17. Cole
Chapter seventeen
Cole
Friday flashed by in a fucking blur, and to say I’m glad that it’s over would be a total understatement. We have the next two days off, but Monday morning we head back guns blazing. In three weeks, Jude and Laurel are giving everyone a week off so we can prepare for a long stint of night shoots.
Being on set is different than I expected it to be. Not necessarily in a bad way, but not in a good way either.
It is growing on me, though.
As a model and actor, my face and my body define my image. But Mara keeps commenting on how deep and gravelly my voice is. I guess I never really paid it any mind until I watched clips back and heard her say how much she loved it and how attracted to me she was.
Of course, she only said these things whenever Jenna wasn’t within earshot. But when she was around, Mara would say things like, “Jenna is so lucky to be able to hear your voice whisper filthy things in her ear,” followed by a wink only for me to see. Jenna would roll her eyes behind Mara’s back. I would usually clear my throat, cross my arms over my chest, and do my best to ignore her.
Mara always seemed to know the right things to say and do to make me uncomfortable.
And while Jenna and I may be fake dating, I wouldn’t ever embarrass her by hitting on someone else in a public setting—even after the picture she sent me of her and the guy I should be jealous of. Quite frankly, I’m not.
Robbie Crossland is a fucking legend, and as badly as I want to knock him out for putting his hands on my girl, I want to applaud them both.
Him, because he has no idea how lucky he is to be hooking up with Jenna regularly. And her, because, well, it’s Robbie Crossland: The Charlotte Eagles running back, NFL’s most notorious playboy, and one of the only men in the league with more than three rings.
Getting home from work, I jump straight in the enormous, luxurious shower—that feels like the size of my apartment back in California—and get ready to head back out immediately.
“Where are we going?” Tate asks as I look myself over in the mirror in my en-suite. Since the verbal invitation, I have pondered whether I would go to the games night and Jenna’s birthday celebration tonight, especially knowing about her and Robbie. But I decided I’d put my pride aside and suck it up.
Harley sent a text with his address and the start time, so it made me feel as though his invite was genuine, and not just for show to piss her off.
Making friends with an ex-NFL pro wouldn’t be a bad thing.
“ I’m heading to a games night,” I tell him, leaving out the details of the who and the where. I don’t need my brother fan-girling over my shoulder the entire night. And if he were to come with me, that’s exactly what he’d be doing. He doesn’t know how to be discreet, and I don’t anticipate him figuring it out now while in the presence of not one, but two of the men whose posters hang in the memorabilia room of his penthouse apartment.
I also purposely leave out the part about it being a party for my fake girlfriend.
The less he knows, the better.
“Sweet, let me change. I’ll be good to go in five minutes.” He taps his hand on the door frame and rips his shirt over his head in the process as he saunters off to his bedroom, leaving his door wide open.
“Who said you were coming?” I shout as I hear his draws and cupboard open and close, watching as his clothes fly across the room until he finds the outfit he’s looking for.
“Me,” he replies over his shoulder. “Alright, I’m ready.” He walks out of his room with a baggy, slightly stained white t-shirt, which looks extra bright against his tanned skin, and black chino shorts. He slides his feet into his old pair of flip-flops. The man has more money than you could ever need, and he refuses to buy himself a new pair of shoes.
Making our way out the door, we ride the elevator down to the first floor, walk past Marv who looks to be packing up for the night and wave. My eyes automatically scan the parking lot for a white G-Wagon, only to come up empty. While it frustrates me that I even let myself look, it’s even worse that the pit of my stomach sinks to my feet at the realization that she’s already there, probably all over Robbie by this point, knowing my arrival is impending. And while we may know that what we have is make believe, I don’t think I want to see another man’s hands on her, especially knowing what her body feels like beneath mine.
When I first saw her here in Grangewood, I expected that she’d want things to pick up where we left off. I expected that she’d never want to leave my bed until the three months were up and we’d both go back to where we came from.
But if this experience has taught me anything, it’s to never expect and never assume. Women are unpredictable, and Jenna is the God damn queen of the hive.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, we buckle our seatbelts before I turn on the engine and put the car into gear.
“So, where are we going?” He stares at me, and I pause for effect with a smirk, waiting to see if he’ll catch on, but so far, his expression is blank and I have to spell it out.
