Page 40 of Colt

My head whipped around to face him, hand still on the door handle. “I don’t know what your tantrum’s all about, and quite frankly I don’t care. You’ve disrespected me tonight, and it’s made me wonder if I’ve been very wrong about you.”

He let out an angry snort. “Likewise, bitch.”

My breath caught, tears flooding my eyes.

I’d heard the word bitch for as long as I could remember. The brothers it used in many ways: jokingly, angrily, and lovingly. It was part of biker culture, and the Speed Demons used it as a term of endearment because they didn’t usually speak to or about women in derogatory ways.

I never dreamed I’d hear Colt weaponize it against me.

The biker princess in me wanted to slap his face, tell him he was an asshole, and to leave me the fuck alone. But the girl who’d loved Colt for as long as she could remember just wanted to get out of there before he let me down even further.

“I think we can safely say that after tonight, our friendship’s done.” My voice sounded husky, probably due to the heated emotion hitting the back of my throat. I opened the door and went to get out.

Colt’s hand came out and grabbed my arm, stopping me from moving. He turned to me, sneering, and clipped out, “I saw him give you his phone number.” He leaned toward me and snatched my purse.

“Hey!” I shrieked. “Give that back.”

Ignoring me, he snapped the clasp open and started rifling through it. “All night, you’ve had assholes falling over to talk to ya. They even detoured past our table to get a closer look. I don’t fucking like it, Freya. Now, where’s that phone number? I’m gonna burn the fucker.”

My mouth fell open as suddenly, everything fell into place.

He was jealous.

I couldn’t work out why though. I’d waited years for him; why would I jeopardize everything?

Colt brought out my insecure side and a lack of control. I’d never known him to get possessive over the women he dated before. Lucy had lasted the longest, but Colt didn't bat an eyelid even when she talked to the brothers. He usually seemed detached from her, almost irritated when she draped herself over him.

One time at the clubhouse, after he shook her off, she flirted with Shotgun, and Colt didn’t even notice.

I hadn’t welcomed any attention at all tonight. Hell, I didn’t notice it half the time. Colt needed to grow up and stop being a dick to me over something I couldn’t control.

“I can’t stop men from looking at me,” I stated coldly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have worn something quite so revealing, but why should I wear a burlap sack because grown men don’t possess the manners to control where their eyes wander? Is it really on me, or is it on them? The waiter gave me his number, but I didn’t keep it.” I snatched my purse back, got out of the car, slammed the door closed, and turned to my apartment.

Colt wound the window down and called, “Freya. Come back, we’ll talk.”

“Fuck you, Colt,” I yelled, craning my neck to look at him. “Forget everything I said. I wouldn’t touch your ridiculous ass if you paid me.”

“Freya!” he shouted.

“Check your card receipt,” I called over my shoulder. “Make sure the restaurant didn’t overcharge you.” With a toss of my hair, I let myself into the building, my heart aching as I heard the engine rev before the car sped away.

I walked up the stairs to my floor, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Guys gave me their numbers, now and again, mostly at work. I never kept them though. Sometimes, it was easier to placate somebody than make them feel inadequate by rejecting them outright. I knew I was pretty, but I didn’t hold value in beauty because looks faded. I prided myself on working hard and being kind. I wasn’t perfect, but I wasn’t an asshole, either.

Colt obviously thought the worst of me. He froze me out and called me a bitch without even asking me what happened. Jealousy was a natural reaction, but he could still have behaved respectfully.

I wondered if he’d even bother looking at the receipt like I’d suggested. He’d see the number on the back of it inhispocket, not mine.

I let myself into my apartment, locking up behind me while cursing the entire male species. Maybe I was doomed to remain a virgin for eternity, though it didn't feel like a bad thing after Colt took his shitty mood out on me.

Turning off the lamp I’d left switched on in the living room, I went straight to my bedroom. I undressed by the bathroom light, grumbling about how Colt had been so quick to doubt me.

I grabbed my cell, clicked on a playlist, and smiled ruefully as the opening chords to Mark Ronson’s ‘Late Night Feelings’ filled the bathroom.

Oh, the irony.

I jumped slightly as a loud bang came from the door.

---