Chapter 31
Cole
A PERFECT MATCH
“Chicken or fish?” my mom asks, eyes focused on her laptop.
“Huh?” I’m barely paying attention, so there’s no telling what she’s talking about.
When she called me to stop by the main house during lunch, she didn’t say why. Now I wish I had asked.
Removing her reading glasses, she shoots me a glare. “I’m putting in the RSVP for Whitney’s wedding on her website. Do you want chicken or fish? And what does Ariana want?”
The mention of Ariana pulls me back to yesterday when I acted like an ass. I hate that Wes fucker. He brings out my worst side anytime he’s around. I know he wants her. Wants to touch her. Wants to fuck her. He wants what’s mine and I can’t fucking stand it.
And even worse, she wants him back. I saw the way she was smiling at him. I’ve never once gotten that easy smile out of her.
What the hell did I get myself into? All I’m doing is prolonging the inevitable. As soon as we’re done, they’ll finally get together and I’ll just be some guy who gave her all the practice she needed to please him.
The thought of her in bed with him has my stomach rolling, acid crawling up my throat.
“Cole,” my mom snaps. “What’s going on? You’re still with Ariana, right? Because if you already messed this up I’m going to—”
“Yes, Mom. We’re still together. Just put us both down for chicken.”
She sighs, visibly relieved. “Oh, good. You had me worried.”
“Nothing to worry about,” I mutter. “She’ll be there.”
“You know,” she starts, closing her laptop halfway, “I had my doubts when I first heard the rumors. She’s a little young for you, and I’d never really seen her with a boyfriend, so I didn’t know what to make of it.
But then I saw how protective you are of her.
And how sweet she is with you.” She tilts her head.
“Kind of a perfect match, don’t you think? ”
“Yeah, Mom.” I exhale. “Perfect.”
“Just make sure you treat her right. She’s not one of your floozies—”
“Jesus, Mom. No one says that anymore.”
“What I mean,” she continues, unbothered, “is don’t treat her like she’s just another girl. She’s special, so act like it. Take her on dates. Spoil her.” She pauses, and her eyes drift like she’s recalling a memory. “You know your father was—what do you kids call it—a fuckboy?”
I grimace as the urge to crawl out of my skin has me wiggling in my seat.
“He got around and I wanted nothing to do with him,” she continues. “Until he proved to me he wasn’t going to treat me like I was temporary.” She looks at me steadily. “Ariana is a sweet girl but she’s also smart, and smart women come to their senses eventually. Don’t give her a reason to.”
I’m about to say something dismissive—something that would end this conversation—but then I remember it’s almost February. And February is a rough month for all of us, but especially my mom.
So I keep it to myself. And I let her have this because I know it comes from the same place everything she does comes from. Love. Love that doesn’t know what to do with itself.
“I hear you, Mom,” I say instead.
She looks slightly surprised. She was probably braced for pushback.
I head back to work, more than a little irritated my mother managed to get inside my head.
I can’t give Ariana the things I know she wants. She wants love and marriage and babies. Maybe not now, but someday. And I just can’t.
But imagining her doing those things with anyone who isn’t me makes me physically ill, makes me lose it a little, contemplating things that definitely aren’t moral or legal.
I don’t know when my brain made the switch from get her out of my system to find out how to maybe make this real.
But I don’t know how to handle it. I’ve never been with someone who made me question everything I’ve stood for. My foundation feels shaky. Everything feels out of control. But the one thing that stays upright and steady is Ariana.
I know I’m wrong for her. I’m as wrong as it gets, but I think I’d like to try to see if I could be right. If maybe I’m not broken beyond repair.
I should’ve texted her first. She might not even be home. It’s Sunday, the weekly Ledger family dinner night. The one I still haven’t been invited to.
Every excuse I can think of has kept my fist inches from her door, hesitant to knock. Fuck, I’m nervous. Which is comical because, for all intents and purposes, she’s my girlfriend. I shouldn’t be nervous to ask my girlfriend out on a date.
My knuckle is a breath from the door when it swings open.
Ariana is standing in the doorway in leggings and an oversized sweater, hair wet from a shower, holding a white kitchen trash bag in one hand.
She’s so fucking beautiful and she clearly did not expect to find a person on the other side of her door.
Based on her expression, she especially did not expect that person to be me.
“God!” Her hand flies to her chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I lower my fist, which is still raised at approximately knock height. “I was about to—” I gesture at the door.
