Page 22 of Ride or Die
“Nice to meet you, Layla. This is my date for tonight, Daya.”
I can’t help but notice how he adds the word tonight. Like he already knows she’s temporary.
I shake her hand as well. She is absolutely stunning with her rich brown hair, tanned skin, and red lips. She oozes confidence and sex appeal, exactly the type of woman that hangs around these guys. Though Axel isn’t much to look at, I have a feeling it’s the power these guys possess that draws the girls in.
Except for Colt. He looks like a muscular sex god. It’s unnatural how good looking he is.
“I remember you." Axel snaps his fingers. "You’re the bookworm girl from high school. You live up the street, right?”
I feel Colt stiffen beside me, and an irritated rumble emerges from his throat. Axel’s eyes dart over to him and then back to me. I look up at Colt, whose jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed and staring a hole into Axel.
“Don’t fucking call her that. Her name is Layla,” Colt says through gritted teeth. His protectiveness makes butterflies flurry in my gut. So damn masculine and dominant, I squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache in my core.
Axel shifts uncomfortably, then looks back at me. “So, I heard you’re taking business like Colt?” he asks, changing the subject. He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes darting over to Colt and back to me again. I can tell he feels uneasy having pissed Colt off. It's amazing how much authority he holds with this crowd.
“Yeah, I wanna open a cafe or something one day. Are you in college?”
“Yeah, I’m working towards a law degree.” Ah. Now that makes sense. This guy has an asshole aura about him, and his career choice fits perfectly.
“Are you going to do law school here, or will you move on to a different college?”
“We’ll see. I like living here right now, but if the right opportunity presents itself at another university, I’ll take it.”
“Smart thinking,” I say as Colton starts pulling me away.
“Enough school talk. We’re going to go get some drinks,” he grumbles. Axel quickly turns his attention back to Daya.
“Sorry, he’s a bit of a dick. I’ll make sure he knows not to fucking call you that again,” he mumbles.
"It's okay." I put my hand on his arm, and he instantly loosens up under my touch.
"What would you like to drink?" He smiles, showing me an assortment of options.
I examine the choices. There are rum, tequila, and vodka bottles, and some soda cans. I don’t drink often, so I opt for the easiest choice.
"I'll take a rum and coke."
He nods and starts making us both a drink. One won’t hurt. In fact, it might help take the edge off. I'm sure Colton can feel the slight tremble in my hand.
Throughout the night, I remain mostly quiet, meeting many people whose names I can’t remember. No one attempts to talkto me except during our initial introductions. They mostly talk about cars and races with Colt. I just shake my head and nod along with whatever is discussed. They probably all assume I’m just the next girl he’s going to fuck, so why make the effort.
I really hope that's not the case, though.
One thing is certain, Colt never lets go of my hand, not once, making me feel safe and wanted. He almost looks proud to be showing me off, occasionally nuzzling his face into my neck and hair or wrapping himself around my waist when we have moments to ourselves.
Normally, I’d overthink, assuming this is a prank. Convince myself I am the butt of the next big joke. But this feels genuine. Like the talks and kisses we’ve shared this week have opened the door for Colton to really start showing me his true self and how he’s felt for as long as he claims to.
After I finish my drink, I excuse myself to use the bathroom. He points out where it is, though I already know since all these homes are built the same, and makes sure I’m okay going alone.
“I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be fine, but thank you.” He finally lets go of my hand, smiling as he watches me walk away.
I go into the house and head towards the powder room, but before I can make it there, I hear some girls cackling in the kitchen. I plan to sneak right by, but I hear my name come up. I know I shouldn’t, but I stop just outside the doorframe and listen in.
“Who is this Layla bitch anyway? And why did he bring her?” one voice asks with disgust.
“I have no clue, but did you see what she’s wearing?” another says, followed by evil snickers.
“She’s a fucking loser bookworm nerd. She has no friends. I’m pretty sure he brought her as part of a bet or something,” another catty voice adds.
