23. Jenna
Chapter twenty-three
Jenna
It’s been two weeks since the Wingrove game’s night, and all I’ve done is think about Cole Green.
The way he fucked me in my best friend’s home, teased me with my little pink friend on my bed, and stole it right from under my nose, only to buy a replica toy that is of absolutely no use to me. Without the control, it’s utterly worthless.
Though, I looked up the price, and boy, did he spend a pretty penny on it.
Whenever I’m home, I watch the thing like a hawk hoping it comes to life, but so far, nothing.
I’m desperate for it, and if I were the type to give in to temptation, I would be banging on Cole’s apartment door, demanding he give me what belongs to me.
The toy, that is.
Not him.
Definitely not him.
“Knock-knock.” Cassandra’s voice sounds from my door before she opens it, letting herself in. After Cole questioned me for leaving my apartment unlocked, I took his advice and locked it. But I expected my best friend this morning, so I didn’t bother to lock it when I got home from the grocery store.
“Hi,” I call out over my shoulder without looking at her, busying myself in my kitchen.
“What’s going on?” she asks cautiously, singing out the word ‘on’, and I hear one of the stools at my island squeak as she takes a seat.
“Baking,” I tell her over the sound of my brand new mixer working overtime. I’m flipping through the pages of a desserts cookbook that I spotted at my twelfth visit to the grocery store in ten days.
I’ve developed a problem.
At least it’s not alcohol , I remind myself.
“I think you mean nervous baking,” she corrects me, clearing her throat, her fingers tapping against my counter. “You haven’t baked in the last year, Jenna, and now, suddenly, it’s how you spend all of your free time. Wanna tell me what’s going on, or can I guess?” she asks, and I spin on my heels to watch her, not missing the humor across her face while she snorts at my appearance. “And I have a good feeling that if I were to guess, it would be pretty accurate.”
“That bad?” I ask, sighing as I wash my cake batter covered hands in the sink with warm, soapy water.
“You have what looks like flour on your face and egg in your hair. Almost as if you’ve just stepped out of a movie.” She hands me a pocket mirror from her purse, and I stare at my reflection blankly. I’ve seen it all before.
Especially in the last week and a half.
There are cracked eggshells on my bench top, milk splattered in various locations on the ground and near the sink, whisks, spatulas and spoons all covered with some type of creamy looking substance that I have no memory of making, and my eyes heavy with dark circles that not even concealer could hide.
I’ve barely slept since Cole burst through my apartment door while Cassandra was here having our weekly catch up. And, of course, it had to happen the one time her sisters tagged along.
It’s been ten, very long, sleepless nights.
I’m running off fumes, and cake batter, apparently.
I was sure he was reading lines off his script when he blurted out what he did. It sounded so rehearsed. But the way he blushed when he noticed we had company told me the words came from him, and that he meant them, too.
It’s no secret that he and I have had sex, now on more than one occasion. And—thanks to his uninvited outburst—it’s obvious to everybody in my close circle that it’s something he wants to continue.
Me sleeping with Cole at Cassandra and Harley’s house broke every single rule I’d had in place for my own protection. I’ve only ever slept with one man multiple times and he broke my heart into a million tiny pieces because of a mistake my mom made.
Until now, I’ve stuck to it.
I’ve gone against everything I said I would do, all because, suddenly, sex with one man has become my absolute weakness, and I don’t know how to make it fucking stop .
“Why don’t you let it just…happen, Jenna?” My best friend hands me a towel that she dampened to clean the ingredients off my skin before rounding the bench top to guide me to my couch.
“I don’t know,” I admit with a sigh, taking a seat. “We have an expiration date, and I guess that’s a good thing, but what if my walls come down without my permission? What if, when the time comes, I don’t want it to be over?” I whisper, hating that I’ve just admitted it out loud. “Or, you know, what if he falls in love with me and I have to be the one to break his heart?” I playfully roll my eyes, hoping it steers the tone of the conversation to something a little less vulnerable.
I hate this daily internal battle I’m fighting.
He wants me; he wants me not.
“Listen. I’m a relationship girl. We both know it. But for as long as I’ve known you, you haven’t been. I met Harrison once, and that was when he broke up with you, and you threw all his shit out the window of our apartment.” She chuckles, taking my hand in hers, placing them both in her lap. “Since then, you’ve never let anybody get close to you—”
“That’s—”
“Don’t you dare blame the stupid Rogers curse, Jenna, or I’ll pour that entire bowl of cake batter all over your damn head and have Harley cut the water to the building.” She huffs, cutting short my attempted protest, and I absolutely believe that she would do something like that. “Harrison is in the past and what your mom did to break you guys up is right there with it. You’ve healed from it. He no longer exists in our world. Focus on you. If having sex with Cole is something you want to do, then fucking do it.” She walks to my kitchen, finds two champagne flutes and fills them with tap water.
