Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
maya
“Is it always this loud?” The clink of cutlery against a nearby table makes Sophie flinch, and when a waitress close by yells out an order to a fry cook, she can’t hold back a grimace. “Because it seems really loud in here today.”
Kennedy lifts her head up from where it’s been resting on her arms against the table. “Or you’re just really hungover.”
“I wouldn’t have had that last tequila shot if someone hadn’t dared me to do karaoke and pick a Hamilton song.”
Sophie’s rendition of “The Schuyler Sisters” was equal parts horrific and hilarious.
Kennedy’s two loves in life are baking and Broadway, which Sophie discovered last night. And if there’s a microphone—or a spatula—to sing into, you bet your ass she’ll belt out songs from Moulin Rouge!, Six, West Side Story, Funny Girl, or one of the other million musicals she’s obsessed with.
Kennedy picks up her half-empty cup of coffee and grins over the rim. “How was I supposed to know you’d never seen it? It’s a classic.”
Sophie half-heartedly flips her off and then stands, splaying her hands over her stomach. “I’m going to the bathroom. The smell of bacon is making me nauseous.”
She and I matched each other drink for drink last night, but waking up to photos of Cole making out with drop-dead gorgeous Roni Carlyle—my favorite contestant on Love Island last season—sobered me up really quickly.
Considering he’s “just a friend,” knowing he spent his night with her shouldn’t bother me.
And I wish it didn’t. This is the exact reason I didn’t want to date him.
But clearly that backfired, because by keeping him in the friend zone, I’m getting all the hurt without any of the relationship perks—i.e. orgasms and flowers.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Movements synchronized, Kennedy and I glance at my phone, which is lying face down on the table next to Sophie’s now-forgotten plate of eggs and bacon. I don’t bother checking the display. I already know it’s the same person who’s been trying to reach me since early this morning.
“Answer it.” Kennedy groans and drapes herself over the table, barely avoiding dipping her hair in syrup. “This is, like, the eightieth time he’s called.”
It’s only the fourth, but I don’t correct her. Stabbing a piece of turkey bacon with my fork, I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re the one who tells me that it’s rude to be on my phone at the breakfast table.”
“Well, it’s also rude to make my hangover worse by letting your phone continuously vibrate,” she argues. “So answer the damn thing and put the poor guy out of his misery.”
“I wouldn’t use misery to describe Cole’s situation,” I grumble.
He certainly didn’t look miserable when Roni was sprawled on his lap with her hands on his cheeks as they rang in the New Year with the kiss to end all kisses.
Every time I close my eyes, I see the image, like it’s burned into my retinas, and wonder how it compared to our Kiss.
“The guy’s reading an alien romance for you.” Straightening, Kennedy rolls her eyes and hits me with a look that would make a grown man’s balls shrivel up and hide in his stomach. “You’re obviously punishing him.”
“No, I’m not,” I snap as my phone stops vibrating. “He can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.”
“Really? You’re going to tell me that the smooch he shared with Roni Carlyle isn’t the reason you’ve been glaring at your pancakes like they’ve personally offended you?
” She lifts an imperious brow. “Yeah, no, I’m not buying into that brand of bullshit, babe.
You like Cole, but you don’t want to like Cole, because liking him means you’re opening yourself up to getting hurt.
And you’ve been hurt by those you should’ve been able to trust way too many times. ”
“Aren’t you too hungover to be seeing right through me?”
My phone buzzes again. Make that five phone calls this morning.
Kennedy’s face softens. “Aren’t you tired of fighting your feelings for him? Answer the phone, Maya.”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“And don’t be a bitch,” she calls after me as I slide out of the booth to take the call in private.
It has to happen at some point, so why not now? As much as I’d love to be petty and ignore him forever, that’s not fair to either of us.
I step out into the vestibule, where the noise is muted considerably, and answer the call. At least here, Kennedy can’t eavesdrop.
“Maya.” The relief in Cole’s tone fills me with guilt over not answering. Then I remember the image of him with another woman draped all over his ripped body and that guilt flies out the window and boards a bus to Guadalajara.
“Hey,” I greet simply, choking back the anger that’s been brewing in me since I woke up this morning. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been calling.”
“I’ve been at breakfast.”
Oof. So much for not being snappy.
Cole chuckles at my sassy response. “Anywhere good?”
