Chapter 2
Cole
DISCARDED MEAT
There are few things I enjoy more than getting my dick wet, but chocolate croissants are pretty up there. Specifically, Ariana’s chocolate croissants.
My sister Nora watches me with mild disgust as I practically inhale the last of it. It’s the only thing I’ve eaten all day.
After leaving Novel, I glanced across the way and saw the lights still on at Red Mountain Law, where Nora had her head buried in a stack of papers. She’s always working too hard.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” She lifts a brow, her lips curving into a smile. She can pretend she’s irritated with my unexpected drop-in, but we both know she’s not.
“Saw you were burning the midnight oil, thought I’d pop in and say hi.”
“It’s seven, which is hardly midnight.” Her eyes narrow, but her smile only broadens.
A genuinely upset Nora is a rare occurrence.
Nora embodies joy. She’s truly the light of our family. Sometimes I think rooms dim as she exits them, like maybe she’s the source of too much energy, and it can’t help but conduct through everything in reach.
Where I lack in anything that resembles vulnerability, Nora shows up with a surplus.
It still amazes me she became a lawyer, and a damn good one at that. No one would’ve guessed the heart she wears on her sleeve could be so easily masked in the courtroom.
But for all her perceptiveness, she’s never managed to turn that clarity onto the men she lets into her life. The latest one she made the mistake of marrying, so now we’re all stuck with him.
“Doesn’t it bother Levi when you work this late?”
She shakes her head, gaze dipping to roam over paperwork. She’s unbothered by my question because it’s never occurred to her that a good husband would probably worry about her. Maybe check in. Maybe give a shit.
“Not really. He’s a workaholic too.”
Is he a workaholic or does he just have her convinced he really is spending all those late nights at work? I’ve never trusted the guy, but I’ve been careful about keeping my thoughts to myself. If Nora is happy, then that’s all that matters. Even if I think she deserves better.
“What about you? You’re not usually in this part of town at this hour.”
I shrug, resting my hip against the vacant desk of her partner. “I was dropping off some cases of the new Merlot to serve tomorrow, and then I stopped by Novel, and now I’m here, gracing you with my presence.”
“Thanks for bringing me something,” she says flatly.
Had I known she was still working, I would have. Though I’m not sure I could’ve squeezed a second croissant out of Ariana. She was more frazzled than usual, a side effect, I can only assume, of that tool she couldn’t stop mooning over.
“I can run out and grab you something.”
Nora laughs. “I’m kidding. Levi is taking me out to dinner. He’ll be here any minute.”
Well, at least the guy feeds her. Not sure he does much else, but it’s something.
She tilts back in her chair, the look on her face suspicious enough to make my stomach turn. It’s the same look Mom gets when she’s pointing out a woman with good birthing hips. Because those are things I should be on the lookout for, apparently.
“Guess who I ran into.”
Based on her tone alone, I know I won’t like the answer.
A series of disgruntled women I’ve left in the dust flash in my memory like a suspect list being laid out by law enforcement.
I wasn’t always as honest as I am now about my lack of interest in anything beyond casual.
But it seems even with honesty, there are always the few who think they will be the ones to change me.
Recently I’ve lost interest in the rigmarole of it all.
Maybe it’s because of my age, or maybe it’s because if my mom catches even the slightest hint of a woman in my life, she starts celebrating nonexistent grandchildren.
As the oldest, it was assumed I’d be the first to hold the title of parent, but lucky for me, my younger brother Wyatt knocked up his high school girlfriend, thus taking some of the heat off me.
I shrug, not interested in trying to guess. Normally I’d be up for playing along, but for some reason my mood soured the moment I left Ariana behind with that defeated look on her face. And that douchebag poet with a gleam in his eyes.
“Just tell me.”
“Whitney.”
My body stills. It’s been a while since I’ve heard that name.
Whitney is the closest I ever came to a real relationship—if a relationship that young even counts. Our moms were best friends, so we practically grew up together. Everyone always acted like we were inevitable, like it had all been decided before either of us had a choice.
We avoided dating for years because we both knew what it would turn into. If we tried, it wouldn’t just be fun or casual. It would be serious. It would be a family thing. So we waited until college, when it felt safer to find out if there was actually something there.
But by the end of junior year, we both realized the same thing: we’d spent our whole lives being told we were meant to be together, when in reality, we weren’t meant for anything at all.
By graduation, we were both seeing other people. There’s no ill will between us, but we didn’t keep in touch. Some things are better left where they belong.
“Really? How’s she doing?”
Nora stares at me for a beat before answering. “She’s uh…she’s engaged.”
My eyes widen. “Wow. Well, good for her.”
“You actually sound like you mean that.”
“Because I do. Why wouldn’t I be happy for her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because she’s the only serious girlfriend you’ve ever had. I thought maybe you’d be upset or something. She’s the one who got away.”
Jesus, not this bullshit. Sometimes I forget how much of a romantic Nora really is.
She still believes in the one, in soulmates.
I don’t. I think there’s chemistry, and sometimes it’s great, and sometimes it fades.
Everything else is something Hollywood sold women so they would keep hoping for more and spend their lives perpetually disappointed by men.
“She is not the one who got away. We broke up like ten years ago. Don’t you think if I wanted her back, I would’ve tried at some point since then?”
“You really don’t still think about her?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Honestly? I haven’t thought much about her since.”
Nora folds her arms, chewing on her bottom lip as if I’ve personally offended her. Being forgotten has always been her deepest fear, and it skews how she sees things.
“I love you but you’re kind of a dick.”
“If it doesn’t work out with someone, you’re not supposed to stay hung up on them. They’re not in your life for a reason.”
