Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men 9)

Holy shit. All this time, I thought he’d been upset because I’d said

what I’d said to chase him off that night. But no. That didn’t seem to be the reason at all.

I’d had no idea he’d been feeling bad about us because of my reaction.

“Oh my God, Colton. No.” I began to shake my head because that wasn’t why I’d hidden. That wasn’t right at all. But he only arched an eyebrow.

I licked my lips and took a deep breath, glancing around for something to help me explain myself, but I found nothing. Just a bunch of people passing us on the sidewalk, and some of them glancing curiously our way as we had this very private conversation.

“Come with me,” I demanded. Taking his hand, I started toward the student union, thinking there had to be a place there he and I could talk without a million other people witnessing what we were saying.

Surprised when he actually came with me without any kind of resistance, I glanced at him, but I couldn’t tell what was going through his head. When his solemn brown gaze met mine, an off-the-wall thought struck me.

“Where’s my mug?” His hands had been free of stuff since I’d caught up with him at the quad.

For a moment, I thought he’d tossed it in the first trash can he’d passed because he’d been so mad at me, but he said, “My mug. And I put it in the side pocket of my backpack. Why?”

I couldn’t admit that I kind of wanted him to keep it now. So I focused my attention on opening the glassed doors of the student union and dragging him inside.

The walls were glass too. The stairs that led up to a second level were a polished chrome, but I ignored those and started around them, heading toward a commons area where I knew a lot of couches were.

But he yanked on my hand, stopping me. We were still terribly exposed, the glassed walls showed how many people were passing by on the outside of the building. But it was more secluded than before. Besides, I was pretty sure I wasn’t getting him to budge a step further. So I guessed this would do.

He lifted his eyebrows, plainly telling me without saying a word that it was time for me to stop stalling and start talking.

I pulled him under the staircase, which was just one step more private, and then I took a deep breath.

“Okay, I was embarrassed,” I finally admitted, meeting his skeptical brown gaze. “I was so mortified by what had happened—what I blurted out—at the wedding that I was too scared to apologize to you when I saw you come into the bar the very next night.”

“Embarrassed,” he murmured, repeating the word I’d just used. “Mortified.” Then he shook his head. “Yeah, those sound like words of regret to me.”

“No,” I growled, lifting my voice and stomping my foot. “I don’t regret what I did with you, you idiot. I regret what I said that made you stop. I regret those stupid, awful, untrue words that sent you running out of there the way you did.”

“Untrue?” he said quietly as he stepped closer to me.

My lips parted as that realization pierced through me like a wake-up call. Wow. I really didn’t regret making out with Colton, did I? And I didn’t think I would’ve even regretted it if we’d gone the whole way. The only thing I regretted was dragging his brother in between us, especially since I was absolutely, one hundred percent sure I was over Brandt.

But Colton didn’t possess such assurances. He gave a small, bitter laugh and shook his head. “Untrue my ass.”

He turned away to leave, but I couldn’t let him go. I grabbed his arm. “Colton—”

“What? What?” He spun back to me so fast I lurched away and let go of my grip on him. He clutched his head and clenched his teeth. “What the fuck do you want from me? From the moment I met you, I worshiped the ground you walked on, but all you ever did was shove my attention back in my face and treat me like an annoying, snot-nosed little brat. So I give you space, and now you’re suddenly all up in my grill like you actually do want me. I don’t get you. I don’t get what I’m supposed to do here or what you really want from me. I don’t—”

“Shh, shh.” I pressed my fingers to his lips, unable to bear listening to him because it hurt to hear how much turmoil I’d put him through. So I ended up admitting, “I don’t know...I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I want.”

Okay, that was a lie.

I wanted him. I just couldn’t admit it.

Humiliated beyond reason, I let go of his mouth and pressed my hands to my cheeks. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry for dragging you into my messed-up head. Honestly, I don’t have a single fucking clue what I’m doing. I just know I never did anyone wrong the way I did you wrong, and I’m...I’m ashamed and guilty and embarrassed. But every time I see you, I just…I get all hot and bothered and want to attack you instead of apologize, like total animal-sex style attack you. Which has to be wrong because I’m supposed to be regretful and feel bad for what I did. And I do. Except I just...you make me…I keep having these visions of pushing you down onto some flat surface and grinding my pussy in your face and riding your tongue so fucking hard the ends of my fingers and toes blow off from the intensity of the pleasure it’d bring. But then I always want to fight with you too, like maybe even fight with you while I’m fucking you.”

I backed away from him, still clutching my face and staring with wide, frightened eyes. “And why the hell am I telling you all this? Please, God, say you’ve been zoning out for the last thirty seconds of my rant and haven’t heard a word I said.”

He caught my shoulders and stopped me from backing away from him another step. “Oh, I caught every word.”

“Shit.” I closed my eyes and prayed to sink through the ground and escape this humiliating moment. “Shit, shit, sh—”

He cut me off by pressing his mouth gently against mine.