25. Aurora
AURORA
Stepping into Cole’s apartment feels different when I’m not being shoved against the nearest wall.
I’ve been here before, plenty of times. I know the route from the front door to his bed by heart. I could probably find it in the dark at this point, which I usually do.
But today the lights are on, my clothes are still on, and for the first time, I’m actually looking at the place instead of getting distracted by his mouth on my neck.
My gaze snags on the record player on his dresser, a messy stack of records beside it, and a shelf above lined with Funko Pops. There are plants too. Actual plants. Alive ones, which is, honestly, the most shocking part of all.
The door clicks shut behind us, and I startle when I feel him slide my coat down my arms.
It’s stupid, really. We’ve had sex in this apartment more times than I can count, and somehow Cole helping me out of my coat feels more intimate than seeing him naked.
I glance at him over my shoulder, and he holds my gaze, but then his jaw tightens and he looks away, tossing my coat over the back of a chair.
My eyes wander around the room until they land on a blue duffel bag by the wall, half-open, with a pair of beat-up boxing gloves sticking out.
“You box?” I ask, looking back at him.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “That surprises you?”
I roll my eyes. “I guess not.” If anything, it makes a little too much sense. “How long have you been boxing?”
“A long time,” he says with a shrug. “I like hitting things. Shuts my head up for a while.”
My brows lift. “Is that why you punched Chase?”
“That’s different.” His jaw tightens. “He deserved it.”
My first instinct is to argue, but I don’t, because the words he threw at me in the locker room are swimming in my head.
Doesn’t matter how I feel about you. That doesn’t give him the right to call you a slut.
My stomach twists. I still can’t believe Chase called me that, like I didn’t spend three years being loyal to him.
And somehow, despite all the history between me and Cole, despite all the reasons we should hate each other, he heard that and snapped. He got himself benched because of me.
I look up at him, and something in his expression makes my chest feel too tight.
So I step back.
I drift toward the coffee table instead, needing something else to look at, and that’s when I spot the thick black sketchbook sitting there.
“Can I?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him, my fingers hovering above it.
He shrugs and leans back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “Knock yourself out.”
I flip it open, and my breath catches.
It’s page after page of tattoo designs. I turn another page, then another, taking in sheets of flash designs that go from thin, delicate script to more detailed designs.
“Wow,” I mutter, flipping the page again. “I seriously hate complimenting you, but holy shit. These are really good.”
I hear him let out a huff, but I’m too focused on the page to look up.
“Have you done any on yourself?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “A couple.”
I glance up just as he pushes off the wall, reaches behind his neck, and drags his shirt over his head.
My stomach flips, which is stupid, because I’ve seen him shirtless before. A lot. But I’ve never really looked. Not like this. Not up close.
Ink covers his arms and chest, and all I can do is stare. I’ve always loved how tattoos are basically art, just on skin instead of a canvas.
“I did these three,” he says, pointing to the cluster of birds along his side. “And these.” He lifts his hand so I can see the small tattoos stretched across his fingers. A skull and a tiny S. “It hurt like hell. It’s way easier letting someone else do it.”
Before I can think it through, my fingertip brushes lightly along the birds on his ribs. “They’re so cool.”
He scoffs. “They’re shit,” he says, glancing down at my hand still resting against his side. “But I had to start somewhere.”
I lift my head, and as soon as his eyes meet mine, I realize my hand is still on him and we’re both just standing there… staring at each other.
Cole steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “I eventually want a huge back piece,” he says, like the last few seconds didn’t happen. “That takes forever, though. Probably days. Costs a fortune too.”
My deeply unhelpful brain fills with the image of black ink spread across his back, and my teeth catch my bottom lip.
A smirk tugs at his mouth, and he reaches across the desk, grabs a pen, and presses it into my hand.
I blink down at it. “What’s this for?”
“I need a new tattoo.” He nods toward the sketchbook. “Draw something.”
I just stare at him, my grip tightening around the pen while I try to figure out if he’s messing with me, but his expression doesn’t change.
“You want me to design a tattoo for you?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He holds my gaze. “You’re talented as hell. I want your art on my body.”
Something warm flickers low in my chest, but I shut it down immediately.
Instead, I smirk and spin the pen between my fingers. “Alright, but I don’t want to hear you complaining when I give you a Hello Kitty tramp stamp.”
