Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
maya
Why the hell is my sandwich ringing?
Across the spaceship, Kennedy has morphed into an aquatic creature with shimmering, scaled skin and three luminescent purple eyes. But I’m more concerned that my pastrami on rye won’t stop going ring, ring, ring than I am about my best friend’s shapeshifting ability.
Before I can get to the bottom of it, the dream shatters like glass, and reality hits me with all the subtlety of a freight train.
I groan, already plotting the slow and painful demise of the person who’s decided to interrupt my day off—especially after I stayed up way too late working on a writing assignment for class.
Your characters haven’t gotten any sleep. Write about why, and how they respond to being sleepless.
The irony of that prompt isn’t lost on me.
Rolling over, I fumble for my phone and swipe to accept with all the enthusiasm of a hungover sloth. “What?”
“Shit. Did I wake you up?”
I rub the sleep out of my eyes. “If it’s before noon, then yeah.”
The deep chuckle gives away the caller’s identity. “Sorry, bean, but I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”
The rumbling timbre of Cole’s voice is equivalent to three cups of coffee. My body perks right up.
Running a hand through my bedhead, I lean against my pillows. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Could you watch Goose? His babysitter is sick and can’t take care of him when I’m gone, but I have to leave for the airport in a few hours. I called my backup sitter, but—”
“Cole,” I interrupt, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s way too early for this much information. I’ll watch Goose. Not a problem.”
As far as favors go, this one’s easy. Kennedy once asked me for a favor that turned into me being forced on a double date to a Haunted House. My “date” had a prosthetic eye, which he proceeded to continuously take out for fun.
“It’s not too much of a hassle?” Cole continues. “I’ll only be gone for the night.”
“That’s fine with me.”
A deep sigh filters through my speaker. “Have I told you that you’re the best? Because you’re the best.”
“Well, duh,” I scoff. “Don’t act so surprised.”
He chuckles. “Are you okay staying at my place? Goose did well staying at your apartment with me, but I’m worried he’ll get anxious if I’m not there.”
I stretch my legs out straight, relishing the sensation. “Yeah, you have a guest room, right?”
“You may as well get used to my bed, Maya,” he says with practiced seduction. “Because you won’t be able to resist me for much longer.”
Dammit. Even through the phone, his voice sends shivers up my spine. He’d be an incredible audiobook narrator, though I’ll keep that opinion to myself.
“That’s very presumptuous of you.”
“Hmm.” That sound rumbles through me. “If you’re that opposed to sharing my sheets, then you’re more than welcome to sleep in the second bedroom. Although I’ll warn you that Goose doesn’t like sleeping in there.”
Well, Goose is just going to have to suck it up.
“Okay.” I bite back a laugh. “Let me pack up some stuff and then I’ll head over. I’m off today.”
“I owe you one, My. Seriously.”
Thankful he can’t see my blush, I say, “As if I could say no to Goose.”
Or you.
Cole’s place is only a ten-minute drive from mine, but our living situations are night and day.
Although my apartment is in a nice area, I can only swing the rent because the building itself is…
let’s say charmingly flawed. The garbage disposal works when it feels like it, my showers hover somewhere between lukewarm and disappointing, and the chipped paint on the walls looks like it was slapped on sometime during the Civil War.
Cole’s condo, on the other hand, is straight out of a luxury lifestyle spread.
It’s in one of Boston’s more exclusive neighborhoods and is surrounded by restaurants I’ve only read about in Eater.
The kind of places with six-month waitlists and prices that would require me to auction off a vital organ just to try the prix fixe.
Turning in a slow circle, I take it all in.
Rather than the stereotypical bachelor pad I envisioned, his home is surprisingly inviting.
Large arched windows and twelve-foot ceilings let in natural light that emphasizes the color variations in the oak chevron flooring.
There are marble countertops in the kitchen and a hand-carved fireplace opposite a couch so oversized it could probably fit the entire Boston Bobcats team.
If I lived somewhere this nice, I don’t think I would ever venture outside.
Cole jogs down the stairs with a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. “What do you think?”
He’s freshly showered, and water droplets soak through his shirt, drawing my attention to the way the muscles of his shoulders stretch the material.
“You have built-in bookcases,” I comment. That should sum up my opinion. It’s like my Pinterest board brought to life. “Did you design it yourself?”
He surveys the room with a pleased grin. “Definitely not. I bought it completely furnished and haven’t changed much. Only turned the office space into a gym and added heated floors to the master bathroom.”
I lift a brow. “Of course you did.”
“You won’t be giving me that attitude once you try it out.”
The thought of using Cole’s shower is unwittingly erotic.
But I don’t let myself dwell on dangerous images of him naked and wet.
No. With a shake of my head, I turn back to the instructions he left on the counter.
They’re extremely detailed and include everything from how much time Goose needs outside to how many of each treat he’s allowed to have.
It’s adorably detailed. Who knew dog dads could be so sexy?
“Does everything make sense?” Cole sidles up beside me, the spicy scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a hug.
His whole condo smells like him, and it’s sent me into a state of arousal. Once again tamping down on the sensation, I clear my throat and take half a step to the side to put a little distance between us.
“I’ll have my phone with me if you have questions, but that should include everything.”
“We’ll be fine.” Looking at Goose, who’s curled up at my feet, I ask, “Won’t we, Goosey Goose?”
Cole nods, though his lips are pressed into a thin line, like he’s nervous about leaving Goose with a new sitter.
