Driven (27 page)

“Where to first?” Colton asks as we stroll lazily hand in hand down the midway, smiling and politely refusing the offers to “win a prize” from the game vendors.

“The rides definitely,” I tell him as I look around. “Not sure which one yet, though.”

“A girl after my own heart!” He pats his free hand against his chest, smiling at me.

“Adrenaline junkie!” I tell him, bumping my hip up against his thigh.

“Damn straight!” he laughs as we approach what appears to be the center of “Ride Alley” as the sign above us advertises. “So which one, Ryles?”

I look around at the rides, noting several different women staring at us. At first I worry that they recognize Colton, but then realize they are probably just looking in pure female appreciation at the man that stands beside me.

“Hmmmm,” I contemplate all of the rides, settling on a long-running favorite. I point toward the ride closest to us, “I used to love this as a kid!”

“Good old Tilt-A-Whirl,” Colton laughs, tugging me in its direction. “C’mon, let’s go.” His enthusiasm is endearing. A man who whirls hundreds of miles an hour around a track, rubs elbows with some of the brightest stars in Hollywood, and could be somewhere upscale right now, is excited about going on simple carnival ride.
With me.
I have to pinch myself.

We get in line to wait our turn. He bumps me softly with his shoulder. “So tell me more about you, Rylee.”

“Is this the job interview part of a date?” I tease playfully. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s your story? Where you’re from? What’s your family like? What are your secret vices?” he suggests grabbing my hand in his again and raising it to his lips. The simple sign of affection sneaks over the protective wall around my heart.

“All the juicy details, huh?”

“Yep!” His grin lights up his face and he pulls me toward him so that he can casually lay his hand over my shoulder. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, I grew up in a typical, middle-class family in San Diego. My mom owns an interior design company and my dad restores vintage memorabilia.”

“Very cool,” Colton exclaims as I reach my hand up to link it with his that’s casually resting over my shoulder. “What are they like?”

“My parents?” He nods his head at me. His question surprises me because it’s beyond just the superficial. Its as if he really wants to know me. “My dad’s a typical Type A, everything in its order, whereas my mom is very creative. Very much a free spirit. Opposites attract, I guess. We’re really close. It killed them when I decided to stay in Los Angeles after college.” I shrug, “They’re great, just worry too much. You know, typical parents.” We move forward some in the line as the current set of riders vacate their cars and the next set moves on. “I’m very lucky to have them,” I tell him, a little pang of homesickness hitting me for I haven’t seen them in a couple of weeks.

“Any siblings?” Colton queries, playing with my fingers as he holds my hand.

“I have an older brother. Tanner.” The thought of him makes me smile. Colton hears the reverence in my voice when I speak of my brother and smiles softly back at me. “He travels a lot. I never know where he’s going to be one week to the next. He’s a foreign correspondent for the Associated Press in the Middle East.”

He notes my furrowed brow, “Not exactly the safest job these days. Sounds like you worry a lot.”

I lean into him, “Yeah, but he’s doing what he loves.”

“I can definitely understand that.” We start to shuffle forward again. “What do you think? Are we going to make it this time?”

I step in front of him and stand on my tippy toes and gauge the line. A small thrill moves through me as I feel him place his hands on both sides of my torso, where my waist and hips meet. I look a bit longer than I need to, not wanting him to remove his hands. “Hmmm, I think next time.” I respond, sinking slowly off of my toes.

Rather than remove his hands, Colton wraps his arms around me and sets his chin on my shoulder. I sink into him, my softness against his steel, and close my eyes momentarily so I can absorb the feeling of him.

“So finish telling me about you,” he murmurs in my ear, the coarseness of his whiskered jaw rubbing the crook of my neck as he speaks.

“Not much else to tell really,” I shrug my shoulders subtly, not wanting him to move. “Played lots of sports through high school. Went to UCLA. Met Haddie as my roommate freshman year. Four years later, I majored in psychology with a minor in social work. Got my job and have been doing it ever since. Pretty boring really.”

“Normal’s not boring,” he corrects. “
Normal is desirable
.”

