Chapter 15 Cole
COLE
The microwave pings and echoes around my silent apartment.
I know I encouraged Freya to take tonight off so she could get ready for her date, but I’m already regretting it.
The scent of her precooked meal fills the air.
As always, it makes my stomach rumble and my mouth water, but it’s not the same without her here.
And I don’t mean that because I have to warm and dish it up myself.
I’m not that fucking lazy. I just…I like her company.
I like hearing her noise, even if it’s just her complaining because she’s hurt herself again.
I swear, I’ve never met anyone as clumsy as her.
How she hasn’t already cut a finger off, I don’t know.
The woman is a liability, but she’s a damn good cook, so I’m not going to stop her any time soon.
With a groan, I throw my legs off the couch and pull my aching body up to stand.
Coach really put us through it this morning.
And then Bob Davids, our goalie coach, got his hands on me after a session in the gym.
It was a long-ass day, and I’m exhausted.
But as much as I might need an early night, I know I’m not going to be able to sleep.
Not until I get a message from Freya that she’s home.
As I pad toward the kitchen to get my dinner, I wonder just how I went from not really caring for anyone, to needing to know she’s home safe after her date.
Selfishly, I tell myself that it’s because I need her to make me breakfast in the morning, but deep down, I know it’s more than that.
In a short space of time, Freya hasn’t just made a place for herself in my home, in my kitchen, but she’s become a big part of my life.
A friend. Someone I look forward to seeing after a long day at work.
Someone I want to talk to. I get a little shot of adrenaline every time I see a message waiting for me on my cell, even if it’s just a dog video.
That’s a new development in our relationship.
Every time she sees a cute dog, it comes my way.
Of course, I appreciate a cute dog; who doesn’t?
But I love that I’m getting a deeper insight into Freya’s life, even if it is through her love of fluffballs.
That’s all going to stop tonight, though. She’s going to be too busy to be watching dog videos. She’s going to be getting dressed up and spending her evening flirting with another man.
Something bitter and entirely unwanted twists my stomach as I tug the microwave door open and pull out my dinner. As I lift the lid off and peer down at it, I discover that I might have fucked up.
It looks dry as fuck.
Abandoning the mess I’ve made, I find the note Freya left.
“Shit,” I hiss, throwing it back on the counter.
That isn’t eight minutes; it’s three.
She’s gone for one night and I’ve fucked it up.
Not wanting to waste the meal she’s put time and effort into, I grab a knife and fork and sit at the counter with good intentions.
I attempt to mix the curry into the rice, but it only gets drier as it soaks up any liquid that was left. It ends up looking like some weird curry-cake thing. Its only redeeming factor is the smell, but I’m aware that another minute and that would have also taken a turn.
I poke at it, hoping that once it’s cooled a little, it might be edible.
Risking it, I lift a lump to my mouth and attempt to eat it.
It’s like eating a ball of glue. Tasty glue, but still glue.
I have a few more mouthfuls but happily give up when my cell vibrates in my pocket.
Expecting it to be one of the guys, I’m surprised to see Freya’s name staring back at me. And not just that, she’s sent me a picture.
I’m fully anticipating a dog picture, so when I open it and find something else, I damn near fall off my stool.
“Holy shit.”
I blink in disbelief as I stare at an image of her all dressed up and ready for her big night. The image moves up a little as bouncing dots start below it.
Whirlwind: Is this too much?
Whirlwind: I feel naked.
Whirlwind: It’s too much, isn’t it?
Whirlwind: I’m going to change. Jeans and a T-shirt?
“Jesus,” I mutter. I’ve only ever listened to her overthink. I’ve never seen it before. It takes it to a whole new level.
Cole: You look beautiful.
My message shows as read immediately, but she doesn’t start typing.
Cole: You’d better not be getting changed.
“Shit,” I hiss.
I wait as patiently as I can for her to reply. It’s got to be almost two minutes later when the dots start bouncing again.
I stare at them, willing her message to come through faster.
Is she writing a fucking essay?
Finally, it appears, and once again, it isn’t what I was expecting.
Whirlwind: I’m so sorry, I thought I sent that to Casey.
“Well then,” I mutter, rejection burning through me.
Cole: Well, I meant what I said. You look beautiful. Please don’t change into jeans and a tee. You’ll regret it.
I hit send and then scroll up and tap on her selfie.
Her hair is down and straight, hanging around her shoulders like a curtain.
She’s wearing more makeup than I’m used to, but it’s still light, showing off the freckles that litter her nose and cheeks, but making her eyes pop.
Her lips are full and rosy. And then the dress…
it’s light blue with a floral pattern all over it, and it’s fitted.
Hell, it’s not just fitted; it’s like a second skin, leaving it impossible not to notice just how incredible her body is.
A notification pops up, distracting me.
Whirlwind: Thank you. I’m nervous, in case you couldn’t tell.
