Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
cove
“Falling down is not failure. Failure comes when you stay where you have fallen.”
Socrates
“Would it be rude of me to insist on paying?”
“Considering they invited us to dinner, I’m gonna take a guess and say yes,” I tell Betsy as she pours us a glass of red wine before we head out.
“But I can’t just assume this is a date, right? For all I know, it could be entirely for business purposes and rude of me not to pay for myself.”
I stare at her blankly. “It’s a date, B. Get real. The fact that Baker is bringing a friend to meet me only confirms it. You and I don’t even work in the same field. A business dinner of four would make zero sense.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she huffs. “I don’t want to date Baker.”
Betsy slides me my glass. “Then why did you say yes?”
“Because I’m a weak woman, Cove,” she cries. “And you’ve seen Baker. I’m no stronger than the next girl. He’s as tall as the Miami skyline, which can only mean one thing…”
I shake my head, smiling because she’s so fucking dramatic. “A big dick?”
“Of course not,” she proclaims. “Actually, yes. A big dick is good. But it also means he has big hands. And I’m a hands girl.
Now, I’m gonna be tortured all night watching him twirl the glass he drinks from and salivate when his fingertips touch around it.
Or what if he touches my leg? I’ll probably squirt in my panties. ”
“Jesus. Thanks for the mental picture,” I laugh. “Why not take your own advice and have some fun?”
“Because Baker’s parents are friends with my parents. It’s basically a recipe for disaster.”
Something crosses her face that makes me think she’s not being entirely honest. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Betsy takes a slow sip of her wine before rolling the stem in steady circles. I’m directly across the large kitchen island from her, yet her thoughts are elsewhere. “I don’t know…having fun is getting kind of old. We’re thirty, ya know? I just can’t help but think—when does it end?”
I think Betsy’s previous experience with Elliott, the Jo bro, opened her eyes to a new light. And I’ve never related to anything more.
Unfortunately, the men I get to spend my days around are much older than us and still act like children. I’m not sure there’s much hope.
“I get it. I feel the same way. It’s why I refuse to let anyone get close to me. I know you think I’m annoying because of it, but I’ve only seen a side to men that I loathe. The kind that only wants two things and tells you everything you want to hear to get it. Money and pussy.”
Betsy nods in agreement. It’s wild how our energy can shift from giddiness for the night to dread over what’s to come. “When does it end?” she draws out, and I can hear the hurt in her voice.
Betsy has been screwed over far too many times, and although she’s a pro at hiding it, I see her when the mask comes off at home. The way her shoulders shrug when she doesn’t get a kiss goodnight and a “sleep well,” but a proposition to come inside and see her bedroom.
At this stage, it’s starting to feel icky.
“I wish I knew, babe. But I’d like to think when the right guy comes along, maybe we’ll just know to take the leap?”
I should listen to my own teachings. My thoughts have been all over the place since meeting Stetson. There’s something about him that’s different than most men I’ve been with, or even met, for that matter. But I’m not sure that’s enough. It’s not likely we’ll see each other often—if at all.
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“Did you want to call him and cancel? We can stay in, order sushi, and eat our body weight in ice cream?” I walk to stand in front of her, my hands reaching out to hold hers. “I don’t mind at all. You know I’m not interested in whoever this other guy is, anyway.”
“You’re such a team player, Cove Davenport.” Betsy smiles at me. “But no. I want to go. I need to get out of this house. Besides, we didn’t get dressed to look this hot for nothing. Worst case, we get a free dinner in the city out of it, right?”
I pull my best friend in for a hug. “I like the way you think. Now, let me look at you.” I pull back and whistle dramatically, knowing it’ll make Betsy laugh even more. “Damn, girl. Let me hit that.”
With her bright red hair, pin-straight down her back, Betsy looks like a model during New York Fashion Week in her formfitting, silver satin maxi dress and kitten heels. She’s the epitome of elegant and sexy.
Perfect for a night out in Miami.
I went for a classier look as well. My long black hair is in a slicked-back ponytail, and I settled on a cobalt-blue strapless, two-piece pant set. My clear platform heels make me appear taller than I already am, and the boost of confidence it gives me feels wondrous.
Betsy nudges me playfully, saying we’ll head out as soon as she grabs her purse. I grab mine and lean against the counter when my phone pings in my leather clutch.
I examine the message.
Unknown:
Favorite color?
Who is this?
Unknown:
I’ll give you a hint. You have my jacket.
Stetson.
I add his number to my contacts. Maybe if I keep his name professional, I’ll be more inclined to behave that way, too.
You.
Mr. Cole:
Me.
How’d you get my number?
Mr. Cole:
You’d be surprised how much I could find out about you if I tried. But I won’t, so don’t go freaking out on me. I asked your boss. Claimed I needed it in case I wanted to request you on my jet again.
You what?????
Mr. Cole:
I’m sorry if I overstepped. But I wanted to see you again.
Does this mean you’re still in Miami?
Mr. Cole:
Indeed. So, Cove? Can I see you again?
Maybe…
Nice work keeping things professional, Cove.
Mr. Cole:
Excellent. Favorite color?
Oh, Jesus wept.
Yellow. But why are you asking?
Mr. Cole:
Don’t worry about it. See you soon.
