Chapter 8
Cole’s mouth was going to get me killed. I couldn’t describe a single second of my drive home, but I could explain in detail my newfound appreciation for men in sweatpants.
A thought my dad immediately ruined by standing in the kitchen wearing a similar pair. With Cole on my mind, I’d forgotten the way I’d left his office after denying his request. The tension immediately returned, especially now that I’d crossed a line with his chosen hockey player.
His shoulders stiffened when I closed the front door, but he set his wooden spoon aside and faced me with his arms crossed. “Avery.”
“Dad,” I replied in the same vaguely disappointed tone.
I tried to slip past him toward the stairs up to my room, but he cleared his throat, a sign I’d come to recognize as him wanting to say something but not being sure how to say it. With a sigh, I sent off a series of texts to Cole, dropped my messenger bag on the bottom stair, and returned to the kitchen.
The scent of tomatoes and oregano made my stomach growl, but I went for a banana on the counter instead of asking what he was making. Petty? Probably, but I’d spent the last twelve years believing some pretty sketchy shit about him.
I considered my presence effort enough at this point.
We stared each other down from opposite sides of the island, a sea of marble between us and his sauce bubbling away behind him in the silence. This was why I hated coming home. I’d moved in less than two weeks ago, and we still hadn’t had a full conversation. Hours at the library fighting off frat bros and puck bunnies was infinitely preferable to our regular standoff. So was the idea of spending my time with Cole.
“I’m going to tutor your hockey player. As a favor to him because he was nice to me. This has nothing to do with you and your generosity.”
He tilted his head in assent. “I didn’t mean it that way in my office.”
Easy for him to say now that I’d given in. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’m going to pass on the intensive.”
With a huff, he turned off the burner under his pot. “No, you’re not. I said I’d pay for it, and I will.”
“It’s not about that. I don’t really want to go back to Dallas.” I’d applied before all the shit hit the fan, back when I’d known where my life was headed. After Scott, and the anonymous article I’d written, I didn’t want to risk anyone connecting the dots.
“When are you going to tell me what happened back there?”
“Hopefully, never.”
He sighed. “What happened to us? You used to tell me everything.”
Icy rage built, slow and steady, curling my hands into fists and melting my restraint. “You happened to us. I was eight—I didn’t have any choice in the way things played out.” I clawed back enough control to stop myself from outright accusing him of abandonment, but he seemed to get the gist.
“You don’t understand,” he grumbled quietly.
Fair enough. I wasn’t interested in understanding, and I was done having this useless conversation. “Thank you for letting me stay, but I think I’m going to start looking for a job so I can move out.”
He frowned so hard I thought he’d sprain his eyebrows. “That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is. I operate better in my own space.”
“Avery, this is your space. Every inch of it.”
I pressed my lips together to keep my disagreement silent. The house was nice enough. Not decorated within an inch of its life like the condo I’d shared with Mom, but I liked his casual style better anyway. It wasn’t the space I hated—it was the uncertainty.
He had pictures of me on the walls, but he hadn’t tried to contact me once after the divorce. What was I supposed to do with that kind of contradiction? Nothing. The answer was nothing. I was going to bide my time until I graduated, then move on. Just like he did.
When all I did was stare at him, he rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to talk to you.”
It was a common complaint. Scott always blamed me for our broken communication, ostensibly because he didn’t like it when I refused to tell him my thoughts. He’d said something similar the day before he’d decided he liked older women. An unbidden image of Scott’s naked ass between my mom’s legs made my stomach turn.
Not going there.
“You don’t need to talk to me. We don’t have anything to say to each other.” I’d stopped hoping for him to show up years ago. I wasn’t looking for a daddy figure. Cole flashed into my mind, and a flush crept up my cheeks. Not that kind of daddy either.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, my phone dinged with a new message. It had to be Cole. The only other person who texted me was glowering at his red sauce. I was grateful for the excuse to break the moment.
Cole: I’m home and safe. Don’t forget to tell your dad you changed your mind about tutoring me.
Me: When do you want to start?
Cole: Monday?
Me: [thumbs up] Not sure when I’ll be free, but I’ll text you. Your place?
Cole: Yeah.
Relief made me slump over the counter where I’d been leaning. He sent the address, surprisingly close to Dad’s house for a college student, and I looked up in time to see Dad slide a steaming plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of me.
My favorite meal. Did he remember or was it just dumb luck?
When I glanced up, he quickly became hyper focused on his food. “Can you at least reassure me I don’t have to drive out there and crush some asshole’s skull into dust?”
