15. Cole
15
COLE
T he restaurant gleamed with the kind of quiet elegance that whispered exclusivity. Low amber lighting spilled across polished tables and deep leather booths, and the faint clink of crystal glasses underscored the hum of murmured conversations. The scent of something decadent—truffle oil, maybe—hung in the air. It was the kind of place where even breathing felt like a luxury.
Rose walked a step ahead of me, her red dress shifting like poured wine under the dim glow. My pulse stuttered as she turned, her lips curving into a smile that made the ambient warmth of the room feel irrelevant.
“Cole, are you always this quiet before a meal, or is this restaurant just intimidating you?” she teased, her eyes alight with mischief.
I chuckled, pulling out her chair. “I’m just savoring the moment. And by that, I mean you. The restaurant’s just a backdrop.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her blush. “Smooth.”
As I sat opposite her, the waiter glided over with menus, and I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall behind him. I looked like a man trying not to fall too hard, too fast. The problem was, I was already gone. I knew it before we even planned this weekend. Rose was dangerous for me because it meant opening my heart to the possibility that I could hurt again. But to love meant to hurt, and yet I wanted to take the risk anyway.
"This is really pricey," she said, staring down at the large, unpronounceable words.
I chuckled and admired how honest she was. Her youthful openness was invigorating, reminding me of what young love felt like. I wasn't as young as I used to be, but she helped me feel more youthful.
"Just say spaghetti," I told her, winking. Rose snickered and used the menu to hide her face, giving me a chance to check my phone.
It buzzed when we were on the elevator down to dinner. I had ignored it then, eliminating the risk of her seeing what it said on the chance it was a reminder from the clinic. When I pulled my phone from my pocket, I had never been more glad that I had made that choice. The text was a reminder about the appointment and I had to take a breath to keep myself calm.
I had been nervous all week about this appointment. I knew it could go one of two ways. Either the doctor was going to say we could use medications to help me reverse symptoms and keep control of my life a while longer, or he was going to say it was the end of the line for my career. No one knew why tremors like this happened, though they did have some treatments. I just hoped the tremors were really what I thought and not something worse like MS or Parkinson’s.
"Who's that?" Rose asked, and I hadn't even realized she was watching me stare at my phone.
"Oh, just a reminder for your spa day tomorrow." I smiled at her and put my phone away.
Rose beamed. She pushed a lock of her warm brown hair off her shoulders and grinned at me. "I am actually really excited about that. I've never spoiled myself with a spa day."
"Well, good," I said, happy to have something to discuss that kept my mind off the appointment. Our waiter came and brought us bread and took our orders. We filled our glasses with wine and chatted about the spa treatments available. Rose was worried it would take too long and I'd be bored, and I assured her that I had something to do.
The waiter had just left, and a flicker of candlelight danced on the surface of my wine as I set the glass down. Across from me, Rose leaned back in her chair, tracing the stem of her glass with her fingertips. The bottle sat between us, already missing enough that I knew she was savoring the edge of tipsiness.
“I’ll say it,” she began, a sly smile playing on her lips. “This place? Way too fancy for me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Too fancy? You’re sitting there looking like you own it.”
She gave me a skeptical look, lifting her glass. “Please. They probably saw me walk in and thought, ‘Well, there goes the neighborhood.’”
I smirked, resting my chin on one hand. “If anything, they’re upgrading the neighborhood. They’re probably back there renaming the house special after you.”
“Oh, yeah? The Rose Special?” She swirled her wine dramatically. “What would that even be? A glass of this stuff and a plate of fries?”
The waiter returned with our plates, setting down her roasted salmon and my steak with the kind of precision that made me wonder if they took a geometry class before waiter training. The smells of rosemary and butter filled the air.
“Fries might clash a bit,” I said as I picked up my fork. “But if anyone could make it work, it’s you.”
Rose tilted her head, cutting into her salmon with deliberate care. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, Cole. Is this a regular thing for you, or do I just bring it out of you?”
