47. Cole
Chapter forty-seven
Cole
After my speech on set, word spread like wildfire that Jenna and I weren’t sneaking around, and Mara wasn’t the American Angel everyone thought she was. Someone filmed me, uploaded it to every social media platform, and it caused photos of Jenna and me to emerge from the very first night we met.
Everything is finally falling into place.
We left Grangewood Creek this morning and arrived back home in California two hours ago, where Jenna and I went our separate ways. Temporarily, of course.
We didn’t really discuss what the plan was for us moving forward, but I guess there wasn’t any point.
This whole thing started as friends with benefits, and in that time, I grew to know the type of person she is.
Independent.
Kind.
Honest.
And a damn closed book.
Until recently, I’d had a really hard time getting her to let me in. And I mean, all the way in, not just some surface level shit that she lets everybody see.
She’s shown me the real, authentic version of herself and I love it.
I love her.
Not that she’s let me tell her. Every time I’ve opened my mouth to say it, it’s like she can sense it, and shuts me up.
A kiss.
A hand to the mouth.
Sex.
That first day I said it, it was all she wanted to hear. But now, she’s either sick of it, or worried it will lose its meaning.
Not that it ever will.
She’d even go as far as to tell me she didn’t want to hear it, only for her cheeks to turn beet red. I knew it was a blatant lie.
Stepping out of the cab in front of the Lotus, the driver pops open the trunk for me, and I pull out my single suitcase before wheeling it inside the bar where I used to work.
Technically, I guess I still do.
I push the door open, noting the lack of crowd that a Wednesday afternoon brings, where my colleague, Shane, stands, wiping down the bar top to prepare for a night of nothingness.
“Hey, man,” he says, looking up and away from the bar, toward my hand carrying my luggage. “Need a hand?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“I’m alright. Thanks, though. Good to see you,” I reply with a nod, wheeling my luggage behind me, heading up the narrow staircase toward my bedroom.
A part of me hoped that while I was away, Oscar, the owner, would’ve had the apartment turned into a livable space for whoever occupies it next, but not only has he not done that, he’s failed to maintain it at all. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes has somehow gotten worse since I was here last. The stained yellow walls darker than they were before.
Flicking on the light switch, no sign of electricity illuminates the space, not even an attempted flicker. I make a mental note to call Oscar, before throwing my suitcase onto the bed, and unzip it to pack away the rest of my things.
There isn’t much, maybe a few pairs of board shorts, some old t-shirts and my single ceramic plate and mug.
I could’ve just walked away from it all and never looked back, but part of me felt like I had to come say goodbye to it, as though this place had feelings of its own and would miss me.
I shove my hand between the mattress and the wall out of habit, and pull a dollar note out that was wedged in between the springs.
Smiling to myself, I leave it on the kitchenette for the next person to pocket.
Opening the oven, I find an old t-shirt that doesn’t have the smell of beer ingrained into it, and throw it into my bag before I close it.
Giving the space one last look, I close the door behind me and make my way back down the stairs.
“Out so soon?” Shane asks, stacking glassware on top of each other to form a mini tower.
“I guess this is goodbye,” I say with an awkward laugh. “Here.” I throw him the keys, and he catches them mid air. “See you around.”
I wheel my suitcase the three blocks, appreciating the feeling of the Californian sun on my skin. I make a mental note to head to the beach the moment I’ve unpacked and had a decent sleep in my new, enormous bed.
I know I’ve spent the last three months on a bed that my feet didn’t hang off, but it’s nice knowing my new place is no longer temporary.
It’s even better knowing my girl lives right below me.
Literally, one floor down.
And she’s none the wiser.
“Hi,” I say with a nod to Julius, the doorman of my new apartment building.
It seems from the time I inspected the place until now, he still hasn’t developed any manners like Marv had. I guess the residents of small towns are just built differently to us city folk.
He doesn’t reply; he gives a firm nod, and I make my way to the elevator, when I hear Jenna’s voice from over my shoulder.
“Cole?” she asks, and I turn to face her. I went to sleep with every single inch of her incredible body last night and woke up next to her this morning, but God dammit, she still takes my breath away.
Her ice-blue eyes dart to the suitcase in my hands, her long, ash-blonde hair in a high ponytail, and I just want to wrap it around my fist and have my way with her.
“Hey, Snow,” I say awkwardly, shuffling on my feet, and I notice the small box in her arms with her name written on the front. “Online shopping already and you’ve only been home for three hours.” I laugh, tilting my head to the side.
“Uh, yep. Sure.” She clears her throat, and the two of us step into the open elevator that waits for us. “Want to tell me why you’re in my apartment building with a suitcase?” She presses the button for floor twenty-nine, but I hesitate to press the floor for thirty, until she waits, watching my hand hover over the button. “Unless…wait. You’re not planning on moving in with me, are you?” Her eyes bulge out of her head, and I laugh out loud, pressing the button for the top floor.
“No, Snow. I bought the penthouse. I had no idea you lived here,” I tell her. “I found out well after the sale had gone through.” The doors close, and I see the package she’s trying desperately to hide from me. “What’s in the box, Jenna?” I ask, and she fumbles with it, dropping it right at my feet. I pick it up to inspect it, seeing it’s come from a store called ‘ SexKeepers’ .
“Shit,” she whispers, snatching the box out of my arms, but I hold it tight, refusing to give it back.
“If you recall, I once told you that your orgasms belong to me. Did I not?” I ask her, slamming my fist down on the stop button on the elevator, and it comes to a crashing halt. She nods. “Then why are you buying a new fucking toy?”
“I didn’t know when I would see you next.” She snatches the box out of my arms, pushing the same button to make the elevator roar back to life, and she gets off at the next floor.
I hold my arm out to keep the doors open. “I know where you live, Snow. Once I unpack my suitcase, your pussy is mine.” Her laughter erupts through the hallway.
“I’ll be waiting, Mr. Big,” she shouts, and I hear her door slam.
My legs bounce up and down as the elevator takes me one floor up. I find my key in my pocket, and immediately shove it into the hole in the door, swinging it open.
I don’t take the time to admire my new home.
There’s plenty of time for that later, when my face isn’t being suffocated by the most glorious place in the world.
I roll my suitcase into the master suit, ripping it open and throwing my clothes into the nearest hamper.
Tate made sure I hired a cleaner, and I hope like hell when I get back from Jenna’s place, everything will be washed and ready to go.
I jump into the shower quickly, scrubbing my body with this expensive lotion and this weird, rough in texture, cloud-looking thing before I let the stream wash it all off.
Stepping out, I find a clean towel on the heated drying rack, and I throw it over my body to dry myself, when a knock on the door stops me in my tracks.
Finding my phone, I open the doorbell camera app, to see my girl looking like the devil, in nothing but a red trench coat, the box from earlier tucked firmly under her arm.
I don’t dry my hair, but I comb it over to the side with one hand, wrap the towel around my waist, and head for the door.
“Well, well, well,” I say, taking a step back, letting her walk into my apartment.
“As much as I would love a tour, there are so many things I would much rather you do to me.” I rip her coat open, and she loosens my towel around my waist until it pools at my feet, and she gets on her knees.
“You’re killing me, Snow,” I croak out.
“I guess they’ll have to put it on your gravestone.”