Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
maya
The spray of the hot water kneads my sore muscles, pulling an unbridled groan from my lips. I soap my body, digging my fingers into my overworked muscles to rid them of any lingering tension.
Once a month, I take inventory and do a major restocking, which means lifting and carrying tons of boxes. I thought hiking up and down the stairs of my building would’ve prepped me better for the exertion, but my muscles don’t appreciate the strain.
As I run my soapy hands over my chest, I can’t help but imagine it’s Cole’s rough fingers plucking at my nipples.
Fuck. Friends most definitely do not do this, but in the privacy of my own shower, I let myself live out the fantasy.
If he wanted a casual situation that involved hot, heavy sex, I’d be more than down, but he wants a date.
And that’s dangerous. Cole Berrett is a genuinely sweet guy who asks me questions and remembers even the smallest details and is reading alien smut just because I teased him into it.
That’s marriage material, and I’m… not sure what to do with that.
Turning people away is an emotional reflex for me.
It saves me from having to deal with the fallout when they eventually walk away.
But so far, Cole is sticking like that extra-sticky Gorilla glue from Home Depot.
With a huff, I force my hands from my breasts and run them through my hair, washing out the conditioner.
I need to stop fantasizing about Cole and have a date with my vibrator instead.
Once I’ve turned the shower off, I tighten the fluffy white towel around my body and assess myself in the mirror.
I bite back a sigh, cursing the winter weather for making my skin so pale.
Though I suppose it’s better than looking like an Oompa-Loompa, which is what happened when I let Kennedy give me an at-home spray tan. Never, ever again.
My phone rings on the counter, so I snatch it and accept the call without looking at the display.
It’s a mistake.
“You answered,” a familiar voice says. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
Shit.
“Do I forgive you for cheating on me, Josh? No. For some weird reason, I do not.”
My ex lets out a dramatic sigh. “C’mon, babe. I told you it was an accident.”
My hackles raise and my free hand clenches, like I’m the kind of person who’d ever actually punch someone. Lord, give me strength. “Right. Please tell me how one’s dick accidentally slips into someone? I’m dying to know.”
“She meant nothing,” he continues, as if this factoid is supposed to make me feel better. “Why can’t we just move on? All couples have their issues. Let’s just work through this. Please?”
I bite back a scoff. Did I enjoy spending time with Josh? Sure. But he’s certainly not irreplaceable. And I’m sure as hell not interested in giving him another chance when he so epically broke my trust the first time around.
“An issue is when a couple can’t agree on where to go for dinner. What you did is an entirely different problem.” I cannot believe I’m even entertaining this conversation.
Though I can admit that it’s doused all the desire that swirled in my belly while I was in the shower.
“But I miss you.”
Tucking my towel tightly beneath my armpits, I take a calming breath. “That sounds like a you problem. Listen. We’re done. I shouldn’t have to keep repeating myself to get my point across. Please just stop texting and calling. You’re only making it harder on yourself.”
“But—”
Before he can come up with another lame excuse that has nothing to do with me, I end the call.
I haven’t even set my phone down before it rings again. Jesus H. Christ and the horse he rode in on.
“For the love of all things holy,” I bark into the phone. “What in the ever-loving hell do you not understand about leaving me alone? Should I say it in French to get it through that thick skull of yours? Va te faire foutre. Understand that?”
There’s an elongated pause on the other end of the line, followed by a throaty chuckle that has the annoying habit of making me clench my thighs together. “I didn’t realize you spoke French, bean.”
My cheeks heat. Hell, my whole body heats, and not in a good way. “I don’t, but I do know a few choice phrases.”
It was how I covertly swore in front of my siblings when they were young. Fat lot of good that did me, considering Ava’s favorite word is “asshole.”
“Clearly,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
God, I swear he has to gargle gravel to make his voice that rumbly.
“My ex doesn’t seem to understand the concept of we’re not getting back together because you cheated on me,” I tell him.
Cole growls. He literally growls into the phone, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “He cheated on you?”
I hit the speaker button and set the device on the counter.
I’m not embarrassed by it. His cheating has everything to do with him and nothing to do with me, but that doesn’t mean I want to get into the nitty-gritty details.