“Here,” I say, throwing my phone into his lap. “Open the first text chain. Put the address into maps.” He does as instructed, and my phone all but slips out of his hands as though it’s covered in butter, landing between his feet onto the floor of the car.
“No, no, no, no. Don’t fucking do this to me, Cole. I cannot, I repeat, cannot , go to Harley fucking Wingroves house, dressed like this!” He frowns, pulling at his white shirt, pointing out the subtle stain that I noticed earlier. Scooping my phone up from the car mat, he stares wide eyed at my screen in disbelief.
“Maybe you need to learn to chew your food properly so it doesn’t fall out of your mouth when you eat then, you idiot.” I laugh and he tries to grab the wheel to force the car to turn around, but I smack his hand away. “You forced yourself to come along. I can take you back to the apartment if you really want, but not to change. Once you’re home, you’re home.”
We stop at the only red light in town, and his knee bounces rapidly, internally fighting with himself over how to handle this situation. “What’ll it be, Tatey-Boy? Home with clean clothes, or a games night spent with one, maybe two of your sporting heroes?” I ask, jaw clenched, struggling to keep the smile off my face.
“Two?” He gawks at me, mouth wide open before he snaps it shut. “Do you have a baby wipe or something?” he asks frantically, licking his thumb, attempting to use his saliva to remove the stain.
“Why the fuck would I have baby wipes?”
“I don’t fucking know, Cole, I’m freaking out, man! You better hope the light in his house is dim so he can’t see this stain,” he warns, admitting defeat, and sinking into the passenger’s seat.
“No, you better hope.”
We spend the rest of the drive in silence, the only sound filling the void is my brother's shoe tapping frantically on the rubber mats on the floor beneath his feet.
Heading up the long, winding driveway, my brother's mouth hangs open as we stare at the home—no, mansion —in front of us. I don’t think either of us have ever even been this close to a house that looks like this on the outside, let alone be invited inside as guests.
“Please don’t embarrass me,” I warn him as we both step out onto the cobblestone driveway, parked next to Cassandra’s expensive car and a bunch of others lined up beside it.
“I can keep my cool, believe it or not.” He sighs, squaring his shoulders, straightening his back, chin perked up a little higher.
“Relax, for fucks sake.” I hiss at him, and he flashes his pearly whites, confidence now oozing from him. I don’t know why he never took up acting. The way he can switch it on and off will never fail to amaze me.
He and I close our car doors, and walk side by side toward the entrance of the home. My knuckles tap against the door.
“Wingrove, my man! How have you been?” my brother asks as soon as the black, wooden double doors open.
“Tate, nice to see you again, man.” Their hands echo as they cup together in a firm handshake, and I want to throw myself into oncoming traffic.
“Hey, Wingrove. Nice to see you again. Thanks for the invite.” I flick my brother a look that screams, ‘ shut the fuck up ,’ and he all but shoves me out the way as his sporting hero holds the door open for us to enter.
“Nice to see you again, too, Cole. Honestly, it will be nice to have other guys here tonight.”
“Sorry about him,” I quietly say to Harley, trying to keep my embarrassment to a minimum. “He’s like a new puppy who hates being left home alone. I had no choice.” I shrug and he chuckles, closing the door behind us.
“It’s all good, man. The more the merrier. Your girlfriend is inside.” He chuckles to himself, handing me a beer, and I follow closely behind him. My brother has made himself completely comfortable, hovering around a dining table where a charcuterie board looks barely touched, already deep in conversation with a group of women.
Some, I recognize, some, I don’t.
“I see what you mean. You really are the only dude,” I say to Harley, and he laughs out loud, taking a long pull of his beer.
“Usually, yeah. But tonight my business partner is here too—” he begins, but before he can continue, the sound of a woman squealing pierces through my ears, I’m certain my eardrums are completely ruptured.
“Robbie fucking Crossland!” My brother, the voice behind the woman’s squeal leaps out of the seat that he’d gotten comfortable in, and all the women surrounding him turn to see a very startled Robbie blocking his ears to lessen the blow.
“Uh, hey,” he says reluctantly, his eyes flicking between Harley and Cassandra as if to say, ‘who the fuck is this guy and why is he here?’. I do my best to cower away and hide behind my own mortification.