Her eyes turn down, a swallow working roughly against her throat. “Right.” She laughs, hollow and strained. “Obviously.”
“Where did you see her? I didn’t think she lived around here.”
“She doesn’t. She lives in Portland. I stopped at the winery to see Mom, and she was showing Whit around. Apparently, it’s one of the places she’s considering getting married.”
That gets my attention. “We don’t do weddings.”
“I’m aware. But you know how Mom is.”
I do know. She’s a lover and a giver and would do anything to make someone happy.
Like hosting a wedding for an old family friend even though we’re not in the business of doing so.
I have no interest in taking that on as a company.
It’s profitable, but would require a new business model, and I am and always will be an advocate for making good wine.
I will not sacrifice the quality of our product for more money.
“Well, fuck. I guess I’ll have to have a talk with Mom. Thanks for the heads up.” I rub between my brows, a headache hovering at the edge.
The door creaks open, drawing our attention as Levi walks in.
He gives me a bro nod, which I return because, as far as he knows, we’re best buds. And I’ll keep it that way until Nora gives me a reason not to.
“Ready to go, babe?” Levi asks. “We don’t want to miss our reservation.”
Nora stands, already reaching for her purse. “Yeah. I’m coming.”
I push off the desk. “I should get out of here, then. Don’t let me keep you.”
Levi opens the door for her, but I’m already heading out. “You kids have fun.”
Nora’s giggle follows me. “Okay, old man.”
I keep walking, not bothering to turn around as I flip her off, chuckling to myself.
“Stay in bed with me,” Kennedy murmurs into the pillow, her voice still thick with sleep and last night.
“Gotta get to work, Ken.” I sidestep the mattress before her outstretched hand can snag my wrist.
She groans dramatically and rolls onto her back, the sheet sliding down her body in a way that’s absolutely intentional.
Sunlight slips through the slats of my blinds and streaks across her bare skin.
A few weeks ago I would’ve crawled right back under there without a second thought. Maybe even a few days ago.
Now I feel nothing, which I’m pretty sure makes me the asshole.
I tug my shirt over my head, using the fabric as a shield while I breathe through the tightness in my chest. I don’t usually do sleepovers, but Kennedy has worn me down lately. One night turned into two. Then weekends. Then a toothbrush appeared next to my sink.
She recently broke off her engagement, so I thought I was safe in thinking she was only interested in a fling.
I’m starting to gather that was a wrong assumption.
Especially after last night.
Not only has she been slowly trying to wiggle her way into my life, but she’s been succeeding. It wasn’t until we were lying there, coming down from the high of sex, that I realized she’d spent the night every night this week. Every. Fucking. Night.
My throat had started to close, panic crawling up my spine like I was going into anaphylactic shock. This wasn’t casual anymore. I let this get too far.
“You’re leaving already?” she asks now, pushing up onto her elbows.
“Yeah.” I grab my watch off the dresser but don’t put it on. I just turn it over and over in my hands, the cool metal biting into my palm. I focus on that instead of her.
She studies me, eyes perusing slowly down my chest before coming back up to meet mine. Her expression is scrunched like she can’t figure me out. “You’re being weird.”
I huff out a quiet breath. There’s no good way to do this. But it has to be done.
“Kennedy…” I lean back against the wall, needing the support. “I think maybe this thing we’ve got going on isn’t really working anymore.”
Bracing myself, I wait for her reaction.
She looks at me with a blank stare before nodding once. “Okay.”
I blink, air stilling in my lungs. “Okay?”
“Sure.” She shrugs one shoulder and reaches for her clothes on the floor, completely unfazed. “This has been fun. But I think we both know you’re not relationship material.”
That throws me, and maybe stings a little, even if it is true. “Right…”
I can’t decide if she means what she’s saying or if she’s about to start breaking my shit.
I hate it when they break my shit.
Instead, she pulls on her underwear and adds, “You’re convenient and easy. It’s been fun.” A small smile curves her mouth. “A great lay. I’ll miss the orgasms.”
I scrub a hand down my face, uncomfortable heat wrapping around my neck. This is not how this is supposed to go. I’m the one who ends things. I’m the one who leaves. I don’t get dismissed.
At least I never have before.
“So you’re not mad?” I ask, hating that I sound like I need her to be.
“It’s not like I was trying to marry you.” She steps into her jeans. “I just didn’t want to be alone right after everything blew up. You were perfect for that.” She smiles, like it’s a compliment. “You’re not my type at all, which is exactly what I needed. A distraction.”
My spine goes rigid. Not her type? Is that an insult?
I push off the wall, suddenly too restless to stay still. “Okay, then…”
“And it’s not like we could ever go public.” She pulls her shirt over her head, shaking her hair out. “My family would never approve.”
The fuck is that supposed to mean?
My jaw would be dropped if I weren’t already clenching it. I pace toward the window, then back toward the dresser, as if the movement might dislodge whatever this feeling is clawing at my ribs.
She’s dressing like she can’t get out of here fast enough, while I’m standing here trying to decide why it feels like I just got knocked down a peg I didn’t know I was standing on.
Just because I prefer uncomplicated doesn’t mean I’m incapable. I’m not just a good time. I have thoughts. Depth. I read books, for God’s sake. I fucking recycle. I’m the CEO of a sustainably run organic winery, for crying out loud.
She basically just called me the human equivalent of a vibrator.
Kennedy does one last sweep of my room, scanning for stray earrings or some shit, then steps into my space and gives me a quick, sexless side hug. A light kiss brushes my cheek.
“See you around.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before the door shuts, leaving me staring at the empty doorway, my pulse thudding in my ears.
Did I just get fucking dumped?