“According to Josh, it wasn’t cheating. It was a momentary lapse in judgment. ”
“What a fucking idiot,” Cole huffs. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness or you. And he needs to understand that you’re no longer his. Tell him he needs to back off.”
Whoa, there. I roll my eyes as I get a second towel for my hair. “Roger that, sir.”
“I’m serious, Maya. If he doesn’t get the memo, I’ll happily deliver it.”
My insides light up. Is Cole… jealous?
Nope. Not going there. “So, uh… what’s up?”
He makes an unintelligible noise, then cuts himself off and takes a deep breath.
“It’s last minute, so if you have plans, I understand, but my meeting got rescheduled and I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me.
I leave tomorrow and won’t be back until the New Year.
I’m fine ordering in; I know restocking takes a lot out of you.
But I’d like to see you. If you’re free. And want to.”
Cole’s rambling is more endearing than it should be. And it lowers my defenses just enough for a “sure!” to pop out. I can handle dinner at my apartment with the guy I fantasized about playing with my nipples no less than fifteen minutes ago. I think.
“Okay, great. I’m craving Chinese,” Cole continues, “and this new spot just opened around the corner from me. Thoughts?”
“Sounds good. What time do you want to come over? Seven-ish?”
That’ll give me enough time to clean my hot mess of an apartment and blow dry my hair so I don’t look like a troll doll.
“That works. I’ve got to shower”—welcome back, inappropriate thoughts—“but traffic from here to the Back Bay shouldn’t be too bad.”
My breath catches and my senses tingle. “Uh, how do you know where I live?”
He chuckles, the sound raspy through the phone. “Don’t tell me you forgot that we kissed outside your door.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flush furiously, and it has nothing to do with the post-shower steam fogging up my bathroom mirror. “Right. Well, um, see you then!”
Once I’ve ended the call, I do a quick tidy of my apartment—a.k.a. shoving every miscellaneous item into my laundry basket and hiding it in my bedroom—then cycle through three different legging-and-sweater combos before landing on one that doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. Or so I hope.
By the time Cole arrives, my apartment is in semi-decent shape and I am, too. Cole, on the other hand? I don’t think he’s ever been less than extraordinarily handsome in his life. Even in sweatpants and a fitted tee, he looks like he stepped out of an ad campaign.
He leans against the doorframe in all his holy glory. His jaw is dusted in a layer of scruff and his plump lips are fixed into a reckless grin. The kind that urges me to knock the wonton soup out of his hands and climb him like a damn monkey.
It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to remain where I am.
“Hey,” he greets me. “I come bearing gifts.”
I force myself to look away from his chiseled features and focus on the three packed bags of Chinese food. Damn. I didn’t think he’d order the entire menu.
Taking one of the bags from his arms, I lead him into the apartment. “How much do I owe you?”
He scowls, his dark brows pulled low. “You don’t owe me anything. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That’s a lot of food,” I point out, peering over my shoulder. “Probably enough to cater a Bat Mitzvah.”
Or at least a baby shower.
“I’m a big guy.” He shrugs, as if that statement wasn’t extremely subliminal. “Do you want to eat at the kitchen table or the island?”
Coming back down to earth, I cough out, “Uh, the table is fine.”
While I pull out plates and silverware, Cole opens container after container of delicious-smelling dishes.
Beef and broccoli, orange chicken, kung pao pork, and General Tsao with tofu.
I grab one of my nicer wines—and by that, I mean it cost more than $11.
99 but less than $24.99—and pour two glasses.
I set the glasses on the table, and when I look up, I find Cole studying me with keen interest.
“You’re taking a writing class?”
Breath stuttering, I dart a look at my laptop, which is open on the seat next to him.
There’s nothing salacious on there. Just about a thousand open tabs, all holding information about writing courses and classes.
Who knew that searching “creative writing class near me” would send me down a rabbit hole of such epic proportions?
I wiggle my fingers, silently demanding he return my private property to me, and sit in the empty chair across from him. “It’s considered rude to look through people’s computers.”
With a completely unrepentant smirk, he closes the lid. But rather than hand it over, he keeps it on the seat like it’s claiming squatter’s rights. “Good thing you’re not just people.”
“Hmph.” I pile a bit of everything onto my plate at a turtle-like pace, but when I can no longer pretend to be engrossed by the food, I risk glancing up.