Cole: Oh, really? Wouldn’t have noticed. You have no reason to be, though. You’re going to blow his socks off.
Whirlwind: I’d prefer if they stayed on, tbh.
Cole: Not a foot girl?
My lips twitch as I try to imagine her reaction to that question.
Whirlwind: Not particularly. I’d just rather he keep all his clothes on tonight.
Her anxiety bleeds through the phone. I pray that he’s a decent human being who will respect her wishes to take this slow. If he isn’t…My knuckles crack as I make a fist with my right hand.
Before I can think better of it, I’m messaging her back, asking where they’re meeting.
She offers up the information without any thought before she’s forced to end our conversation so she can leave. I guess I achieved one thing: she hasn’t changed.
Which may or may not be a mistake.
I scroll up to the photo once again.
Goddamn, my chef is hot.
“Have you been here before?” Killer asks as he, Rett, Monroe and I step inside the restaurant of my choosing tonight.
“Nope. But I’ve seen great reviews,” I explain.
“What happened to Freya?” Monroe asks.
“She’s got the night off,” I say, hoping it sounds believable.
“And she didn’t leave you food?”
“Oh…uh…she did. I just—”
“You nuked it, didn’t you?” Killer says, more than aware of my horrendous skills in the kitchen.
“How much do I need to pay you not to mention any of this to Freya?” I ask, making Killer and Monroe laugh.
Rett’s lips might twitch the smallest amount, but anyone standing farther away than\ me would need a magnifying glass to see it.
Rett Donnelly is quite possibly the grumpiest motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life.
And from what I’ve heard, he’s a million times happier here than he was in Seattle.
I can only imagine what it was like trying to exist with him up there.
Thankfully, though, he’s one of the best D men in the league, and it’s an honor to have him standing before me, protecting the crease.
“Let’s see how good the food really is, and then we’ll come back to you.” Killer laughs as I step up to the host and give him my name—not that it’s necessary; his wide eyes tell me he knows exactly who we are.
He rambles about how much he loves the Vipers and how excited he is about the season we’re having as he leads us to a table at the back of the restaurant, like I requested. While I might hear his words, I don’t respond; I’m too busy scanning the restaurant for the real reason I’m here.
When I don’t immediately find her, I start to think that she bailed on her date at the last minute. As much as I hate the idea of her spending the night sitting opposite another man, I really hope she didn’t let her anxiety over tonight win.
“What do you think?”
My eyes dart between the tables, desperate to see her sitting at one, looking like a knockout and making the man opposite her drool.
“Handsy?”
Where are you?
“Handsy?”
Finally, my eyes land on the farthest table away, and all my concerns are silenced.
There she is, and fuck, she looks even hotter in real life. That man really is a lucky fucking bastard.
“Cole?”
“Huh?” I ask, dragging my eyes away from Freya, not wanting to alert the guys as to why we’re really here.
“Did you want a beer, man?” Rett asks, and when I turn around, I find all three of them sitting at our table, looking at me as if I’ve suddenly sprouted another head.
“Uh…yeah, thanks,” I mumble, glancing at our server, who also appeared while I was distracted.
All of their attention burns into me as I take a seat and grab the menu. My eyes scan the text, but I don’t really see any of it. My body might be here, but my head is somewhere else in the room.
Is it going well?
Is he being kind and respectful?
Is it going to end here or are they going elsewhere after?
A million and one questions dance around my head, none of which concern me, but I can’t help it.
“This menu is fancy,” Monroe sings as he also looks through it. “What is f-f-foie gras?”
“Something French,” Rett mutters. “Is there a burger anywhere on this menu?”
“Steak?” Killer points out.
“It comes with fondant potatoes,” Monroe points out. “What the hell is a fondant potato?”
The three of them continue to discuss the menu, showing off their inability to speak French. I mean, I can’t say I’m much better, but I do have at least a clue about some of it. Maybe it’s because of my inability to cook and my reliance on restaurants over the years.
“Or pomme purée? The fuck?”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Oh come on, you must know that one,” I tease as the three of them ponder.
Suddenly, Killer lights up before shouting, “Mashed potato.”
“Shush,” I hiss when every single table around us looks over.
Coming here is a massive risk. If she sees me, she’s going to think…
well, I don’t know what she’s going to fucking think, but I’m not sure it’ll be good.
Maybe if I hadn’t asked her outright where she was going tonight, I could have played it off like an accident, but she’s going to know it’s far from that.
“Look, you can have steak and pomme frites,” I point out.
“Fries?”
“Yes, Marilyn. Fries.”
“Okay, done. Steak and fries all the way. Do they have ice cream for dessert?”
I shake my head before allowing myself to glance across the restaurant.
She has her head thrown back, laughter pealing out of her.
She doesn’t need me here. But like fuck am I leaving now.