I shrugged, cutting into my steak. “You? Definitely you. And maybe the wine.”
“Mm,” she said, taking a sip. “Good answer. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll allow it.”
The conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Rose, I realized, was the kind of person who could make a debate about buttered bread feel like an art form. By the time she poured herself a second glass, she’d just finished recounting a disastrous childhood spelling bee story that had me grinning so hard my face hurt.
“Okay,” I said, setting my fork down, “but you left out the key part. Did you recover and win, or was that the end of Rose the Spelling Bee Queen?”
She groaned, laughing. “I got eliminated! I misspelled ‘rhythm’. I still hate that word.”
“It’s a cruel one. Sneaky, silent letters,” I said sympathetically.
She held up her glass, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you. Finally, someone who understands my pain.”
I clinked my glass against hers. “To overcoming childhood trauma.”
Rose giggled, sipping again. She was starting to loosen up, leaning forward with her elbow on the table now, her chin resting in her hand. “You know,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, “you’re really cute when you smile like that.”
I blinked, taken off guard, and she laughed, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now,” she teased.
“I’m not shy,” I said, recovering quickly. “Just trying to figure out whether this is the wine talking or you.”
She leaned in just slightly, her gaze locking onto mine. “It’s me. But the wine’s definitely cheering me on.”
She was adorable when she snickered and filled her glass a third time, and I felt like I was definitely going to get lucky tonight. We continued to talk and flirt until her plate was empty, and so was the bottle. When she announced that she was feeling like having privacy with me, I flagged our waiter down and paid our tab, then escorted her to the elevator.
The moment the elevator doors closed, she was all over me, her red dress swirling around her thighs as she wrapped her legs around my waist. I didn't know when I’d last been so turned on by a woman, but Rose was fire in a dress. I lifted her up and pressed her against the wall, kissing her like my life depended on it.
Her lips were soft and sweet, but beneath them I could taste the heady desire that matched my own. Her hands slid under my suit jacket and then down to my shirt buttons, unfastening them one by one as we continued to make out in the confined space. By the time we reached our floor, I was breathless and ready to have her right there against the wall.
But self-control won out—barely—and I managed to carry her out of the elevator and down the hallway to the room. I fumbled with the keycard, finally sliding it into the reader and opening the door. Inside, I kicked it shut behind us and didn’t bother to turn on the lights.
In the dim glow of the cityscape outside my window, I kissed her, head arched back, mouth agape. I carried her to the bed and laid her down, but her arms weren't reaching for me as greedily anymore. They still clung to me, and her lips still moved against mine as I lay on top of her and let my weight rest on her body, but I could tell she was too far gone. She had drunk too much too quickly, and I had to do the right thing no matter how badly I wanted her.
I pulled away and she whimpered, but I knew it was the right choice. I rolled her to her side and unzipped the dress, and when I began to shimmy it down over her curves, she pulled my face down to her chest. I kissed her lightly, suckling a nipple and driving myself wild with desire, but I felt her slipping off to sleep.
I got the dress off her, let her shoes drop to the floor. Then I undid the clasp of her necklace, fumbling with it several minutes before finally getting it off her, and managed to get her under the covers. When she was situated and snoring softly, I took off my clothes, down to my boxers, set my alarm, turned the heater down to a comfortable sleeping temperature, and returned to bed to hold her.
My mind immediately went to my appointment tomorrow. I knew it would take a few hours for her at the spa, and I had a one-hour session with the specialist. My entire career was riding on it and I was genuinely concerned. Some would say I was scared. Men weren't supposed to get scared at all. they were supposed to be strong and have their shit together, but the idea of losing my ability to perform surgery wasn't anywhere in my future plans.
I just hoped I could hold my shit together long enough to get Rose off to her spa day. I lay there thinking about what an idiot I was for dragging her into my mess and how I'd never forgive myself if I made her life worse by doing it.