Chapter 17
Ariana
DON’T DATE LITTLE BITCHES
I’ve never been to Cole’s house.
I guess before now, I had no reason to. I knew I’d be nervous, but I didn’t expect to be this nervous. I’m practically shaking out of my skin.
The drive out to the Benton property takes about fifteen minutes from my apartment, and I spend most of it having a very detailed internal conversation with myself about what could happen tonight.
I’ve run through approximately forty scenarios.
Most of them end with me doing something embarrassing.
A few of them end with me dying from said embarrassment, which honestly feels like the preferable outcome at this point.
I agreed to this. I asked for this, but now it’s real. And tonight it’s going to get more real, and I have no idea what that looks like in practice, only that I don’t feel nearly prepared enough.
I turn off the main road onto the private drive that winds through the vineyard.
Even in December, the stripped-bare vines are beautiful.
I grew up on land like this, but there’s still beauty in the familiar.
A reminder that we’re not all that different—similar families, similar upbringings.
Cole has always been there, somewhere in the background of my life, even if we’ve only connected recently.
His house comes into view as I round the last bend, and I actually take my foot off the gas for a second.
It’s enormous.
I was expecting a bachelor pad. Sleek and minimal in that modern, cold design it seems most men prefer. This is not that.
There’s a Christmas wreath on the door. It’s so domestic, so unlike the image my brain conjured up. My lips can’t help but curve up in a smile. I would’ve thought he couldn’t be bothered to decorate for the holidays.
There’s a split-rail fence along the drive with a horse paddock just visible around the side of the house, which I did not see coming.
How did I not know he has horses?
I park and sit in my car for a moment longer than necessary, gripping the wheel.
Okay. I can do this. I’m a grown woman. This is not a date. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s Cole. I know Cole. I feel safe with Cole. I have nothing to be worried about. I’m calm. I’m so calm.
The front door swings open while I’m still caught in an internal debate about whether to go in.
Cole leans against the frame, arms crossed, dressed in a gray long-sleeve T-shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms and dark jeans, wearing a smirk that tells me he likely saw me sit in my car for a full minute while I was working up the nerve to get out.
“You planning on coming in?” he calls out. “Or just going to keep freaking out in your car?”
Rolling my eyes, I grab my bag and get out of the car with as much dignity as I can muster, which isn’t a lot.
“I was just”—I point at the fence—”got distracted by the horses.”
“The horses?” He grins.
“You have horses. I didn’t know that.”
“I guess technically I do have horses.” He doesn’t move from the doorway, just watches me cross the distance between us. “They’re Nora’s, but shithead—her husband—is allergic to them.”
“Is that his full name? Shithead?”
“No.” He laughs. “But it should be.” He steps back to let me through. “Get in here before you freeze your ass off.”
The inside of the house hits me the same way the outside did—not at all what I was imagining.
It’s warm and inviting and decorated with actual effort.
There are books on the shelves, real ones, worn in and read with broken spines.
Not the kind people buy to appear intelligent and then never touch.
There’s a stone fireplace in the living room with a fire going, and a vintage leather couch angled toward it with a Christmas tree beside it—a massive, beautifully decorated Christmas tree.
The kitchen is open and huge, and there are things on the counter—olive oil, a cutting board, a wooden bowl of onions—that suggest someone actually cooks in here.
It’s a real home. I don’t know why that unsettles me as much as it does.
“You can sit,” Cole says, moving toward the kitchen. “You want anything? Water, juice, wine?”
“Water’s fine.” I perch on the edge of the couch, back straight, bag in my lap, and immediately feel like I’m waiting for an interrogation.
He comes back with two glasses and sets one in front of me before dropping into the armchair across from the couch. He props one ankle on his opposite knee, wraps a hand around his glass, and looks at me.
“You look fucking terrified, doll,” he says.
“I’m not terrified,” I lie.
His mouth curves. “You’re gripping that bag like you just robbed a bank and it’s full of cash.”
I look down. I am, in fact, gripping my purse tightly with both hands. I make myself set it down beside me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Sure you are.” He winks.
I don’t know how to respond without revealing I’m more nervous inside his house than I was outside of it.
“Ariana,” he says, waiting until I meet his gaze.