He snorts, and before he has a chance to realize what I’m doing, I plant my palm in the middle of his chest and push him back toward the couch.
He drops back with a grunt, his brows shooting up. “Christ, Prescott,” he says, a laugh slipping out when I swing a leg over him and settle in his lap. “Didn’t know that would turn you on.”
I roll my eyes, even as heat creeps into my face. “You wish,” I shoot back, lifting his arm over his head, stretching his side so the skin pulls tight where I want to draw. “Hold still unless you want me to draw a dick.”
He scoffs, but he stays still.
My knees press into the couch on either side of him. I tuck my hair behind my ear and start sketching the design that came to me the second he told me to draw something.
I can feel him watching me the whole time, but I keep my eyes on the pen moving over his skin instead.
When I’m done, I lean back and examine my work, smiling. “Alright,” I say, capping the pen and letting out a breath. “Done.”
He pushes himself up, shifting me with him until I have to slide off his lap, then heads for the mirror. He twists a little to see what I drew.
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh when his brows draw together, studying the grim reaper’s hand down his side. He meets my eyes in the mirror and shoots me a look.
“What?” I say, a laugh slipping out. “I could’ve drawn a dick. This is way nicer.”
He shakes his head, but I catch his mouth twitch. “You’re lucky I like it,” he says, heading back toward me.
My eyes widen before I can stop them. “You… do?”
He nods.
I wet my bottom lip, suddenly feeling shy. “You’re not actually going to get that tattooed, right?” I say with a nervous laugh.
“Of course I am.” He lifts a brow as he closes the space between us, bracing his hands on the counter behind me. “I told you. I want your art on my body.”
My stomach flips and turns, and before I can help it, my gaze drops to his mouth. And when I look up, I notice his eyes are on my lips too.
I swallow, my lips parting, but then a sharp beep cuts through the room from the kitchen, and I jump back.
Cole drags a hand over his face and steps away from me. “You hungry?” he asks.
“Starving,” I say, swallowing hard.
He heads into the kitchen, grabs a dish towel, and opens the oven before he pulls out a pizza.
“I put it in before I went out for a smoke,” he says, setting the tray on the stove. “It’s a cheap frozen pizza. That okay with you, princess?”
My eyes narrow. “You think I’m a snob?”
He shuts the oven with his hip and looks back at me over his shoulder, one brow raised. “You forget I’ve known you for years.”
“As Chase’s girlfriend,” I remind him, folding my arms across my chest. “You don’t actually know me.”
He turns to face me, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing over his bare chest. His gaze drags down my body in a way that makes my skin go hot before it lifts back to my face, his lips pulling into a smirk.
“I know what you taste like.”
Heat climbs up my neck, and I turn around, hearing a low laugh slip out of him as I sit on the couch.
“What are you even doing here, anyway?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be with your family or something?”
I lift my head and see him tense slightly. “My dad sucks,” he says, sliding half the pizza onto a plate. He picks up both plates and turns. “You?”
I let out a sigh. “It’s… complicated.”
He drops the plates onto the table and sits beside me. “Family usually is,” he says, grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV, pressing play on the next episode of Demon Slayer.
I blink. “You’re already on season two?”
He takes a bite of his pizza and shrugs. “It got good.”
A smile slips out before I can stop it. I like that he watched something because I suggested it. I remember how hurt I was whenever Chase used to make fun of me for watching it.
I was a goddamn idiot for staying with him as long as I did.
I pick up a slice and take a bite, keeping my eyes on the screen for a minute.
“My mom and I had a fight,” I blurt out.
Cole glances over at me. “About what?”
I swallow, keeping my eyes on the TV. “I finally told her I was at Colton,” I tell him.
His brows pull together. “Why’s that a problem?”
I lift my eyes, letting out a deep breath.
“She kept something from me,” I say. “And until yesterday, she didn’t know I knew.
When she found out, she started yelling, and I started yelling.
My stepdad tried to step in and calm us down but then she said some stuff, and I said some stuff, and the next thing I knew, I was at the airport booking the first flight back.
” I glance over at him, my mouth twisting. “Very mature of me, I know.”
I take another bite, then gesture at him with my slice. “And now here I am on Christmas Eve, in the apartment of a man I used to hate who doesn’t even own a Christmas tree.”
He arches a brow as he chews. “You came here for dick, not decorations.”