Chapter 18 Cole
EIGHTEEN
cole
That night, Cheyenne and I had dinner over at Griffin and Blair’s.
They lived in what had previously been Griffin’s bachelor pad, which was located on the second story of an old fire station that housed the Bellamy Creek Garage on the ground level.
Griffin and Cheyenne’s grandfather had started the business, their dad had run it for years before he died suddenly of a heart attack, and Griffin had run it for the past six years.
I was excited about spending the evening with her, but I was also distracted—going over Jessalyn’s advice in my head constantly. On the drive over, I’d told Cheyenne all about it, and she was cautiously optimistic, just like Jessalyn was.
We entered the old firehouse through a glass door to the left of the lobby entrance, and as we went up the stairs to the apartment, the aroma of garlic and lemon and something roasting in the oven made my mouth water.
Blair, wearing an apron over her dress, greeted us with a hug, and Griffin handed me a beer and Cheyenne a glass of wine.
I made up my mind to stop fretting about things so much and just enjoy the time I had with Cheyenne and my friends. This was the first time in a decade I’d done something like this. I wanted to savor it.
Blair and Griffin had decided to delay their honeymoon until after the holidays and were planning a trip to Mexico just after the New Year. Over plates of lemony chicken piccata, smashed potatoes and sautéed spinach, Blair rapturously described the resort they’d chosen.
“I’m so jealous,” Cheyenne said, taking a sip of her wine. “I wish I could get away to the beach this winter.”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Across the table, Blair flashed us an encouraging smile. “It would be fun!”
Next to her, Griffin frowned. “Did you just invite people on our honeymoon?”
“What, you and I are together all the time! I think it would be fun for the four of us to get away.”
“That’s a really sweet offer, Blair, but no.” Cheyenne laughed as she set her glass down and picked up her fork. “I’m not going on my brother’s honeymoon—or anyone’s honeymoon.”
“It would be impossible for me anyway,” I added. “I couldn’t leave Mariah for that long.”
“You must be excited about the new house,” Blair said. “Have you had the inspection yet?”
“Today,” I confirmed.
“How’d it go?” Griffin asked.
“Great. No surprises. I should have a closing date by the end of the year.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Cheyenne bubbled. “Cole said he might even be able to show it to me next week.”
“Really?” Blair looked at me in surprise.
I nodded. “No one is living there, and the agent said the current owners gave the okay for me to go in with a contractor and take measurements, get estimates on the work, and all that.”
“Moretti doing the reno?” Griffin asked.
“Yeah.” I grinned. “In between play dates with his girlfriend.”
Everyone laughed, and Blair said, “You guys, I feel bad. We should meet her before we judge. What if Enzo really likes her? She could be the one.”
“She’s not the one,” Griffin muttered.
Blair slapped his shoulder. “You don’t know that for sure. He seems serious about her. I spoke with him at the wedding a little.”
“I don’t know, I gotta go with Griff on this one.” I picked up my beer bottle and took a sip. “I think he’s only dating her because he’s feeling pressure from his parents to settle down. I don’t get the feeling she’s the one.”
Blair sighed, like she was frustrated with both of us. “I don’t know that I trust either one of you to recognize true love right off the bat.”
“Did you hear that, Griff?” I teased. “Your wife doesn’t think we know a good hit when we see one.”
“I heard,” Griffin said, pretending to be disgusted. “It’s like she didn’t see my in-the-park home run in the championship game this season.”
“Or my triple that drove in the winning run.” I shook my head. “Sad.”
“Appalling.” Griffin elbowed his wife.
Blair rolled her eyes. “I am not talking about old man baseball, and you know it!”
“Now she’s trying to take back what she said about us.” Griffin shook his head. “Good thing she’s hot. That’s what really matters in a relationship, am I right, Cole?”
“She’s also a great cook, which is the second most important thing.” I ate another forkful of chicken piccata, which was delicious.
“True, true,” Griffin agreed. “Or maybe the third. I won’t mention the second at the table, but don’t worry, she’s good at that too.”
Blair cleared her throat. “Cheyenne, remind me of this conversation next time I have the idea to get together for dinner.”
“Will do, sister.”
