Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) 📖

again, grateful to let him comfort me. I lean into Colin’s open arms, saying, “Thank you for telling me everything, Colin.” But midsentence, as the second half of my comment falls out of my mouth and my body falls into Colin’s waiting arms, Savage bursts into the room, his dark eyes blazing and bugging out.

“Savage,” I blurt, leaping off the couch to standing.

“What the fuck?” he blurts. He looks between Colin and me. “Laila?”

“Nothing happened! I was upset. Colin is a friend who offered a shoulder to cry on.”

“Yeah, he did,” Savage spits out, looking murderous. He marches toward Colin, looking homicidal, his fists clenched. And in reply, Colin leaps to standing next to me, ready to defend himself. I lurch in front of Savage, blocking his progress, and, thankfully, he stops and shifts his weight from foot to foot, his energy like a live wire that’s come loose and is now zapping wildly on the ground.

“You hit on her,” Savage barks at Colin. “When you knew she was with me!”

“I thought your relationship was fake,” Colin says. “And by the way, she turned me down. So now what, Savage? You’re gonna beat the shit out of me for taking my shot? I didn’t beat the shit out of you when you fucked my woman, but you’re gonna throw down when I’ve done nothing but give yours a shoulder to cry on?” Savage’s dark eyes shift to mine, looking guilty as hell, as Colin adds, “Maybe you should be more worried about why Laila needed a shoulder to cry on, than about who offered her that shoulder, you dumbass.”

Savage looks like a caged animal as I flash him an enraged look. He fucked Colin’s girlfriend? And the man has the nerve to freak out about me talking to Colin?

“There you are!” a male voice says, as Savage opens his mouth to say God-knows-what, and thank God, Kendrick appears a second later and grabs Savage’s tense shoulders. “Come on, man. Don’t do this.”

Savage shakes off Kendrick’s grip and looks at me plaintively, like he’s on the cusp of a total and complete breakdown. “Do you want him?” he rasps out, motioning to Colin. “Is that why you didn’t want me? Have you wanted Colin all along?”

“No!” I yell. “Colin is my friend, as I’ve told you many times—the same way Ruby is yours!”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never dragged Ruby into a room alone so I could hit on her!”

“Fuck you,” Colin says. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And neither did I!” Savage booms. He returns to me. “I was trying to help you this morning by inviting Charlie over. I don’t understand why you’re—”

“Of course, you don’t understand!” I shout, anger flashing through my nerve endings. “Because you have the emotional intelligence of an amoeba and the impulse control of a gnat! Now, please, go, Savage. I need to wash my face and touch up my makeup before Colin and I start shooting with my team in five minutes. Kendrick, please.” I point toward the door, nonverbally begging Kendrick to drag his best friend out. “I’m in charge of babysitting this boy’s stupid ass, so if he disrupts the shooting schedule again, that’s on me.”

“Come on, Savage,” Kendrick says, gripping Savage’s arm. “Leave her alone to do her job.”

Thankfully, Savage lets Kendrick guide him toward the door. But before Savage exits, he shakes off Kendrick’s grip, turns around, and flashes me one last tortured look, followed by a white-hot, murderous one at Colin. And then, Adrian Savage, the man who can’t get out of his own fucking way, turns around and stalks out the door . . . but not before leaving a lovely parting gift for me: a fist-sized hole in the wall next to the doorframe.

Twenty-One

Savage

“You had sex with Colin’s girlfriend?” Laila shouts, the minute the door closes behind us in the SUV. Draft Day is in the can. Mentor Day is in the can. And now, finally, we’re alone and headed home to our fake love nest to begin a much-needed three-week break from shooting—time I’ve been eager to spend with Laila. First, in Chicago, then, in Cabo, and finally, back at home in LA for a week of relaxation while the show begins airing. But after today, I’m not sure Laila is still planning to spend a minute of the break with me, let alone travel to see my family or drink piña coladas with me on a Mexican beach. I’m not even sure if Laila is planning to continue living with me for the remainder of the season, even for the sake of our written contracts.

In response to Laila’s angry question about Colin’s “girlfriend,” I call out to our two usual escorts at the front of the car and ask them to turn up the music—and the minute the volume in the car ratchets up enough to swallow my voice, I reply to Laila. “No, I didn’t have sex with Colin’s girlfriend. I had sex with Colin’s ex-girlfriend.”

Laila scoffs. “Gee, I wonder why they broke up.”

“It had nothing to do with me. They’d already broken up when I got with her.”

“Colin said ‘I didn’t beat you up when you fucked my girlfriend.’”

“No, he said, ‘when you fucked my woman.’ Which means, apparently, Colin thinks his single ex was off-limits to me and every man on the planet—a concept I’m sure you strongly disagree with, as an independent, sex-positive woman.”

“He didn’t mean ‘every man on the planet,’ Savage. He meant you. I’m sure Colin considered you a friend when you nailed his girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend. And no. Colin and I travel in the same circles, but we’ve never been anything more than acquaintances. Ask any of my actual friends, Kendrick or Kai or Titus, ask Fish or C-Bomb, and they’ll all tell you I’m as loyal as the day is long. Laila, I stepped aside from hitting on you—despite my huge crush on you—for a friend. But with Colin’s ex, I was supposed to say, ‘No, no, sorry, I can’t