21. Aurora #2
Something flutters low in my stomach. Compliments on my body never do much for me anymore. I’ve heard them too many times from too many men who all sound the same. But this—him looking at something I made, something I actually put time into, and meaning it—I never get that.
He nods toward the painting. “This for class?”
“Yeah.” My throat feels dry. “I have a presentation at the end of the year.”
“It’s really good,” he says, keeping his eyes on the canvas.
“Um… thanks,” I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
He finally pulls his gaze away from the painting and looks back at me, lifting a brow. “Why are you freaking out, Prescott?”
“I’m not freaking out,” I say automatically, even though my pulse is thudding. “I just…” I sigh. “I saw Chase.”
His whole expression changes, hardening. “When?”
“Earlier. After class.” I swallow. “He wanted to talk. Said he wants me to meet him so he can explain.”
He nods. “You gonna go?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.”
Cole moves, stepping closer, his hands settling on my hips. “Then stay.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“Stay here with me,” he says, one hand sliding to my ass, squeezing lightly. “Stop thinking about Johnson.”
If only he knew Chase is the last thing that’s been in my head. The only thing messing with me lately is him.
“We can’t have sex,” I tell him. “Isabella’s home.”
His mouth pulls into a smug smirk as he leans in, brushing his lips along the side of my neck. “We could be quiet.”
My head tips back before I can stop it, my fingers bunching in the hem of his shirt as heat shoots up my spine. God, I want him. Way more than I should. But Isabella is right down the hall, and if she walked in and saw him here—saw us—I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
“I’m serious,” I whisper, even though I’m not strong enough to pull away.
He pulls back and lets out a sigh. “Fine.”
I swallow and force down the urge to drag him right back where he was.
He drops onto the edge of my bed, leaning back on his hands, his gaze landing on my laptop. “You watch anime?”
“Yeah,” I say, suddenly far too aware that Cole is sitting on my bed while I stand here acting as if any of this is remotely normal. “I know most people think it’s lame, but—”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t?” It comes out more surprised than I mean for it to, and he gives me a look.
“Why is that so shocking?”
I shrug and fold my arms. “I just… didn’t really picture you as a subtitles guy.”
His mouth twitches. “I can read, Prescott.” I roll my eyes, which makes him chuckle as he shifts on the bed and runs a hand through his hair.
“My sister got me into it, actually. She was obsessed with “Attack on Titan”. Had it on every day after school.” His mouth pulls into a smile.
“Eventually I gave in, and then I was just as hooked as she was.”
I blink. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Something shifts in his face. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice comes out rougher than it did a second ago. “She’s younger.”
I’m not sure what just happened, but it’s obvious it’s a sore topic for him. He looks at me for a second too long, and the urge to ask what that look means rises straight up my throat, but before I can, he clears his throat.
“Do you have any siblings?” Cole asks.
I think so.
I force the thought back down and shake my head. “No. Just me.”
“Only child,” he says with a scoff. “Your parents must’ve spoiled you.”
A laugh slips out of me, and I sit down beside him on the bed, folding my legs under myself. “My relationship with my mom is… rocky,” I admit. “She doesn’t know I’m at Colton.”
He studies me, his brows drawing together. “Why?”
My throat goes tight.
I’ve never told anyone this. Not Isabella. Not Chase. Not anybody. No one knows why I came to Colton when I got into a better art program at a school everyone said I’d be stupid to turn down.
But I needed to be here.
I needed answers.
“Are you nervous about the game tonight?” I ask him instead, hoping he just drops it.
His eyes narrow a little, but he thankfully lets it go and scoffs, shaking his head. “Because of golden boy? Nah. I’m looking forward to putting his ass on the ice.”
I roll my eyes and nudge his thigh with my knee. “Don’t fight him,” I warn, giving him a look.
He turns his head and arches a brow. “Have you met me, Prescott?”
“I’m serious,” I say, turning toward him. “I don’t want him to know that we’re…” I pause because none of the words feel right for… whatever the hell this is. I swallow and gesture between us instead. “You know.”
His gaze drops to my mouth for a brief second before lifting again. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
“If you start throwing punches at him for no reason, it’s going to look suspicious,” I say. “He’s not an idiot. He’ll know something’s up, and I really don’t want to deal with that tonight.”
He watches me for a second, jaw tightening just a little, then lets out a breath. “Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll behave.” But then one corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ll shake his hand with the same one I had you shaking with.”
His words make my core throb, and judging by the look in his eyes, I can tell he notices.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he warns me. “I don’t have time to fuck you. If I do, I’ll be late to the game and have to explain to the guys that I showed up late after spending hours making you come.”
My face goes hot, so I clear my throat and act as if my pulse isn’t all over the place. “You’re staying here until then?”
He shrugs. “I’ve gotta leave in, like, an hour,” he says. “Could use the company.”
I blink at him. “You want my company?”
For a second, he just looks at me, and there’s something in his face I can’t quite place before his mouth lifts into a teasing smirk. “Wanted to fuck,” he says. “But that’s apparently off the table, so…”
My skin heats all over again, and I catch my gaze dropping to his lips. I snap myself out of it and turn toward my dresser, reaching for my nail polish. I grab a couple of bottles and hold them up. “Which one?” I ask. “I need to redo my nails.”
He blinks, clearly not expecting that, then looks from me to the bottles in my hand—one pale pink, the other a dark wine red. “You want my opinion?”
I shrug. “You’re here. Might as well be useful.”
He huffs out a laugh, pinning me with a smirk. “Either one would look good wrapped around my cock.”
I shoot him a glare.
He lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, then leans back against the headboard and kicks off his shoes. “Fine. I like the pink one.”
“Good choice,” I mutter, settling back on the bed as I start painting my nails while the anime plays quietly in the background.
Somehow, that turns into a whole conversation about all the ones we’ve watched, and by the time I’m blowing on the last coat, I’m telling him he has to watch “Demon Slayer.” He nods and tells me he’ll add it to the list.
It’s weirdly nice. There’s none of the usual charged sexual tension or verbal sparring. Just him, sprawled across my bed while we talk like actual civilized human beings.
When I’m done, I hold my hands up toward him. “What do you think?”
He glances at them, then at me, smiling slightly, which makes my insides fizzle. “Looks good.”
I shoot him a smile. “I can do yours if you want.”
He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Yeah. Not happening.”
“You just said they look good.”
“They do.” His gaze drops to my hands again before lifting. “On you.”
I roll my eyes. “What, you’re scared of a little color? Don’t tell me you’re one of those fragile masculinity assholes.”
His eyes narrow. “Nice try, Prescott. You’re not painting my fucking nails.”