Griffin and I exchanged a grin, and something about the whole scene was both nostalgic—Griffin and I ganging up on some cute girls—and hopeful.
I could imagine dinners like this in the future, with Moretti and Beckett and their wives, whoever they turned out to be, and maybe a bunch of kids running around too.
Beneath the table, I reached for Cheyenne’s hand.
As we were finishing up tiramisu and coffee, I noticed Cheyenne checking her phone.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “I was just checking the time.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
“Is it that late already?” Griffin asked, yawning and stretching.
Blair hit his arm. “Griffin, that’s rude.”
“What? I get up at six,” he said. “And you get up even earlier.”
“But you made it sound like you want them to leave.”
“It’s just my sister and Cole.” Griffin gestured toward us. “If I really wanted them to leave, I’d say it right to their faces.”
Blair clucked her tongue in disgust and looked at us across the table. “You do not have to go.”
“Actually, we do,” I said. “Cheyenne and I have to work tomorrow, and I promised Mariah I’d poke my head in and kiss her goodnight.”
“Won’t she be asleep?” Blair asked.
“I hope so, but when I called her, she made me swear to do it anyway.”
She smiled at me. “Such a good dad.”
A couple minutes later, Cheyenne and I helped clear the table, said goodnight, and headed out. We’d just left their building and started walking down the street toward my car when Cheyenne stopped.
“What’s wrong? Did you forget something?” I asked.
“No. I just don’t want to go home yet.” She turned to face me. “I wish we could be alone.”
“Me too,” I said, feeling like an asshole that I had nowhere to take her. What kind of cretinous basement-dweller still lived with his mother at age thirty-three?
“I was thinking . . .”
“What?”
She turned around and looked back at the building. “I have a key to the garage.”
“You do?”
She laughed and shrugged. “Better than nothing, right?”
I grabbed her arm and started running back up the street.
“But we need to be quiet,” she said breathlessly, unlocking the door. “I don’t want them to hear us. And we should be quick too.”
“No fucking problem.” I was already getting hard just thinking about it.
As soon as the door was shut behind us, I turned the lock and took her hand, leading her out of the lobby area and into the service bay. I’d been in the garage enough times to know my way around, even in the pitch-dark.
At least, I thought I did.
“Oh, shit!” I said after knocking over something that clanged noisily as it hit the cement floor.
Cheyenne started laughing uncontrollably, and to shut her up, I spun her against the wall and kissed her. Unbuttoned her coat. Shrugged mine off my shoulders.
“Hurry,” she panted.
“I’m trying,” I said, reaching beneath her skirt. “Fucking winter clothes. What are you wearing?”
“Tights,” she said. “Hold on. I’ll get them off.” She ditched her boots and whipped off her tights—at least, that’s what I assumed she was doing. It was so dark I couldn’t see shit.
“Okay,” she said, putting her arms around me.
“You’re still wearing a giant sweater,” I complained, desperate to get closer to her.
“I can’t take that off, Cole! We have to hurry!”
“Okay, okay,” I told her, reaching beneath her skirt once more, this time finding her bare skin. “But I haven’t been able to think about anything but this all week, so you have to give me a minute here.” I stroked her patiently, working my tongue between her lips and my fingers over her clit.
“Cole, now,” she begged in a heated whisper, rubbing me through my jeans. “I want you right now.”
I unzipped my jeans and shoved them down just enough to work my cock free and pushed up her skirt. She jumped up, wrapping her legs around me, holding herself aloft while I positioned myself—then groaned loudly as she slid down my shaft.
“Shhhhh!” she scolded. “Quiet!”
But it was fucking impossible to be quiet. I wanted her too much, it had been too long, and I had no idea when we’d get this chance again. I had zero control.
I fucked her savagely, her back against the wall.
Against a metal cabinet. Against a tool bench, which was unfortunately on wheels and made a giant rattling noise when I shoved it against some kind of shelving unit—or maybe it was a rack of tires—and then spilled a bunch of its contents on the floor.
Both of us were loud—between my caveman grunting and Cheyenne’s high-pitched cries, you could hardly hear all the racket made by the tools and equipment we were knocking around.
But the kicker was that I set her against the side of someone’s SUV right before we both came, and our spontaneous orgasm was so violent we set off the car’s alarm.
