Epilogue #2
I look out at the city for a few minutes, then a door creaks open somewhere below us. The roof has two levels, and I feel a jolt of surprise as Travis Keeping and Jacob Nichols step out on the level below us. They walk to the railing together and lean on it, side by side.
Crap.
They clearly don’t know that anyone else is here.
Neither level of the roof is lit, and Cole and I are cloaked in shadows.
I glance sideways at him. He seems like exactly the kind of guy that Travis and Jacob wouldn’t want to find out about them.
They’re just talking now, bantering a bit about the race, but their forearms are touching, and there’s an energy between them that would be hard to mistake.
Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to cough really loudly, before they can do anything that’s too damning—
Travis shifts to wrap his arms around Jacob. I’ve missed my chance to warn them.
I glance at Cole again. He’s watching them with an expression I can’t quite read, blowing smoke from his cigarette like he doesn’t care if they look up and see us.
Fireworks start exploding from the roof of a nearby hotel, but for once, I can’t enjoy them. I’m too anxious on Travis and Jacob’s behalf, and too irritated with this jackass Cole for making me feel that way.
The fireworks come to an end, and the air conditioning unit chooses the same moment to stop whirring. As Jacob turns in Travis’s arms, it gets quiet enough to hear the soft sound of their kiss, and every word of what they say afterward.
“Take me home?” Jacob says.
“Always,” Travis answers.
Fuck, that’s romantic. I’m so jealous of them I could cry.
They head inside, hand in hand, and the door closes softly behind them.
Cole Milton snorts loudly beside me and says, “Lame.”
My blood pressure triples. “Excuse me?”
“Lame,” he repeats. He turns toward me, and I notice, with a spike of irritation, that he’s kind of good-looking, in a cold, unapproachable kind of way.
He has a sharp, fine-boned face, with dark hair and darker eyes.
If he were cast in a movie, he’d be the evil villain who keeps getting away with things.
I curl my hands into fists. “You’d better not tell anyone about them.”
He looks me up and down and scoffs. “Or what?”
I flush. I’m not a small guy, but I’m also not someone you’d call intimidating. There’s a reason I’m always cast as the nice guy in things.
Cole smirks. “I thought so. And I already knew about them, anyway, so you can untwist your panties.”
I grind my molars together. “So you’re not going to tell anyone?”
“Tell them what? That F1’s precious golden boy is a fucking loser? Like I care.”
“Travis isn’t a loser,” I snap. “And you’re a fucking homophobe.”
“I don’t think he’s a loser because he’s gay.
” He adopts a high, mocking tone, and says, “‘Take me home?’ ‘Always.’” He rolls his eyes.
“Travis Keeping could be fucking a different guy every day of the week, instead he’s trailing after one boring loser, probably dreaming about the day he can pop the question so the two of them can lock themselves into legally-binding misery. ”
I roll my eyes. “A guy who doesn’t believe in marriage, how unique and interesting.”
“I don’t care about being unique or interesting.” He doesn’t add, “unlike you,” but he says it anyway with a dismissive flick of his eyes.
My flush darkens. “I’m starting to understand why everyone hates you so much.”
“People hate me, I hate people.” He smiles coolly. “There’s a pleasing symmetry.”
I let out a scornful breath. “Look, I’m sure you think it’s really cool and edgy being a total douche all the time, but it’s actually just super boring.
And you might want to try working out whatever childhood trauma makes you act this way—daddy issues, if I had to take a wild guess—before you’re eighty years old and you realize no one in the world will give a shit when you die. ”
“Oh, wow,” he says acerbically. “You’ve seen right through me. No, seriously. You’ve totally changed my life with that little speech. I’m going to go home tonight and re-evaluate my entire life, thanks to you.”
“You’re a dick,” I snap.
“And you’re a boring little do-gooder who plays make-believe for a living.
So I guess we all have our problems.” He flicks his cigarette butt into the darkness and gives me a cold, sharp-edged smile.
“I’m off. Enjoy thinking about this interaction every night for months, while I forget your entire existence the second you’re out of my line of sight. ”
The door slams shut behind him before I can think of a comeback, leaving me alone on the roof. The scent of his cologne lingers in the night air. It smells really good, like rich douchebags often do.
I stand there for five whole minutes with my pulse pounding furiously, hating him with every fiber of my being. Then I realize, with a renewed spike of fury, that this is exactly what he would want me to do.
Well, I’m not going to. I’m going to go back inside, and dance with that guy Trevor and his friends, and have a fun, exciting night.
I’m going to tell my agent I’ll do that creepy haunted forest series, and I’ll probably meet some guy on set who’ll turn out to be the love of my life.
The Jacob to my Travis. The person who lights up the hollow parts inside of me.
What I’m not going to do is waste a single thought on Cole Milton. And even if I do—if I accidentally relive the conversation a few times, thinking of all the things I should have said and all of the insults I should have used—it’s not like he’ll ever know.
I’m never going to see that jerk again, if I can help it.