What in the actual hell was that? Stetson got my number…from my boss…then apologized for overstepping…but not enough to really be sorry.
And I’m not the slightest bit bothered by it.
“Ready!” Betsy shouts, interrupting my thinking.
I spin to face her, phone in hand, with what’s likely a look of confusion on my face. “Yeah. Let’s go,” I mumble.
“Whoa. You look like someone stole your pet bunny.”
I’m not sure why I feel so thrown off. I never expected to hear from Stetson again. See him at the airport in passing? Sure. But I guess I never took him wanting to actually see me again that seriously.
“Stetson just texted me,” I deadpan, outwardly emotionless, but internally buzzing.
Her eyes shoot open. “Oh my god. Finally. I was wondering when you’d hear from him again. No man that interesting lets a good thing like Cove Davenport go.”
She’s so dramatic.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, drama. He said he wants to see me.” At this point, Betsy is shoving my body toward the door while I try to turn my astonished brain back on.
Wake the fuck up, Cove. Get it together.
“Amazing,” she draws out, reaching for the door handle and swinging it open. “And you should. Then have lots of hot cowboy sex.”
Except, I can’t respond because there’s Stetson Cole. All six-foot huge of him, dressed to the nines, soft blue eyes sparkling at me across the threshold of our penthouse.
“Hot cowboy sex? Never heard that one before.” His deep voice penetrates the space between us, making Betsy mumble a string of profanities.
I freeze, motionless, but I’m positive my cheeks are red, and my eyes are huge in shock. “You,” I comment calmly.
“Me.” He grins and holds out a bouquet of yellow and orange wildflowers. And these aren’t your typical grocery store flowers. They’re the kind you purchase from a local flower stand on the side of a busy street corner, each stem intentionally picked and wrapped in twine.
A bouquet of thoughtfulness.
“Cowboy Stetson,” Betsy marvels. “What a surprise. How lovely of you to stop by. And in Miami of all places.”
He hands me the flowers, grinning from ear to ear as I bring them to my nose to inhale. They smell wonderful, but I don’t tell him that. I’m still too stunned.
Maybe I do look like someone stole my pet bunny.
“We were just leaving,” I blurt, only to be kicked in the back of the leg by Betsy. “I have a date. We have a double date,” I stutter.
“You do?” His brows rise, clearly amused by the thought. “That’s a shame. He’s a lucky guy.” I don’t miss the way he looks me up and down, eyes taking their time examining me. Maybe undressing me is a better word.
I cross my arms at my chest and reclaim my composure. “Is that surprising to you, Stetson? That I’d accompany a man to dinner?”
He grins, and good grief, it does things to me. “Not in the slightest, my love.”
“My love?” Betsy yelps. “Holy fuck, Cove. If you don’t want him, I do.”
“Would you shut up?” I bite out, suddenly wishing she were more of a wallflower. Leave it to me to have the chatty friend during my vulnerable moment.
“How did you get up here? And how did you find my place? They don’t give anyone who isn’t on the guest list access to the penthouses.”
But Stetson cocks his head, and I know exactly how he got here. “Not my poor, sweet Jerry. You paid him off? He’s literally the nicest human.”
Jerry is the head of concierge downstairs, the sweet old man I quote Shakespeare with as I come and go every day. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.
He chuckles, and I can feel the warmth of his laugh from here.
I’d bet money Betsy has a stupid, sloppy smile on her face.
The same way my insides felt when I first met the recluse bachelor.
“Not me, remember?” he reminds me. “I did, however, bring the lobby staff a twelve-pack of beer and guava pastries from Odele’s Bakery.
As for finding out where you lived, well, I know people who know people, Cove Isabelle Davenport. ”
Why does the fact that he didn’t wave his money around to Jerry make me want him even more?
“You buttered them up?” I exclaim, unable to hide the smile on my lips.
“What a guy…” Betsy mumbles beside me, and I send her a look of disbelief.
“Technically, I filled their stomachs with beer and delicious fucking pastries. Jerry had zero reservations sending me up if it meant I would take care of his precious Cove the same way.”
“Unbelievable…” I shake my head.
“So,” he exhales, dismissing any further questions. “You’ve got a date, you said?”
“A double date. But Cove doesn’t need to go,” Betsy answers for me, earning herself a yank of her purse, and teetering backward.
“She does, and she is,” I deadpan.
“Perfect. I’ll join you.” Without warning, Stetson gently grabs the flowers from my hands and invites himself into our place.
Betsy and I stand back in bafflement as he maneuvers his way around our kitchen like he belongs there, filling a vase from under the sink with water for the flowers.
Once he’s set them in front of the window, he heads toward us, as easy and breezy as can be.
Grabbing a hold of my hand, he turns to my best friend. “Betsy. Lead the way.” I look at where our hands are joined, words lost on me.
“You got it, cowboy,” Betsy mutters, taking off toward the elevators, with Stetson and me not far behind.
“What…” I barely speak before Stetson leans into my ear, the smell of his woodsy cologne sending goosebumps across my skin. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Cove. Brightest thing I’ve seen in ages.”
My heart pounds in my chest. “That’s a long time…”
His deep laughter is all I hear. All I feel as we join Betsy on the elevator.
I’m going on a double date. And bringing Stetson with me.
Of course, after I give my dear friend, Jerry, a piece of my mind.