Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men 9)

I frowned at that. When he said it that way, it sounded bad. “No,” I started. But I didn’t know how else to explain it. I blinked and shook my head, confused.

“Oh, baby doll,” he murmured sympathetically. “It’s not going to matter what you do or wear or say. We all get judged. Before I moved to Ellamore, I lived with my drunk, druggie whore of a mother. We Gamble kids ran wild with no parental guidance or discipline, no hygiene, or fucking new clothes, or good example to teach us right from wrong. I remember my kindergarten teacher calling me trailer park trash. And if we’d stayed in that town, that’s probably exactly what I would’ve ended up becoming. Because they made me believe that’s all I could ever be.”

“Oh, Colton.” I covered my mouth with my hands. That was awful. I just wanted to go into the past and slap his kindergarten teacher, and then maybe his mother too, right in the tits. Then I wanted to find kindergarten him and give him a huge hug and tell him he was special and wonderful and should never stray from being himself.

“But it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been raised differently,” he went on. “If I’d been a wealthy boy with parents who spoiled me rotten and provided the world for me, someone would’ve called me an arrogant rich prick who thought he was better than everyone else. So you see, some idiot out there who knows shit about you is always going to judge you no matter how flawlessly you present yourself because that’s what they do. They judge. You shouldn’t live your life according to them. It won’t change them or their point of view. It’s just going to make you miserable and never feeling like you measure up, when really, the whole problem is them, not you.” Pulling me into his arms, he kissed my hair. “If you really want to stick it to them, dress and say and act the way you want and be content with yourself no matter what they think.”

I blinked rapidly, feeling utterly schooled and kind of small for having lived so much of my life according to complete strangers who knew nothing about me but hated me anyway.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, pulling back so I could look up into his face. “Where the hell have you been all my life?” And why had no one helped me really see this before?

He grinned and leaned in to kiss me. “I’ve been looking for you, baby doll.”

This feeling of contentment expanded inside my chest until it felt so big and full I thought it might burst right out of me. I stared up at Colton, not sure if he had any idea what he was doing to me right now. I kind of hoped not because I wasn’t too sure if I wanted him knowing quite that much.

When his smile turned from affectionate to amused, he leaned up to flick his finger at the top knot of my head scarf. “Okay, I gotta know. What is this thing?”

I scowled and patted my head to make sure he hadn’t dislodged anything. “It’s my hair wrap. Duh.”

“Hair wrap,” he repeated curiously. “Do you wear it every night?”

“Of course.” I stared at him as if he were insane. But how the hell did he not know about hair wraps? “What’s wrong with it?”

When I arched my eyebrow challengingly, he lifted both hands in surrender. “Not a damn thing. I think it’s fucking adorable. But doesn’t it bother you? I think it’d bother the shit out of me to sleep with something on my head.”

“I’ve slept with something on my head for as long as I can remember, so…no. Doesn’t bother me.”

“Cool,” he murmured in awe, still gazing at my wrap and reaching up to tweak the top knot again.

I slapped his hand away but then ruined the stern reprimand with a giggle. “Will you stop?”

“I can’t help it. It’s so cute.”

“Oh my God, you’re impossible. It’s not meant to be cute. It’s to keep my hair on my head.”

He snickered. “Where exactly do you think it’s going to run off to?”

“Lord have mercy.” I rolled my eyes, realizing he needed some educating. “I have extremely dry hair. In fact, I can only wash it once a week or it’ll break off until there were only about four frazzled strands left. Plus, I iron it, which dries it out even more. So I have to condition and wrap it—in silk, mind you because cotton draws out the moisture which would dry it even more—every night to keep it as healthy as possible.”

“Really? Huh, I had no idea. I have to wash my hair every morning or it’s a fucking grease pit.” His gaze wandered over my scarf again. “You know, I could just rub my head against yours and give you some of my—”

When he tipped his head to the side and tried to buff his hair against my shoulder, I screeched out a laugh and shoved him away. “Eww. No!” Even though I knew his hair was nowhere near the eww stage yet, it was fun to pretend disgust.

He laughed and tried to share his hair oils with me again. “Hold still. I think I almost got enough for you.”

“Oh, that’s sick. You are so sick.” I planted my hand on his face to keep him from getting closer just as his phone dinged with an incoming message.

We both froze, our grins dropping.

“That might be Noel,” he said, straightening as he reached for his phone.

If his brother needed him, I knew he’d have to go. I swallowed, greedily hoping his brother didn’t need him.

A second after he read the message, his shoulders relaxed. “It was just my sister, Caroline,” he reported. “She went over tonight and helped with the kids.” He turned the screen to me so I could read what his sister had typed.

I began to smile, glad his sister-in-law had experienced a good night. A second later, Caroline messaged him with another text that popped up while he was still letting me read the first.

I blinked. “A chainsaw?”