I am about to ask him what he means by his comment when we move forward and are directed onto the uneven surface of the ride. We slide into the car, lower the safety bar, and wait for the rest of the ride to be loaded. Colton slides his arm around my back before he continues, “So what about vices?
What do you need to have?”

Besides you?
The words almost slip out but I catch myself before its too late. I look at him, squinting my eyes in thought. “Don’t laugh,” I warn him.

He laughs loudly, “Now you have me very curious.”

“Well, besides the obvious female things, wine, Hershey kisses, mint chocolate chip ice cream,” I pause to think, a smile turning up the corners of my mouth. “I’d have to say music.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “It’s not very scandalous, I know.”

“What kind of music?”

I shrug. “All kinds, really. Just depends on my mood.”

“When you need it the most, what type do you listen to?”

“I’m embarrassed to say this,” I shield my eyes with my hand in mock shame, “Top 40, cheesy pop music in particular.”

“No!” he yells out in mock horror, laughing loudly. “Oh God, please don’t tell me you like
boy bands
,” he sneers sarcastically. When I just look at him with a smug smile on my face, he starts laughing. “You and my sister will get along just fine. I had to listen to that crap for years growing up.”

He plans on me meeting his sister? I quickly wipe the shocked look off of my face and continue. “She must have great taste in music then!” I kid him. “Hey, I live in a house full of teenagers, I hear all kinds of Top 40 music, all day long”

“Nice try, but nothing justifies liking boy bands, Rylee.”

“Spoken like a true guy!”

“Would you rather I be something else?” he asks tapping a finger to the tip of my nose as I laugh, shaking my head no. He leans forward and looks around the ride to see when we’re going to start. “Here we go.”

It’s not lost on me that our conversation has been solely about me. I begin to think about this as the ride starts to twist and turn and spin violently in circles. I am thrown against the side of Colton’s body, and he clutches his arm around me, holding me tightly to him. He is laughing hysterically at the rush of the ride, and I tell him to close his eyes because it heightens the sensation. I swear I hear him say something about showing me more of that later, but I’m distracted from asking because as soon as it begins, the ride is over.

Colton and I proceed to ride the tea-cups, the swings, sneak a kiss in the Fun House’s lover’s lane, raise our hands high above our heads as we plummet downward on the roller coaster, and sling back and forth on the dragon ship. We step off of the freefall ride after having our stomachs jolted up into our mouths, and Colton declares his need for a drink.

We stroll over to a food vendor and buys two drinks and a mammoth funnel of cotton candy. He looks over at me, dead serious. “No carnival is complete without making yourself sick on the pure goodness of spun sugar.” His grin is that of a mischievous little boy, and it just melts my heart.

I laugh at him as we stroll over to a nearby bench. We are almost there when we hear a voice behind us. “Excuse me?”

We both turn to see a middle-aged woman standing behind us. “Yes?” I ask, but it’s obvious she couldn’t care less about me for her eyes are completely fixated on Colton.

“Sorry to interrupt, but, my friends and I have a bet going … are you Colton Donavan?”

I can feel Colton’s hand tense in mine, but his face remains impassive. A slow smile spreads across his face as he glances over at me and then back to the woman in front of us. “That’s flattering of you to think, ma’am, but I’m sorry to disappoint you. I actually get that a lot.” The woman’s face falls in disappointment. “Thank you for the compliment, though. My name’s Ace Thomas,” Colton improvises as he holds out his hands to shake hers. The mixture of my nickname for him and my last name makes me smile softly at the idea that he is thinking of the two of us as being intertwined. Connected.

She shakes his hand reluctantly, muttering, “Nice to meet you,” embarrassed at her intrusion, before she turns quickly and walks back to her friends.

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am.” Colton calls after her, the rigidity in his shoulders easing as we turn our backs to her and continue to the bench. He lets out a soft sigh. “I hate doing that. Lying like that,” he verbalizes, “Its just that once one person realizes, then it’s nonstop. Out come the camera phones and the Facebook posts and before you know it, we’re surrounded, the paparazzi show up, and I’ve spent the whole evening tending to strangers and ignoring you.”