“It’s a twenty-four-hour-diner around the corner from me. Your trainer would have a hemorrhage the second he stepped into the place, considering the amount of oil in their eggs would put eighteenth-century lamplighters to shame.”
“I’m sure it’s great.” He laughs, the throaty sound making my guilt second-guess its decision. “Listen, there’s a photo of me and some girl—”
“Woman,” I correct. My tone is laced with bitterness. I hate it, but it’s woven through me thoroughly by now, making it impossible to hide. “You can’t refer to the woman with the most liked ass on Instagram as a girl, Cole.”
“So you’ve seen the photos.” There’s far less humor in his tone now.
Heat pricks at the backs of my eyes, but I banish the sensation. “Of you playing tonsil hockey? Mm-hmm.”
“Nothing happened,” he urges. “I mean she kissed me, but I didn’t kiss her back,” he amends. “It looks bad, but she launched herself at me like a fucking spider monkey to get a New Year’s kiss. I pushed her away immediately and—”
Not wanting to hear the details, I put the kibosh on his explanation. “It’s fine, Cole.”
“No, it’s not. Your ex-boyfriend may’ve been a piece of shit who didn’t value you, but I’m not about to break your trust before I’ve even fully earned it.
” His voice gets a little louder now, his tone a little crisper.
“I swear on my Stanley Cup wins that nothing happened, Maya. I wouldn’t fuck up what we have for a quick lay. I hope you know I’m not that guy.”
Puffing out a breath, I let his words penetrate. He’s not that guy. Ever since Cole waltzed in on me and my book, he’s done nothing that would make me question his honesty. He’s way more open with his feelings and thoughts than I am, anyway.
“Okay,” I reply, my tone soft. “I believe you.”
“Thank you.” He lets out a sigh that muffles the phone line between us. “I just landed in Boston. When are you free? I want to see you.”
If they weren’t still as nauseous as I am, thanks to the tequila still slopping around in my stomach, his words would make the butterflies in my stomach cheer. “Thursday?”
“I’ll be in Florida for a game,” he says. “I’ll be back Friday morning, though.”
I tilt my head back and mentally flip through what I have going on this week. “I have dinner with my brother. What about Saturday?”
“Perfect. We can do something in the afternoon, since I know how you like your sleep.”
I bite back a smile. “Oh, how generous of you. I’ll see you then.”
“It’s a date.”
For once, I don’t correct him.
If the sign above the double-door entrance didn’t read Bobcats Community Ice Rink, I’d assume this was some fancy tech company’s office.
The building is compact but striking, its exterior all clean lines and gleaming silver panels, with a wall of oversized windows.
It looks more like it belongs in a design magazine than in a suburban sports complex.
The city may be blanketed in a layer of snow, but the sun is out in full force, so I shield my eyes as I climb out of the car. “We’re ice-skating?”
Cole’s face splits into a boyish grin. “Yup. At our practice arena.”
“I’ve never ice-skated,” I admit.
This stops the pro skater in his tracks. Slowly, he turns, and his lips part. “Never?”
I tuck my arms around myself to fight against the wind tugging at my clothes. “Uh… no?”
In a bid to hand me off to people who weren’t her, my mom signed me up for tons of classes when I was a kid. Ballet, gymnastics, swimming, art. Somehow ice-skating never made the cut.
“So it’s your first time?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes tight. It’s cold and I’d like to get inside. “Yes, and phrasing the question in different ways isn’t going to change my answer.”
Cole either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care. “I get to be your first.”
“Oh my God,” I groan at his insinuation. “You’re taking me skating, not taking my virginity. Please chill out.”
Just like that, he’s snapped out of what I can only imagine is a skating fantasy land. Grabbing my mitten-covered hand, he practically drags me through the parking lot.
“Can anyone skate at your practice arena?” I ask.
“It’s open to the public,” Cole explains. “Anyone can watch our practices, too.”
“What?” I crow. My voice is far too loud now that we’ve stepped inside, so I step closer, keeping my tone lowered, and ask, “What if your competition comes to watch? Wouldn’t that give them an edge on you if they could study your plays and stuff?”
A scene from Bring It On, where another cheer squad films their practice and then steals their dance routine during the competition, pops into my head.
“This isn’t one of your books, baby.” Cole chuckles. “No one has the time for covert operations like that. Plus, recording isn’t allowed at practices.”
“Oh.”
“Mm-hmm.” He gives me a half smile. “Now let’s go get you fitted for skates.”