“Fuck, I’m such a huge fan. Shit, I swore, sorry. Hi, I’m Tate Green, sports agent turned acting agent for my brother over there.” He flicks his thumb in my direction, and the group of girls snicker to themselves at their friend’s visible discomfort caused by this total stranger that’s invaded their space.
“Tate. I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” Robbie says after closing the gap between him and my brother, resting his hands on Tates shoulders.
“Anything. I’ll do anything.” The desperation is felt fucking everywhere. Every single person in the room is struggling to peel their eyes away from the awkward encounter.
No one is successful.
“I need you to take a breath, have a drink, and chill the fuck out. We’re here for the Wingrove game night, and to celebrate our girl, for fucks sake. Pull your head out of my ass, and focus. You can be on my team, alright?” He slaps my brother across the arm to hype him up, and Tate shakes every limb attached to his body while the whole room bursts out laughing.
Our girl.
God dammit. If I didn’t like him so much, hearing him call Jenna ‘ours’ would really bother me.
It should.
Hell, it does.
“So. Want to tell me why my best friend is avoiding you? Aren’t you guys supposed to be a thing ?” Cassandra appears over my shoulder, pouring six glasses of wine for her and her group of friends.
Jenna—whom my eyes can’t seem to look away from and hasn’t acknowledged my existence even once—looks fucking immaculate in her soft blue summer dress.
There are two girls who look similar to Cassandra, but look more like each other. I recognize Bea from Bridie’s; she’s glued to what I assume is her wife’s hip.
“Because of that guy,” I say casually, nodding in Robbie’s direction. He looks as though he’s trying to do anything but sit next to my brother. It doesn’t seem to be working. Tate looks like he wants to bounce on Robbie’s knee and tell him what he wants for Christmas. “And we’re only a thing around work people.” I shrug. “I guess that’s my fault.” I have a sip of my beer.
“Robbie?” Cassandra asks, eyebrows shooting up, and I nod. “What does he have to do with…anything?”
I don’t reply. Instead, I fetch my phone from my pocket, open up the text thread between her best friend and me, and let her read it, which, surprisingly, doesn’t take her long.
“What do you want from her?” she asks before acknowledging what she just saw on my phone.
“Not to be ignored, for one,” I say, placing my beer onto the countertop, crossing my arms over my chest. “I guess I just thought we had a good night after the award show, and hoped she’d want to do it again.” I shrug, and she snickers while I tilt my head in confusion.
“Oh, Cole. You have so much to learn about her,” she tells me, patting my chest.
“So help me. Teach me. Tell me everything there is to know so I can catch her off guard,” I say, and now it feels like I’m the desperate one, begging for a girl to notice me.
Maybe Tate and I are alike, after all.
“All to get her into bed? That’s a lot of effort to get laid, Cole.” She matches my stance, crossing her arms over her chest, three wine glasses still left to fill.
She’s right, and I retreat.
“True. I guess if she wanted any part in this, she wouldn’t openly tell me she's fucking one of my brothers biggest heroes.” I take another swig from my beer bottle.
“She isn’t fucking anybody. Truthfully, she hasn’t slept with anybody since that night with you.” She puffs out her cheeks, taking a drink. My cock twitches in my jeans at her admission. “Was it you who called her name while she was walking back to her apartment?” she asks, turning her body to face mine.
“So, it was her.” I fucking knew it. “She ignored me then, too.”
“Do you live—”
“In the building she walked past.” I confirm, knowing she wasn’t asking for specifics, and her cheeks turn rosy red.
“This just keeps getting better and better.” She laughs, filling the remaining empty glasses, letting out a sigh.
“Why’s that?” I rub the back of my neck, eager to know whatever she wants to tell me.
I’ll take anything.
“She’s fucking with you, Cole. Jenna and Robbie have never crossed that line, and never will. Play her game, meet her head on. She needs someone to challenge her, and I have a sneaking suspicion you might be a good fit for her right now.”
Right now.
Why do those two words paired together make my stomach churn?
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, because at this very moment, I’m distracted by the ice-cold blue eyes that have just met my gaze for the first time tonight, and I can’t stop the smirk tugging at the corners of my lips when I notice her swallow hard.
Game on, Snow.