Cheyenne screamed and I cursed, setting her on her feet. “Fuck!”
“Oh my God!” she shrieked. “Make it stop!”
“Give me a second,” I said, zipping my pants and frantically wondering if someone was calling the cops right now and a couple of my colleagues were about to show up here and laugh their asses off.
“We don’t have a second! And I can’t find my tights!”
Five seconds later, the lights came on and Griffin came barreling into the service bay. “What the fuck, you guys?”
I stood next to Cheyenne while he grabbed the SUV’s key fob from a rack on the wall, pressed a button, and stopped the noise. Then he turned to face us, and he was not amused.
He kind of looked like Darlene after the broken plate incident.
“What. The fuck,” he repeated. But it wasn’t really a question.
“Sorry,” I said. My heart was still hammering, and the car alarm still rang in my ears.
“Sorry,” echoed Cheyenne. She wore her skirt but no tights, and covered one bare foot with the other. About ten feet away, closer to the door, I could see where her black tights had been abandoned.
“Um, I can explain,” I said.
“No, don’t.” Griffin held up his hand and started heading for the door. “Really. Just don’t.”
“I’ll lock up,” Cheyenne called, like she was trying to be helpful.
Griffin said nothing and disappeared, leaving Cheyenne and I alone again. We looked at each other.
“Oops,” I said, unable to hide a grin. “Sorry. That was a bit loud. And rough.”
“I liked it.”
“Your brother didn’t.”
“No,” she said, laughing as she went and scooped up her tights. “He really didn’t. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I pulled into her driveway and put my car in park. “I guess Griffin knows about us for sure now, huh?”
Cheyenne giggled. “The whole block might know about us for sure now.”
I grimaced. “I was afraid the police would show up when that alarm went off.”
“Oh my God, can you imagine? I would have died. Died.”
“You and me both.” I exhaled, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb, wishing I didn’t have to say goodbye to her, even for the night. “I’ll be glad when things are different and we don’t have to sneak around.”
“Me too.”
“Once I’m in the new house, things will get easier.” But then I frowned, remembering what Jessalyn had said about sleepovers. How long would we have to wait?
“I’m nervous about tomorrow night,” Cheyenne said quietly, “about how Mariah will react. I’m trying not to be, but I am.”
“I understand,” I said, putting my arm around her and holding her as closely as I could. “But remember that Jessalyn said resistance would only be natural, even though she loves you.”
“I know. I just really, really want it to go well.”
“Me too.” I kissed the top of her head. “But even if she’s upset tomorrow night, it doesn’t mean she won’t come around eventually.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry—I’m sure you’re nervous too. I don’t want to make it harder on you.”
“You’re not. Now you better get inside, before I lose my mind and try to get your clothes off in the back seat.”
She laughed, pressing her hand to my cheek and her lips to mine. “Call me tomorrow. And good luck.”
After making sure she got in safely, I went home and put my car in the garage. As I was walking to the back door, I couldn’t help admitting I was nervous about tomorrow night. There was a very real possibility that Mariah would not be comfortable with our relationship.
And what would I do then? Give Cheyenne up? Go back to secretly longing for her? Spend all my nights alone, missing her?
No. It was out of the question. I’d just have to work harder to make Mariah understand that I had enough room in my heart for both of them.
I was willing to fight for her.
Upstairs, I snuck into Mariah’s room, and looked down at her sweet, sleeping angel face, then bent to place a kiss on her forehead. It’s going to be okay, baby, I promised her silently. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re never going to lose me.
But that night, after slipping beneath the covers, I did something I hadn’t done in years—closed my eyes and said a prayer.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in God, but our relationship had been a bit strained after losing Trisha.
I’d never understood how a God who was supposed to be good and just had allowed something like that to happen.
It was an unsettling feeling, to have your faith stolen.
To wake up one morning believing in something, and by nightfall, discover that belief has been destroyed.
It made it hard to trust your instincts.
Hard to plan for the future. Hard to believe that you can protect those you love—or protect yourself.
Nothing was promised. Nothing was certain.
And prayers went unanswered all the time.
But tonight, I found myself willing to try again.