Chapter 21 #2
“I feel like a pitcher letting the umpire inspect.”
I peek at him from underneath my heavily coated eyelashes, and there’s a slight smirk on his face that reaches in and loosens the fear that’s holding tight, attempting to strangle me from within. His calm, assured gentleness warms those cold, desolate places, and my body begins to stand down.
I hold his hands, our palms pressed together. They aren’t sweaty or clammy. I close my eyes, memorizing every detail.
What his grip feels like—firm but gentle. Where his thumb rests against the back of my hand. The way his long fingers surround my hand completely.
I release them, but he doesn’t move as if he’s waiting for direction.
“Can you. . .put them on my shoulders and then—”
I don’t even need to finish.
His large, yet tender hands fall lightly on my shoulders, cupping them. “Is this ok?”
I nod, remembering to breathe as I let my eyes fall closed to absorb everything. The weight of them. The gentle pressure of his fingers spreading over my shoulder blades. His thumbs subtle back and forth over my deltoids.
He begins to slowly trace them down my arms. Not in a sensual way, but giving me time to tell him apart from others.
When he reaches my hands, he takes hold of them. Then, after a moment, his fingers slip between mine.
My instincts charge forth, and it’s too much. I yank them away, taking a step back.
Cole remains perfectly still, looking at me like he’s trying to understand. I don’t want him to.
“Are you ok?” It’s only a whisper.
I nod, waiting for my body to catch up with my mind and settle the hell down.
“We don’t have to go.”
“No.” I didn’t go through that to have this beat me. “We’re going. This is important, and maybe we’ll see or hear something that will give us a lead.”
He rubs his forehead. “Ryder, I don’t want—”
“Matthews, we’re going, and you’ll show me your world. That might help me figure out who’s doing this.”
He stares at me, blinking once, twice. “Ok.”
I can do this.
“Let’s go.”
______
I sit like a dog with my head almost out the window, needing the air to cool me. The closer we get to the venue, the more I want to grab the wheel and turn Cole’s Range Rover around. I want my comfy baggy sweats and no people.
“You ok?” Cole’s voice breaks through my internal battle.
“I’m. . .fine,” I lie, not caring even a little if the wind messes up my hair, although Lyla would be screaming at me. “I’m just. . .too hot.”
I lean a little further, thinking about shoving a wad of Kleenexes in my armpits to stop the sweat from rolling down my sides. I bet the masses of cameras would love that shot.
I tug on the hem of my dress for the thousandth time, but all it does is shrink right back to way too close to showing everything.
“Should I. . .call the police or a fireman?” Cole’s voice is so casual that it takes a moment for his words to register.
I’m sure at the rate of a sloth, my head swivels in his direction. His eyes remain dead ahead on the red stoplight, but there’s the slightest tilt to his lips.
Does he know? There’s no way.
“What?” I ask, ready to inspect his every movement, breath, and twitch for confirmation.
“You said you were too hot.” Those periwinkle eyes spear mine, and if I weren’t me, I’d never be able to tell.
He knows!
I’m a steel pipe firm in place, and he may think he knows, but he has no idea.
Bruno will remain all mine. I may live with this guy, but he will not infiltrate that part of my life.
The part where I find just the tiniest bit of happiness and strength, and what might be the only hint of joy and peace I may ever experience.
I face the window.
Damn him.
Why does that smirk make me bite my lip to keep from smiling, too? Then, he does it.
“I’m too hot. Hot damn. Call the. . . ”
His pitch is high and a bit off-key, but when I face him, he’s dancing as he sings my song. I watch him. I don’t know anything about dancing, but I see that Cole can move, and I’m no longer able to hold it in.
I cover my mouth and laugh as he moves his arms and shoulders, dancing and singing in the driver’s seat.
He stops after a second, his eyes locking with mine, the corners still wrinkled with amusement. “It’s a good song. I wouldn’t have pictured you as a Bruno Mars fan.”
