Page 136 of Heart So Hollow

“OK, two things. First of all, whoa,” she says before taking a heavy sip of her Sauvignon Blanc. “That was my best friend response. And, second, do you feel unsafe around Colson because of what happened today?”

“I don’t know,” because I don’t, “I felt better he told me more about what happened in college. But after the Rickhouse, the smoothies, and what happened today…” I shake my head, unsure of what to say next.

“Did he admit to doing those other things?”

“No,” I give a laugh and then scrunch up my face in a scowl, “I even got up the nerve to ask him, point blank, but he never actually answered the question.”

“Perfect,” Barrett purses her lips with an eyeroll, “so, do you think that he’s trying to intimidate you with his behavior?”

“I know he is. But it’s more than that,” I jiggle my empty glass back and forth, making the condensation drip through the table slats onto the concrete, “the whole time, it was like he was rubbing my face in it.”

“You mean because he can do what he wants without consequence?”

“That, and…” I trail off, having no idea how to say what I’m about to say, “honestly, it’s like when a douchebag guy doesn’t like something you do, but he won’t just leave, so he acts like a dick to get back at you for it.”

“So, what’s Colson getting back at you for? You haven’t had a relationship with him in three years—of any kind. And the one you did have was pretty superficial and lasted for about five seconds.”

I stare down at the table, chewing the inside of my cheek and debating whether to open Pandora’s box. If I do, I’ll have to tell Barrett the rest of the story—the whole story—that no one else knows. Barrett thinks Colson was a crush, a run-of-the-mill hookup, a fuckboy who’s acting like a creep now. Yes, I’d told her what happened at the end of that night, when I woke up with him on top of me and a gun to my head. But I didn’t tell her what happened before.

I didn’t tell her why it was so hard to let go of Colson Lutz, and why my logical brain is locked in mortal combat with my reptilian brain—and the lizard is winning. I didn’t tell her about the things he told me, things I wander back to in the dead of night when I can’t sleep, things I visit in the deep recesses of my mind and then judge myself for afterward. And when I found some of those things in Bowen, I clung to them—clung to him—because they remind me of what I lost. And for that, I have overwhelming guilt.

“There’s a reason all of this sounds so insane to you,” I say while tearing at the edges of a napkin.

Barrett leans back in her chair and drapes her hands over the wrought iron arms, “Look, unless you’re going to say Colson’s been walking around with someone’s head in a box and gifted it to you, I don’t think you need to worry about how anything sounds to me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Brett

College

Colson drives like he should be on a racetrack rather than the interstate surrounded by cornfields. He’s silent from the moment he started the engine and doesn’t speak until the skyline is a distant glow behind us. But I can’t read him yet and I don’t know whether he’s angry or just comfortable with silence. Granted, I don’t care if he’s angry. If I don’t want to kiss him, then I don’t want to kiss him.

Once there’s nothing but a desolate highway in front of us, I finally clear my throat and break the silence, “Where do you live?”

“The West side, on the river,” he replies, reaching over and resting his hand on my thigh.

He must not be too bothered by my rebuff back at the riverfront. At least I didn’t think he was until he grabbed my hair and gave me a yank like I was a puppy wandering too far off the sidewalk. It should’ve been enough for me to demand he take me home immediately, even if it meant an awkward two hours in the car with him, but it had the exact opposite effect. And I think he saw it—the twitch in the corners of my mouth that I couldn’t hide fast enough. Which is why, by the time Colson’s pinky brushes against the top of my inseam, I’m sure he feels me seeping out of my spandex.

At least they’re black. Thank God I didn’t choose grey…

“You alright over there?” he glances over at me, feeling my leg tense, “You’re pretty quiet.”

“Yeah, spacing out, I guess. Where are we going now?”

“I’m taking you home.”

I guess I was wrong. Apparently, he is that offended. My disappointment is palpable, so much so that I shift my gaze out my window and decide to stay there for the rest of the ride instead of looking at him. I should’ve just gone out with Barrett, Katie, and Emma tonight. What a waste.

Colson’s voice cuts the silence, “To my home,” he clarifies, “but I’ll take you back to campus to get your car first.”

“OK,” I draw in a shaky breath while his hand slides up and down between my thighs, “you should take King Avenue instead of Cannon because it’s blocked at night for construction.”

Colson cracks a smile, “You know what I like about you, Brett?” he asks as his hand brushes over the most sensitive part of me, “This laser focus you have. I don’t know where you get it. My hand is between your legs right now and you’re over here telling me about road closures.”

He’s not wrong. I can’t help it, it’s just how I am.

“Meantime,” Colson continues, “all I can think about is how you would look bent over my hood while I fuck that tight little pussy of yours.”

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