I swallow. “What?”
Leaning forward slowly, his eyes drag from my face all the way down and back up again, deliberate enough to make my skin prickle. His tongue slides out to wet his bottom lip. “Take your clothes off.” The low rumble of his voice sends a shudder through me.
I stare back at him, frozen, my body going into fight-or-flight.
It’s only when I catch the faintest twitch at the edge of his lips that I realize what’s happening.
“You’re such an asshole.” I shake my head, a relieved laugh escaping before I can stop it, despite my best effort to look furious.
He tosses his head back, chuckling. “Will you relax? We’re not doing that tonight. I invited you over to talk.”
“I just assumed talking wasn’t really what you meant.”
Cocking his head, he gives me a pointed look. “We’re not even close to crossing that bridge. Baby steps, and step one is talking about what this looks like to everyone else and what it looks like for us, not immediately jumping into bed before you’re ready.”
A tightness unknots in my chest so fast it’s almost jarring. I’m not sure if it’s relief or disappointment, and I don’t particularly want to examine which one it is. “That makes sense.”
He nods once, satisfied. “So. Ground rules. You want to start, or should I?”
I reach for my water glass. “You start. I need another second.”
Cole takes a measured sip before settling back in his chair. “First thing—I think we should wait until after the holidays to go public.”
I hadn’t thought about the holidays, but he’s right. Coming out now would only add pressure neither of us needs—wondering whether we’re supposed to spend Christmas together, whose family we prioritize, not to mention all the questions from nosy family.
“My mom would be nuts about it,” he continues. “She’d insist on having you at Nochebuena and then midnight mass. It would be a whole thing.”
“What about New Year’s Eve?”
He tilts his head. “What about it?”
“Gavin and Scottie are hosting something at their lake house. Just my siblings and their partners, nothing big.” I pause. “We could go together. As our first—you know…thing.”
He stares at me for a long beat. “You want to debut us to your brothers while we’re all trapped in a remote lake house?”
When he puts it like that, it sounds significantly worse than it did in my head. “You know what, we can skip it—”
“No, let’s do it.”
“Cole, it’s a terrible idea—”
“It’s a great idea. I’m in. And consider this your first lesson—don’t date a man who’s afraid of your brothers. Could they beat the shit out of me? Yeah, if they coordinated. But we’re adults, and I’m not a little bitch.”
I press my lips together. “So the lesson is don’t date little bitches?”
“See.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re already learning.”
I rub my hands over my jeans, working up the nerve to talk about what I was rehearsing in my head on the drive over. “I guess it’s my turn now, huh?”
He gestures for me to continue.
“I want us to be exclusive. Publicly, at least.” I keep my voice as steady as possible, even though it feels pathetic having to discuss things like this.
“I’m not asking you to change your entire lifestyle or anything.
I understand you have…needs.” My face reddens.
“And I’m not na?ve enough to think this arrangement means you’re going to be celibate for however long it takes to get past the baby-steps part.
” I pause, choosing my next words carefully.
“I just don’t want to know about it. And I don’t want it getting back to me through someone else.
I’d rather not be the girl who’s supposedly dating someone while he’s actively—”
“Whoa, let’s back up a step.”
“I’m just being realistic about what this is.”
“Ariana.” His voice is patient but firm enough to stop me. “We’re exclusive.”
“Well, yeah, publicly…”
“I heard you. I mean privately too. I haven’t been with anyone since Kennedy and I called it quits.”
I open my mouth, then promptly close it. “Really? But that was months ago. You don’t need to hold back on my account.”
His eyes flare. “I’m not going to sleep with someone else while we’re doing this. No fucking way. I’m not some out-of-control animal who can’t function without sex. I’ve made it this long just fine.”
“Cole, seriously, I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know what you were trying to do.” All hints of humor have disappeared from his expression.
“Don’t ever put up with a guy not making you his priority.
Fake girlfriend or real girlfriend, you’re my priority.
” He fists his hands at his sides, like he’s trying to rein in his emotions.
“I won’t be seeing anyone else. And I don’t want you seeing anyone else either. ”
I’m more than a little surprised. I thought for sure he’d jump at the opportunity to keep things open between us. I wasn’t ready for him to be the one to push for exclusivity.