Harrison might no longer exist in my world, but my mother does, and she’s always at the root of my thoughts.
“What are you doing?” I laugh, rising on my feet to meet her there.
“I’m giving a toast,” she says with a smile, handing me my glass.
“To what, exactly?”
“To you, putting yourself first, and doing what you want for a change.” She holds her glass in the air, and I copy her movements. “Don’t think about the possibility of getting your heart broken, or feeling things that may not exist. Stop worrying about things that are out of your control, and focus on the things that are .”
“I don’t know how to put my wants first, C. Why start now?”
“Because you deserve it, and because I said so. Now, drink back that tall, room temperature glass of water, go jump in the shower and clean yourself up. I’ll take care of the kitchen. Put on your nicest outfit, and go tell Cole you want him to fuck you into Sunday.” She smacks me on the ass with an obnoxious laugh as I head toward the bathroom, a slight pep in my step.
“Today is Sunday, Wingrove.” I smirk, standing at the open door, and her laughter continues.
“Then you have all night to ease that tension that I can feel radiating from you. Or, you know, the next seven days.” She marches over to me, shoves my body inside the room, and slams the door shut in my face. “I don’t hear the water,” she shouts and I roll my eyes, knowing full well she can’t see me, but I do as she says, anyway, and let the water fall. “Better.” Her voice echoes around the room while I slip out of my cake-covered clothes, and into the running stream.
“I approve,” my best friend says when I walk out of my bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body. My long, blonde hair is still damp and thrown over my shoulder.
“You expect me to go to his apartment in nothing but a towel? God, what has Harley turned you into? You sex crazed maniac.” She snickers as I walk past her to search for clothes before I head back to the bathroom.
I blow dry my hair, giving it the body and the treatment it’s been lacking, parting it in the center with freshly cut curtain bangs. I slip on the only pair of lingerie that I packed—black to match my cold, dead heart—a bright red body suit, and I force my thighs into skin tight, high-waisted black jeans. They accentuate every curve and hip dip I have, and as much as I can’t stand them, Cole obsesses over them every chance he gets. “How’s this?” I ask, still barefoot as I step out of my room.
“If I were into girls, I’d do you myself.” She fans her face with her hands and I giggle nervously. “Proud of you, J. Go get some ass.” She wiggles her brows, throwing her bag over her shoulder and heading out the door, leaving me in my sparkling clean kitchen, completely alone with my thoughts.
Am I really about to tell a guy that being friends with benefits is what I want, even if I run the risk of being shut down?
Apparently so, because my feet are sliding into the same pair of red bottom heels that I wore on night one, and I’m watching as the elevator doors close with me inside it.
Guess this is who I am now.
Riding it to the top floor, I steady my breathing as best as I can while impatiently waiting for it to stop moving, and for the doors to open. Sticking my head out, I look both ways to make sure no one sees me before I take my first step, and make my way down the hallway to the apartment that I know belongs to him.
Taking a leaf out of his book, I twist at the handle and find that it’s unlocked like the hypocrite he is, before pushing it open. A startled Tate greets me in his boxer briefs on the couch playing video games.
“You,” I tell him, handing him the keys to my apartment. “Leave. Make yourself comfortable at my place.” I all but push him out the door without so much as a chance to fetch any clothes, before dead-bolting it behind me.
“And you,” I say right as Cole walks out of his bathroom with the towel wrapped around his waist. “I’m here, I’m sober, and I finally have the courage to tell you that you need to fuck me as many times as you want, because I’m sick of ignoring this for what it is.” I drop my phone onto his couch, slipping my feet out of my heels as I say the words I’ve been so desperate to say.
“And what is this, Snow?” He arches a brow, his drool worthy, GQ model-esq, photoshopped looking body leaning against the door frame of his bathroom with his arms crossed over his toned, tanned chest.
“You wanted friends with benefits, right? An expiration date?” I ask, and his brows furrow, but he nods to mask it. “Then friends with benefits is what this is. It ends on the date filming does and we both go back to wherever we came from.” And with that, I close the gap between us eagerly, and he grips the back of my hair in the palm of his hand before his mouth connects with mine.
He breaks our lips apart briefly, and mine tingle at the loss. “You didn’t come here to get your toy and leave?”
“Fuck the toy, Cole. Just give me you.”
He slams his mouth back down on mine, my palms resting on his bare chest as his laughter rumbles through it.
He pulls away again. “If we’re going to do this, I need you to know that I won’t share you with anyone, Snow. No one else touches you.” He tucks part of my fringe behind my ear, resting his hand on my cheek.
“I don’t want anyone else, Cole. Only you,” I say, because it’s true.
It’s not that I don’t want anybody else to touch me. I just don’t think I want anybody else, period.
“You’re going to regret saying that, baby, because once this starts, I’m not going to want to stop.”