Tough Shit (Rejects Paradise 1)

His back is to us and damn, it’s a nice back. Strong and defined with a sheer layer of sweat coating his tanned, sun-kissed skin. His shoulders are wide and damn, he’s tall just like his father. His back stiffens at hearing his name and I don’t miss the way every muscle in his back clenches, a clear cut sign of tension. Though, I can’t seem to give a shit about it. I’m more intrigued by the idea of seeing his eyes. I bet he has eyes that could melt a woman’s clothes straight off her body.

Fuck me. This guy … if his front is anything like his back, I’m in trouble.

I should have prepared myself. Why didn’t I look into Colton Carrington when I had the chance? I feel like such an idiot. He’s going to throw me off. I can feel it. I’m about to make an ass of myself. Nic would be so ashamed.

Colton begins turning and my gaze instantly drops, unable to help the curiosity pulsing through my veins. I need to see him before he no doubt realizes there’s company and he pulls his shirt over his head. He’s too far to see all the ridges of his strong body but I’ll make do.

My tongue rolls over my lips and I hate how obvious I’m being but I can’t help myself. All my boys have bodies like this but the idea of checking any of them out— apart from Nic— is simply outrageous and kind of disturbing.

It’s like slapping a big juicy steak on a plate and telling me not to drool. Impossible.

Please be ugly. Please be ugly.

He turns slowly or maybe I’m so focused that the moment seems to be happening in slow motion. All I know is that one second, I’m staring at the most defined back I’ve ever seen and the next, I’m watching the way his abs crunch with each step he takes toward us.

My greedy eyes scan over his tanned skin and I briefly wonder if he’s some kind of exotic being or if he just forgets to slather on the sunscreen when outdoors. Either way, he’s the most delicious shade of olive brown. My eyes scan over his body. His chest is wide, just as I knew it would be—strong and demanding the attention of the room. I make my way down and start counting.

Two, four, six, eight … yum.

I count every visible ridge of his abs as my eyes travel in the direction of the hard ‘V’ shape of his torso. Nothing about his body is over-the-top, but still, all of the sharp lines and curves dipping into his low hanging sweatpants have me panting for just another few inches of skin.

Shit. I need to get laid. It’s been way too long. I should have taken Nic up on his offer to take me home last night. I would have made a million bad decisions but at least I would be satisfied and not standing here staring at some guy like he’s about to tear my clothes from my body and destroy my pussy in the best possible ways.

What is it with guys and grey sweatpants? It’s like they know it’s a woman’s kryptonite. The way men feel about women throwing it back is the way I feel about them in grey sweatpants.

Shit. Get a fucking grip, girl.

Remembering that I’m going to have to face this guy every day for the next who the hell knows how long, I snap my eyes up.

Fuck. He’s just as pretty as I hoped he wouldn’t be and he’s staring right at me with a set of hazel eyes that are going to be my undoing.

Brown, messy hair, hazel eyes, and skin that screams to have my nails digging into it.

I’m in trouble. Real fucking trouble.

Don’t screw the boss’ son, Ocean. Close those damn legs, whore. Do not sleep with the boss’ son.

His eyes begin narrowing and my spine stiffens as chills sweep through me. My heart begins racing and my flight or fight instinct kicks into high gear.

My hands curl into fists by my side and within moments, I realize that I already hate this guy. I don’t even need to talk to him to know that he’s a rich, arrogant asshole who’s in love with his daddy’s money, connections, and reputation.

Colton’s eyes drop to my body, shamelessly scanning over my curves and taking in my thick, black hair. If I hadn’t just done the same thing to him I’d say something, but at least when I checked him out, I did it with desire. The way he looks at me … ugh. I don’t know if it’s disgust … maybe repulsion in his eyes, but it instantly puts me on edge. He looks at me like I’m trash, or as if I’m nothing. He looks over my clothes, turning his nose up at the holes in my jeans and the fake, knock-off handbag tucked under my arm.