Chapter 1 Cole #16
Keller suggested I spend the day re-centering. He made it sound like I should pack a yoga mat and punch ‘hippie retreat’ into GPS.
Just because I lost my cool with JJ. According to Keller this is a clusterfuck on so many levels he would take me off the case if he had a choice.
Instead, he punished me with such a menial task my eyes are bleeding and I’m in a desperate need of a decent cup of coffee. The stuff I drink at Frankie’s is mostly mud.
Also, I’m trying to walk off the memory of Cole moaning into my mouth, fists clutching my shirt, and the perfect way his body met mine when I pressed him against his kitchen wall.
Focus on the word trying. Trying and failing.
On a whim, I step into Baywood Beans. This was always Cole’s spot, not mine.
I’ve never been the one to hang out in coffee shops.
Didn’t have that kind of money or even time to throw around.
I know the owners, though, everybody does around here.
The Bloom sisters swear by the healing powers of Sudoku and are always trying to convert you into their gang of number puzzles.
Every head turns my way when I walk to the counter and tip the brim of my baseball cap.
Earl panics and stabs himself with a cake fork, eliciting an ear-splitting yelp. “Oh the agony!” he howls.
Ann-Sabrina Fenton bounces toward me like an overexcited cocker spaniel, red curls cascading, arms wide and ready to hug some Baywood cheer into me.
Maybe I could learn to like Frankie’s coffee after all.
“Xaden!” Ann-Sabrina gushes. “I’ve been meaning to come over, but Frankie’s garage is so intimidating. Did you know it’s probably haunted?”
Before I have a chance to reply, she giggles like a ghost just tickled her. “Everyone is talking about you! You’ve got the main character energy through the roof, swoosh!”
“I don’t know what that means, but thanks, I guess. How’ve you been?” I ask, trying politely but firmly to pry her hands off me to get that coffee I came here for.
When I try to pay, Dorothy shakes her head, smiling. “On the house. It’s good to see you, Xaden,” she says, sounding sincere. Apparently Mrs. Kirkland was right when she said not everyone has forgotten me.
“Is it really?” Earl asks hotly, shoving his hand to my face. “I’m bleeding to death!”
“Yes, that’s almost a drop of blood you have there,” I say dryly, turning back to Dorothy so that I can thank her properly. I try to leave after that but Ann-Sabrina drags me into her table.
“Oh Xaden,” she says, and that’s not a promising start. She leans closer. “You look like a three-chili book.”
“A what?”
“You know — spicy. Passion. Heat.” She fans herself. “Three chilis. At least.”
I blink. “Okay. Sure.” Back in school, she was always asking, “Team Stefan or Team Damon?” I never knew what she was on about. Still don’t.
“It’s a compliment,” she insists. Then, almost serious, “I hope. Otherwise, I’m just being inappropriate, and I’ve had… feedback.” I bet she has. Ann-Sabrina trying to stay appropriate is like… well, it’s not going to happen. But her self-awareness softens me.
Unfortunately, my brain picks this moment to wonder if Cole reads books with chili ratings.
I can picture him getting adorably flustered over even a one-chili scene.
His ears would burn and he’d probably insist he was reading it for the “plot”.
Cole never gave himself permission to want out loud, even when I knew there was a storm inside him.
Maybe that’s why the thought of him reading anything ‘spicy’ like Ann-Sabrina put it guts me so much — it’s the version of Cole that drives me the wildest.
The one who wants me but doesn’t dare say it.
I almost groan out loud when I think about our road trip to Pisgah and what happened in the tent.
***
The night smelled like pine and woodsmoke, and the tent was too small for our long legs, so we lay tangled, shoulder to shoulder, our sleeping bags unzipped and useless.
I was so lost in the way he was kissing me that night, how he grew hungrier and more determined by the minute, until suddenly it was like his control literally cracked.
“Xaden,” he breathed against my mouth, voice breaking.
“Yeah?” My pulse thundered in my ears.
He swallowed hard. “I… I want — could you—”
He pulled my hand on him, and I swear I would’ve fallen to my knees right then if he’d asked.
And when his hand slid under the waistband of my boxers — tentative, trembling — then wrapped around me, what undid me wasn’t the way it felt (though God, it was heaven).
It was that it was him. Cole. Wanting me so much he found the courage to ask.
I kissed him through it, whispering his name into his mouth because I didn’t know what else to do with the rush of it, with the beauty of him.
I’ll never forget the sound of him coming apart with my name on his lips.
***
Oh God. Could I just get one hour without Cole in my head?
COLE
“Cole!” someone calls from behind me in the smoothie line. I turn to see Brett Morales, lead singer of Savage Amen, flashing his megawatt smile. He’s in a see-through T-shirt so tight it looks vacuum-sealed, and when I glance at him, wondering why he’s talking to me, he flexes his biceps. Um. Okay.
