masculine voice that has spoken to my left. I’m in no mood for company really, but when I see the set of chocolate brown eyes filled with compassion framed by a rather handsome face, I know that I can’t be rude. “Something like that,” I murmur with a slight smile before turning back to my drink, just wanting to be left alone. My nervous hands start to shred tiny pieces of my napkin apart. “Another please?” I motion to the bartender as she walks past.

“Let me get it,” the man beside me says.

I look over at him again. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Please, I insist,” he tells the bartender, sliding his card across the counter to start a tab, which makes me a bit uncomfortable seeing as I don’t plan on being here long enough to have a tab.

I stare at him again. My eyes take in his clean-cut appearance and attire but are drawn back to his eyes. All I see is kindness. “Thanks.” I shrug.

“Parker,” he says, holding his hand out.

“Rylee,” I reply, shaking his hand.

“You here for work or pleasure?”

I laugh softly. “Work. You?”

“A little of both actually. Looking forward to the race tomorrow.”

“Hmpf,” is all I manage as I focus back on shredding my napkin. I realize I’m being rude, but I’m really not in the mood to make polite conversation with someone that possibly wants more than just a drink and quick chat at the bar. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, “I’m not much company right now.”

“It’s okay,” he says wistfully. “Whoever he is…he’s a lucky man.”

I look over at him. “That obvious, huh?”

“Been there, done that before.” He chuckles as he takes a long sip of his beer. “All I’ll say is the man must be an idiot if he’s willing to let you walk away without a fight.”

“Thanks,” I resign, a flash of a smile lighting up my face for the first time since I’ve met him.

“Wow! There’s a smile,” he teases, “and a beautiful one at that!”

My cheeks flush as I avert my eyes and take a drink of liquid courage. We talk idly about nothing in particular for a while as the lounge slowly fills up and the night progresses. At one point Parker scoots his stool closer to mine as we’re having trouble hearing each other over the increased noise. He’s easy to talk to, and I know that if we were in another place and another time, I’d enjoy his casual attempts at flirting with me, but my heart’s just not in it so his harmless attempts remain unreciprocated.

I’ve had a couple of drinks, and a slow hum is buzzing through my system—not enough to stifle the hurt from the day but just enough to allow me to forget for sporadic moments of time. My attention is drawn to loud laughter outside the open entrance to the lounge, and when I look up, I stifle a gasp as my eyes meet Colton’s. We stare for a beat, and then I see his eyes narrow in on Parker and the angle of his body leaning in to hear me over the noise.