Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men 9)

He had completely ignored me.

Colton Gamble had never once in the nine months we’d known each other ignored me. He’d always taken the time to pay me special attention, flash me a flirty grin, try to charm some piece of clothing off me, ask me out, name our future children. And I’d always shrugged him off as annoying, too cocky for his own good, and over-the-top ridiculous.

But to be denied his attention so abruptly made the lack of it feel very dark, and very cold, and utterly lonely.

Hell, I would’ve preferred it if he’d glared at me and called me a worthless bitch to my face. Anything had to be better than a direct cut because this freaking hurt. I felt hollowed out and empty, which made another startling fact occur to me.

I could no longer deny it; I had secretly liked his cheesy flirting the entire time. And I mean liked it, liked it.

I think I might’ve even liked him.

Here I’d always thought it was anger and annoyance and distaste that roiled through me whenever I’d been forced to talk to Brandt’s little brother. But maybe that super-alive feeling he roused in me that made me want to claw at his face before climbing his body, pulling his hair and forcing him to kiss me was some kind of fucked-up foreplay I was experiencing.

One thing was for sure: I’d never been able to focus on anyone but him when he’d been around.

Realizing I was attracted to him—and had always been attracted to him—in a super intense way kind of intimidated me. I didn’t want to like Colton like that. He wasn’t easy like Brandt. There was nothing calm or secure or careful about the way he affected me.

And those were not the kinds of feelings I’d constructed my entire life around.

So it should be a good thing he no longer wanted anything to do with me.

Except when the door to Pick’s office opened down the hall and voices emerged, I didn’t care about any of that. I held my breath, anxious to see him enter the bar again, needing him to acknowledge me.

“Thanks again,” Colton was saying, his voice sending delicious chills down my back.

“No problem,” Pick answered him. “Like I said, as long as it’s after hours and you put everything back where you found it, you can have free reign over the place.”

They exited the hall together, Pick setting his hand on Colton’s shoulder in a fatherly manner.

Colton glanced at him with a grateful smile. “We can do that, no problem. And we’ll make sure to get the Forbidden logo in every scene, too.”

“I appreciate it.” Pick patted Colton’s shoulder before dropping his hand. “See you around, kid.”

“Later.” Colton waved a hand over his shoulder and kept walking toward the door as Pick stopped to watch him go.

I watched him too.

I’d cried myself to sleep last night after I’d gotten home from the wedding, leaving straight from the conference room where Colton and I had made out. I’d thought I had bawled enough to last me a year or two. But as Colton strolled toward the exit without even once glancing my way, the urge to weep mounted with a force that cramped my stomach and dried my throat. I tried to swallow down the pain, but it just got stuck in all the dry rawness, and my eyes began to water.

“You okay, Julianna?”

I jumped and slapped my hand to my chest as I spun toward my boss, who was now standing at the bar, one hand on the countertop, as he eyed me with worry.

“What?” I gasped, then shook my head, offered him an apologetic smile and repeated, “I’m sorry, what?”

He studied me a second longer, his gaze reminding me of the way Colton could see right into my head and read everything I was thinking. Then he glanced toward the exit where Colton had just disappeared and swung his gaze back to me. “Just making sure you’re doing okay?”

I bobbed my head up and down, swallowing the dread and hoping he didn’t catch on that anything had happened between Colton and me. “Yes,” I nearly gasped. “I’m fine. Just fine.”

He lifted his hand and gave me a thumbs-up. “Cool. I was just checking in, making sure everything’s going okay here tonight?”

Oh.

Damn, I thought he’d been asking about me personally. Now I felt as if I’d just given something away by answering about myself. Did he think I’d given anything away?

I glanced toward Bob, but he was busy making a drink for a customer, so I swung my attention back to Pick. “Yep. It’s all good. Kind of slow, but…” I shrugged. “That’s a typical Sunday for you.”

He nodded, agreeing, but continued to watch me, making me squirm inside. “Did you make it to the wedding last night?”