“Sup,” he says, tossing his black ponytail. “Saw you at the festival. Nice going. Mind if I touch your hair?”
“Please don’t,” I say. Also: what?
“I’m a musician too,” Brett continues. “You probably recognized me right away. Screamo-metal with a splash of funk? I’m the screamo, my ex is the funk.” He says it like a joke he’s rehearsed.
“Yes, I heard your set,” I say truthfully. Still have the tinnitus to prove it. “It was… something else.”
“Thanks, man. You dig poetry?”
“Uh, depends.” I glance at my watch. I was supposed to be enjoying a rare quiet moment while Noah’s with Sammy and J?rgen at the park. This is not that moment.
“I’m a poet myself,” Brett says. “Dark stuff. With a hint of erotica.” He actually winks.
Somehow, I stay polite. “Interesting.”
“We should totally hang. I could read you from my unpublished collection. My Sex-Starved Soul . It’s autobiographical.”
I shudder. “No, thank you,” I say, snatching my smoothie and fleeing outside — straight into James Lexington III. What is my life today?
XADEN
After escaping Ann-Sabrina and the intense chili thoughts she put in my head about Cole, I take a moment to cool off in the shade of Mayor Billing’s statue.
I almost don’t believe my eyes when the next thing I see is Cole, stepping out of a smoothie bar and almost colliding with what can only be described as a human version of Fashionista Ken. (I saw an ad once, don’t judge.)
Cole doesn’t look particularly happy, whereas the Ken character appears absolutely delighted.
“You haven’t replied to any of my texts,” he says, mildly affronted. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop at first, but damn it, I want to hear why Cole should’ve texted him in the first place.
“I meant to,” Cole says. Then: “I’ve just been very busy.” My lips twitch. He’s lying through his teeth.
“What’s kept you so busy?” Ken presses. I grin. I’d pay money to see Cole’s face right now. He’s a terrible liar.
“I’ve been training for the… national potato sack racing competition. Brutal schedule. And, uh, knee-deep in a really demanding needlepoint project. The local needlepoint scene is so… intense.”
I have to bite my tongue not to laugh out loud, whereas Ken doesn’t sound all that amused.
“Fascinating. What’s your needlepoint project?” he asks.
“It’s… a llama in a field of daisies,” Cole groans, giving up.
The man exhales, loudly. “I get it. Please stop before you sign us both up for amateur taxidermy.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied,” Cole says, sounding sincere.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” Ken replies, almost stern. Then, to my surprise, he softens.
“I know I came on strong. I just really like you, Cole. But clearly, we’re not meant to be.”
“Maybe we can be friends instead?” Cole offers, and my heart melts. He never wants to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“Friends,” Ken says, though his tone is wistful.
I take a step forward, ready to announce I’ve been eavesdropping, when another man emerges from the smoothie bar, looking at Cole like he’d rather be drinking him, not his smoothie.
It’s the Savage Amen guy, and he looks so ridiculous I accidentally snort. Loudly. All three heads swivel toward me. Cole’s eyes widen.
“Sorry, I was just…” I gesture vaguely toward the statue, as if that explains anything. Screw it. “Doing my mindfulness exercises for the potato sack race.”
Cole tries not to laugh but fails. Spectacularly. He slaps a hand over his mouth but a giggle escapes. The other two men glance between us, confused.
“I’m sorry,” Cole says at the same time as the stern one offers me his hand.
“James Lexington III,” he says in a posh voice.
“Xaden Bailey,” I reply, swallowing the first just in time.
“James, Xaden, this is Brett Morales from Savage Amen,” Cole says.
“Sup,” Brett says to both of us. He checks me out, blatantly, until my glare makes him switch targets and offer his hand to James.
“You dig poetry?” he asks.
James huffs. “The Lexingtons don’t ‘dig’ poetry. We absorb it.”
“Cool. You wanna absorb it at my place?”
I turn to share an amused look with Cole, only to see him already walking briskly away. And damn it, he looks good doing it.
For a second, both Brett and James glance after him, equally wistful.
I’m left standing there, trying not to remember what it was like to have him for myself for one whole night in Pisgah.
Later that night, Ronnie’s rummaging through a duffel bag of stolen car parts while JJ paces, chain-smoking and twitchy.
It's almost midnight, but when JJ texted to meet at Kieran’s trailer, I didn’t have a choice. I haven’t seen them since Mike was dragged away. Since I threatened to kill JJ.
The air’s uneasy but not openly hostile.
I grab two cans from the six-pack I brought as a peace offering, tossing them each a beer.