I return my focus to the mirrors and road, knowing there are loads of things I never want him to picture about me.
“What’s your pregame jam?” I ask, shoving the focus off me and my only indulgence.
“Right now, Johnny Cash. It’s what my dad listened to.”
I wonder if Cole ever deviates from his dad’s routine and instruction, or if it’s his way of dealing with missing him. “I guess that makes sense.”
“So, is it just that song or the whole Bruno repertoire?”
Crap.
He dropped the bait like a bass who’d seen a hook or two. “I like a few of his other songs.”
I can feel him watching me like he’s the one searching for tells now.
“Which ones?”
Nice try, buddy. Bruno is off-limits.
He pulls into the parking garage, and I deflect. “What else do I need to know walking in tonight?”
“It’ll be a bunch of athletes, celebrities, models, influencers, reporters, cameras. . . These things are lots of small talk and networking.”
“You need to stick close to me, and when we get in there, I need a minute to survey the people and space. I’ve studied the layout and memorized the exit routes, but. . . What kind of contact do you expect—”
“Ryder, breathe.” He pulls into a parking spot in the dimly lit garage. “I’ll stay right by your side. I’ll give you whatever time you need, and if the person who wants to take me out is here, hopefully, they’ll screw up and get caught.”
Why does he have to be so nice and agreeable?
He turns the car off and shifts in his seat to face me. “I promised you we’d have fun.” He smiles, and it takes all my courage not to look away. “You should know I don’t break promises.”
That smooth tone causes my punk-ass stomach to pinch tight, but for some reason, I don’t loathe it.
I push my door open, ready to get this show on the road. “I’m here to do a job, Matthews.”
Cole slips on his suit jacket and joins me at the back of his Range Rover.
“You know, Jones, it might be time for you to break a rule or two.” He throws my words back at me with that damn grin.
We head toward the stairwell. “Huh. I don’t have any problem breaking rules. That’s exactly what put me here.”
We walk, but Cole eyes me, and I have no doubt he caught that little comment. I don’t give him time to ask questions.
“This place is high risk. We could find out how badly this person wants you gone.” I flip open my tiny purse, checking for my phone, a multitool that should make it through security, and a lighter because you never know when you’ll need one. If only I had my backpack and my Sig.
“If I tell you to do something, I need you to do it,” I remind him. “There’s no time for questions. Do you understand?” I turn to meet his eyes.
“Ok.” His tone is serious now. “Do you think this guy would risk showing up at a place like this?”
“We’re entering like they’re already here, keeping our eyes and ears open, watching everything.” I stop outside the massive event center, giving him a second to process. “Ready to get to work?”
He blows out a breath. “That was a bit of a buzz kill.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, good luck keeping your promise.”
A slow smile creeps across his mouth, and he leans into me, but not close enough to touch. “Jones, I always keep my promises. You and I are about to have some fun.”
He swings the door open and waits for me to step through. I stare at him, and his smile grows a bit wider, knowing I can’t argue this time. Something about that grin warns me that I should be more worried about him rather than what might be waiting inside.
Through the doors, we’re greeted by security as cameras flash and sports stars adjust their pose in front of sponsored banners.
Cole leans close, his whisper grazing my ear as his fingers lightly brush my waist. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
I survey the space. The lighting is dimmer than I’d expected, and people are everywhere. I can’t see beyond the hanging backdrops and want to know what’s on the other side.
“You all right?” he asks, his chest bumping into my shoulder.
I finish accounting for every exit sign and possibility. When I glance up at him, his eyes are focused on me, searching and waiting patiently before moving us forward.
“Smoother than a fresh jar of Skippy.” I quote my favorite Bruno song, giving Cole that one thing and that one thing only.
His head falls back with a burst of laughter.
I bite my lip, keeping it together as I watch him. The most beautiful sound causes something in the center of me to take flight.
Maybe hanging with Cole Matthews tonight won’t be so bad.
“Let’s get to work, hotshot.” I’m ready. If this bastard is here, I’m going to find him.