“Seriously.” I try not to let my voice betray how humorous I think his concern is. “We’ll be good. If I have questions, I’ll call.”
He nods once, resolved, and bends down to talk to Goose. “You be good for Maya, okay, buddy?”
The dog lazily blinks at his owner before promptly falling back asleep.
With a deep chuckle, Cole straightens and levels a serious look at me. “He likes to watch me play, so if you could turn the game on for him, that’d be great.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re kidding me.”
“Why would I be kidding?” He frowns, his brows furrowed. “He’s a big hockey fan.”
“He’s a big hockey fan,” I repeat dumbly.
Maybe he’s had one too many hits to the head, because there’s no way Goose knows what the hell is going on when I’m barely beginning to get the hang of it.
Cole tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and throws me a lopsided smile. “Mm-hmm. You gonna watch with him, baby?”
The pet name grips my libido like a vise, but I tamp down on the need that threatens to overtake me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “You should probably get going.”
“Are you kicking me out of my house?”
“You have a flight soon and you’re dawdling.”
“Maybe I just like spending time with you.” He presses a chaste kiss to my forehead. Then, scooping up his duffel, he strolls to the front door. “Don’t forget to text if you need anything.”
What I need is a lobotomy, considering all I want to do is bury my face in his chest and soak in his attention.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve given in to the temptation to snoop.
Yes, it may be considered a breach of trust, but he never explicitly told me not to.
Plus, the man suggested I sleep in his bed.
What does he expect? Besides, I may as well familiarize myself with my temporary lodgings.
If he’s a secret axe murderer, I’d like to find out now and not further down the line.
Goose watches me move around with mild interest but doesn’t bother moving from his spot in front of the fireplace. He probably thinks I’m an idiot, with the way I’m tiptoeing around when there’s no one here to catch me.
Cole’s kitchen is annoyingly boring. Based on the sparkly, clean condition of the counters and appliances, I doubt he spends much time in here.
The fridge is mostly empty—nothing but a couple of apples, half a bag of carrots, and several bottles of salad dressing—but the freezer is stocked full of frozen meals.
And not the Lean Cuisine kind. These are home-cooked and packaged nicely in glass Tupperware containers.
Huh. So he’s a meal-prepper. That makes sense, given his busy schedule.
His junk drawer is equipped with a few takeout menus—which I didn’t know were still a thing, considering Google exists—and a slew of pens, each with a hotel name printed on it.
“Onto the next room,” I murmur. My voice echoes off the high ceilings, leaving a creepy chill at the back of my neck. I’m not used to so much quiet. At home, there’s always some background noise: the clank of the furnace kicking on, the humming of the fridge, my upstairs neighbor.
I check the coat closet in the hallway next, but I regret my decision the moment I open the door and a mountain of hockey gear tumbles out. The head of a cracked hockey stick smacks the sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder, and I stumble over the shin pads at my feet.
The clattering and crashing sounds interest Goose enough to rouse him from his comfortable position. As he approaches, he looks at me with what I’m certain is judgment. Yeah, yeah.
Staring down at the ground, I consider my options. Obviously, I have to put everything back, but based on the cleanliness and order of Cole’s kitchen, I have a feeling he doesn’t just shove stuff in the closet, slam the door closed, and hope for the best.
Unfortunately for him, in the end, that’s exactly how I tackle clean-up.
Okay. Where to next?
The bathroom, laundry room, and dining room reveal nothing exciting.
In fact, they contain very few personal details.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he hasn’t changed much about the condo since he purchased it.
I resist the urge to snoop in his bedroom and instead head for the bookshelf.
It’s definitely for aesthetic and decorative purposes, but it’s stocked with some of the classics and a few good memoirs.
Eventually, I lie on his couch—which is comfier than my bed—with Goose and my book. As far as days off go, it’s a pretty damn good one. The only issue arises when it’s time for bed.
“Goose, come here.”
He sits in the doorway, his dark brown eyes fixed on me.
I pat the guest room bed in a pathetic attempt to lure him in.
Clearly, this isn’t his first rodeo. Not with the way he continues to stare me down without breaking eye contact.
Maybe he has to go to the bathroom? I force myself out of the comfortable bed and shuffle to the back door, but Goose doesn’t follow me.
Doubling back, I find him pawing at Cole’s bedroom door.
“Dad’s not home, buddy,” I tell him, using a high-pitched voice I always find myself using when speaking to animals. “Let’s go sleep in the guest room. C’mon.”
Ignoring me, he continues to attempt his way into the master bedroom. I’m starting to think that Cole wasn’t kidding when he said Goose won’t sleep anywhere else. The moment I open the door for him, he leaps onto the king-size bed and curls up in a little ball at the foot.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
The room is painted dark gray with sleek edges and harsh lines, but as I poke around, I find details that are distinctly Cole.
The piece of art above his bed is a black-and-white snapshot of a hockey game.
Both bedside tables are cluttered with family photos.
And his closet boasts every piece of workout gear ever created by Nike and Adidas.
I even find both glasses I gifted him for Christmas residing on his dresser, right next to his cologne.
By the time I’ve finished my self-guided tour, Goose is fast asleep on the bed.
Shit. I can either sneak out and hope he doesn’t notice or spend the night in Cole’s bed.
A bed that looks extremely comfortable. With Tempur-Pedic pillows.
And a cozy comforter. And a dog who refuses to sleep anywhere else.
It takes less time to decide than it should. But in the end, if I’m not sleeping with Cole, I may as well enjoy sleeping in his bed.