His reasoning takes me by surprise, and I’m flattered that he’s put it in these terms. “This is my life,” he explains without apology, “for the most part. I grew by default with a famous family, but I made the choice to be a public person. I accept the fact that I’m going to be followed and photographed and hounded for autographs. I get it,” he says, sitting down on the bench beside me, “and I don’t mind it, really. I mean I’m not complaining. I’m usually very accommodating, especially when it comes to kids. But sometimes, like tonight, I just …” he tugs his hat down further on his head, “I just don’t want to be bugged.” He leans forward, angling his head so that the brim of his hat clears my forehead, and says, “I just want it to be you and me.” He leans in, brushing his lips against mine in a brief but tender kiss, emphasizing his last words.

I pull back and smile tentatively at him, raising my hand to toy lazily with the curls flipping over his cap at the back of his neck. We stare at each other for a moment, exchanging unspoken words: lust, desire, enjoyment, playfulness, and compatibility. My grin spreads wider, “Ace Thomas, huh?”

He grins back at me, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It was the first thing that came to mind,” he shrugs, raising his eyebrows. “If I’d have hesitated, she would’ve known I was lying.”

“True,” I concede, taking a pinch of the cotton candy that Colton offers me. “My God, this stuff is over-the-top sweet!”

“I know. Pure sugar,” Colton chuckles, widening his eyes at me, “That’s why its so damn good!” He looks out at the rides, “Man, when I was a kid, after—” he pauses quietly, “after I met my parents, they’d spoil me by taking me to baseball games. I’d get so sick eating this crap.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a ghost of a smile at the memory. And I can’t help but wonder what life was like for him before he met his parents.

We lapse into an easy silence, watching the rides and the people around us, taking small nibbles of cotton candy. I am really enjoying myself and spending this time with Colton. He is attentive and engaging and seems as if he really is interested in me as a person. I guess I was expecting more of a surface get-to-know-you, so being proved wrong is a welcome acknowledgment for me.

Colton moves his hand over to squeeze my knee and points over to the only ride left in our vicinity. “You ready to take on the Zipper, Ryles?”

I blanche at the thought of the small enclosed cage tumbling endlessly through the air. Being jolted and shoved backwards and forwards while being confined. I swallow loudly. “Not really,” I shake my head.

“C’mon, be a sport,” he pressures jokingly.

I can feel the impending claustrophobia of the ride, and I move my shoulders back and forth to ward the phantom feeling away. “Sorry. I can’t,” I mutter, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush through my system. “I’m super claustrophobic,” I tell him, pushing my hair off my face.

“I’ve noticed,” he says wryly. When I raise an eyebrow at him, he continues, “Remember? Storage closet? Backstage?” he says with a suggestive smirk on his face.

“Oh. Yes.” I can feel my cheeks burn red at his comment, mortified at my,
then
, actions. “How could I forget?”

“Were you always that way or did your brother lock you in the closet and forget about you as a kid?” he chides, laughing with amusement at the thought.

“Uh-uh,” I shake my head and quickly shift my eyes away from his, hoping he misses the tears that fill them momentarily at the memory. Although it has been two years, it still hits me like yesterday when old demons resurface. I reach over to twist my ring around my finger and find the spot empty. I exhale shakily, closing my eyes momentarily to control my emotions that seem to be unraveling. I’m angry with myself for reacting so strongly to the suggestion of a damn carnival ride.

His laugh stops immediately when he notices my agitation, and he places an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “Hey look. I’m sorry, Rylee. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s okay,” I shake my head, leaning forward out of his grasp, escaping the heat of him and embarrassed at my reaction, “There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry.” He nods his head in acceptance to me, his eyes imploring me to say more. “I—um, I was in a pretty bad car accident a couple of years back … I was trapped for a while,” I shake my head to clear the vivid memories pressing in on me. “Since then, I can’t stand being in small places. Feeling trapped.”

He places his hand on my back and reassuringly rubs up and down. “The scars?” he asks.

“Uh-huh,” I answer, still trying to find my voice.

“But you’re all healed now?” The genuine concern that fills his voice makes me look back and smile at him.

“Physically, yes,” I tell him, as I lean back into the comfort of him, resting my back partially on his torso, his arm instinctively goes around me. “Emotionally,” I sigh, “I have my days. I told you, Colton, excess baggage.”