She looks at my hand. Then at me. Then at the trash bag in her own hand like she forgot it was there. A flush creeps up her neck.
“I was taking out the trash,” she says, as if it requires explanation.
“I can see that.” I reach out and take the bag from her before she can argue about it. “Lead the way.”
She hesitates for a beat before stepping into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind her.
Shifting back and forth on her feet she casts me a suspicious glance before walking ahead of me. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
We walk the remainder of the short distance to the trash chute in silence, which under normal circumstances I would fill with something, but for some reason words are failing me right now.
She yanks open the chute for me and I drop the bag in before she turns to face me, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed. “What did you want to talk about? You’re being weirdly quiet.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Maybe we could sit inside for a minute.”
She eyes me skeptically and I don’t blame her. I’m not acting like myself.
“Sure,” she drawls, spinning around and walking back. I follow close behind, fisting my hands in my pockets while trying very hard not to stare at her ass.
Once we’re inside she plops down on the couch, tucking her feet up under her, and looks up at me expectantly. Duchess materializes from somewhere and immediately climbs into her lap, shooting me a side-eye that very clearly communicates I am not welcome here.
I remain standing.
“You can sit down,” Ariana says.
“I know.”
“You’re making me nervous standing there like that.”
“Sorry.” I sit. Not next to her—in the armchair across from her, which immediately feels like the wrong choice but it’s too late to course correct without making it weird. It’s already weird. I’ve made it weird.
I clear my throat. “I have to go out of town for a few days. Blake and I are going to meet with some growers in the Gorge and then scout for some land. We leave tomorrow and should be back Saturday morning.”
The trip was kind of sprung on me. We’ve been wanting to expand into different regions across the state—bring in more variation, build out blends with a little more depth.
Thanks to Blake and his connections, an opportunity arose that we couldn’t pass up. Normally, I’d be excited we’re finally making our plans reality but all I can think of is how much I’ll miss Ariana. And I wonder if she’ll miss me at all.
“That sounds fun.” She smiles, genuinely excited for me even though it’ll likely be boring.
“I was wondering if—if maybe you—if we could—”
“Are you breaking up with me?” The smile she was wearing has dropped, her forehead creasing with worry instead.
I really am fucking this up. “What? No. I was thinking when I get back we could go on a…date?”
“A date?”
I nod, working on pushing down the tightness in my throat. “Yeah, a date. A proper date. Saturday night.”
She thinks on it for a moment before nodding. “Okay. That makes sense. People would expect to see us doing that.”
Of course. Because it’s all a big show. Fake. A performance. Such a good performance, I’m falling for it myself.
“Right,” I say. “That’s why.”
She nods again, satisfied with that, and I sit with the answer I just gave her and the answer I should have given her and the gap between the two that I don’t know how to close.
“Where are you taking me? What are we doing?”
She sounds so excited I forget to care that it’s fake for her and maybe real for me because I think I’d do just about anything to keep that look on her face.
“It’s a surprise. But wear a dress. I love you in anything but I’m weak when you wear dresses.”
It was too honest to admit but I don’t regret the smile it brought to her face.
Her eyes dart away from me shyly, her skin turning pink. “Okay. I can do that.”
She looks so tempting when she gets a little shy. And I know if I stay much longer I’ll have her naked with my face between her legs, eating her pussy until she screams.
But I can’t. I have to be strong and slow us down a bit. She deserves a date, not just the physical stuff. It’s not her fault I can hardly control myself around her.
I stand, barely holding it together. “I should head out. Got lots to prepare for before the trip.”
“Oh,” she breathes, looking disappointed. “Alright, then.”
I can’t leave letting her think she’s the only one feeling the pull between us. Of course I want her, I always want her. That’s part of the problem, actually.
Leaning down to her, I bend to kiss her, cradling her jaw. “While I’m gone you should practice with the toy I gave you.”
Her lashes flutter, eyelids going hooded. “What if I need your help? Can I call you?”
Fuck me. I think I’ve created a little monster.
She thinks she needed lessons. She thinks I’m the one in control, guiding her through all of this. But the truth is she’s never needed any of it. She’s been in charge this whole time.
“Yes. Call me. At any time. You know I’ll always be available to take care of you.”
I kiss her one last time, savoring the feeling of her pouty lips against mine.
There’s no reason to kiss her. No audience. No lessons. I just can’t help myself. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk out that door without making sure I’m the one she’s thinking about for the next six days.