My brows rose at his language. So far, he’d avoided anything more salty than darn. I was starting to wonder if a doppelganger had replaced the man my mom blamed at least once a week for every minor inconvenience. My memories were somewhat fuzzy after the vivid picture Mom painted, but I didn’t remember him being soft-spoken.
Looking back, I probably should have realized her opinion of Dad was as skewed as everything else, but it had been easier to accept her vision as the truth when the alternative left me questioning why he’d leave me without so much as a goodbye. The familiar jab of pain wasn’t as pronounced as usual, eased by the reality standing in front of me.
When I didn’t respond, Dad’s jaw clenched. “Avery?—”
“No,” I interrupted. “It’s fine. I wasn’t assaulted or anything. My ex-boyfriend was an asshole, but if you’re going to defend me against every asshole, you should start with your hockey team.”
His brows drew together, and I struggled to maintain my disinterested expression. I hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but the jerk in the locker room hadn’t even bothered to hide his come on. It said a lot for Dad’s coaching style if his first line players weren’t worried about making asses of themselves in front of him.
Dad waited until I shoved a big bite of pasta in my mouth to ask his next question. “Has someone been bothering you?”
I took my time chewing and swallowing, trying to decide if he was worried I’d get his star center in trouble. “No, and I can handle college athletes.”
“I know,” he mumbled.
Something about the certainty in his tone struck me as odd. Cole had said the tutoring was Dad’s idea. How had he known? I hadn’t worked as an actual tutor in almost a year, not since Scott subtly hinted he didn’t like all the time I spent with jocks.
In hindsight, the cracks in his perfect fa?ade weren’t exactly hidden.
I couldn’t eat while thinking of Scott and his cheating ass. Or Dad and his mixed signals. Without prompting, my mind conjured up the memory of Cole’s body pressed against mine, the cold from the car seeping into my back except for the circle of heat where his hand rested.
My breathing quickened at the promise in his last comment. We’ll see… I may have gotten in over my head trying to bring Cole to the dark side. His nice guy persona triggered my inner need to drag him into the gutters with me. I hadn’t considered he might already know his way around.
He’d asked me to help—a request I’d marked as genuine—but when Monday rolled around, would he keep his distance?
I’m not going to stop touching you.
My appetite for food disappeared as wet heat flooded my core. I’d proved I couldn’t be trusted with his hands on me, his mouth. It had taken all my willpower to stop him from kissing me, and I was relieved he’d held back at the light pressure from a few fingers.
I was relieved… wasn’t I?
A little voice in the back of my head laughed and laughed. With very little effort, Cole could have called my bluff about needing boundaries. I’d wanted him to keep going. Even after I’d stopped the kiss, I’d wanted him to hike my legs around his waist and really pin me against the car. Suck my fingers into his mouth and delve inside my jeans.
I’d wanted his tongue at my throat and his cock filling me up in the dark corner of the arena parking lot. Still wanted it.
As much as I wanted to walk through campus with him next to me, teasing and fun.
I sucked in a breath through my nose and forced my mind away from the inevitable conclusion. This was exactly why I’d laid out the boundaries. Cole might be a nice guy at his core, but for me, he could only be a means to an end.
I moved noodles around on my plate and speared a meatball. At this rate, I’d never get through an entire meal. Despite my preoccupation, I managed to take a couple more bites of my spaghetti. Enough not to draw attention.
Dad didn’t try to start another conversation. He finished his meal, rinsed off his plate, and disappeared into the living room. The TV came on, and the unmistakable sound of a hockey game drifted to me through the open archway.
Another night, another disaster of trying to communicate. I turned my phone over in my hand, tempted to text Cole again. He had the unique talent of making me smile even when I wanted to throttle him. I could use his skills tonight.
But no, I’d set the boundaries. Monday was only a few days away. After letting my mind wander into a dirty fantasy while eating dinner with my dad, I could use a Cole detox. Shore up my defenses so I didn’t give in so easily.
Another ding had me smiling, and a rush of pleasure heated my cheeks. I wasn’t giving in if I didn’t start it. It would be rude not to text him back. When I checked the screen though, my excitement faded.
Unknown number: We need to talk.
Unknown number: Avery.
Unknown number: About the article.
Scott always ended his text messages with a period. I probably shouldn’t have made waves before I left, but at least I’d had the foresight to submit the article under a pseudonym. If Scott knew I’d written it, he’d try to drag me down with him. In disgust, I turned on the Do Not Disturb setting. I should probably block him, but something stopped me. I’d rather know what was going through his mind than be blindsided again.
Not tonight though.
I left my phone face down on the counter and finished my dinner with significantly less enthusiasm than usual. Yet another thing Scott ruined. Men sucked. I’d need to remember the lesson on Monday or Cole could do a lot more damage.