27. Cole
COLE
Ishouldn’t be doing this.
That’s the only thought in my head as I kill the engine and sit there for a second, staring through the windshield, forcing out a breath before I can change my mind and drive away.
I get out anyway, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I head inside her building, and by the time I hit the elevator button, my pulse is already starting to quicken. The doors take forever to open, but when they finally do, I step in, hit her floor, and lean back against the wall.
I exhale hard.
Everything about this is a bad idea.
I’m walking into the building where she lives with Isabella, which means Ryan’s probably around too, because that guy is basically attached to his girlfriend at this point. But honestly, that’s not even the worst part.
The worst part is that I know better than to do thoughtful shit for her. That’s what boyfriends do.
And I’m not her fucking boyfriend.
The elevator dings on her floor, and I step out, heading down the hallway. Once I’m outside her door, I pull out my phone and text her.
Me:
Open the door.
Aurora:
Why?
I glance down the hall, checking no one’s around, and type back before I can think too hard about what the hell I’m doing.
Me:
Just open the door, Prescott.
I hear her shuffling toward the door from the other side and then it swings open.
She’s wearing an oversized sweater and her hair is twisted up in that messy bun again.
She had it like that the first time I came here too, and I still haven’t recovered.
The first time I saw her like this, with no makeup or those tight little outfits she usually wears, it knocked me on my ass.
Made me want to forget about the one rule she set and kiss her anyway.
She just stares at me, her eyes going wide. “What are you doing here?” she hisses.
“Picking you up,” I tell her, snapping myself out of whatever just crossed my mind. “Come on.”
She blinks. “What? Where?”
I pull the concert tickets from my pocket and hold them up. “You wanted to see them, right?”
Her brows pull together, her mouth parting as she looks down at the tickets, then back at me. “How…” She shakes her head. “How did you get these?”
I lift a shoulder. “Found them in the trash,” I lie. “Guess whoever bought them came to their senses and realized the band sucks.”
She narrows her eyes. “Seriously. How did you get them?”
“You wanna go or not, Prescott?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe. “My generosity only lasts for so long.”
She stares at me for a while, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth while she thinks. She glances back into the apartment, and I don’t even have time to react she reaches out, fists her hand in the front of my shirt, and yanks me inside.
She shuts the door the second I’m inside, then grabs my wrist and drags me toward her bedroom.
I let her—mostly because I like the feel of her hands on me.
She pushes her bedroom door open and pulls me inside, turning to glare at me. “You could’ve texted instead of just showing up at my door. Ryan and Isabella are literally down the hall.”
I shrug and let my gaze drift around her room, landing on the canvas I saw last time.
Only now there’s more to it. It’s darker and more detailed.
It’s fucking incredible.
My mouth pulls into a smile before I can stop it.
I’m stupidly proud of the fact that I’m the first person walking around with an Aurora Prescott original on his body.
I got the grim reaper hand tattooed a few days ago, and every time I catch sight of it in the mirror, I end up staring at it way longer than I should.
She opens her closet and starts digging through hangers, tossing piece after piece onto the bed.
Jesus Christ.
How many clothes does she have?
“How long is this going to take?” I ask, dropping onto the edge of her bed.
“Longer if you keep complaining.” She throws a look at me over her shoulder, then points toward the wall. “Turn around.”
I lift a brow. “Seriously?”
Her cheeks go pink. “Yes.”
“I’ve seen you naked, Prescott,” I remind her. “More than once. I’ve licked every inch of your body.”
That only makes her blush harder. “This is different,” she says and then does a little gesture with her finger. “Turn, please.”
I roll my eyes and turn, staring at the posters on her wall. “Happy?”
“No peeking.”
I let out a scoff. “I’m not some fifteen-year-old virgin, Prescott. You really think I need to peek?”
“I think you’re annoying.”
I huff out another laugh and keep my eyes on the posters since apparently, I’ve been banned from looking at her. Behind me, I hear fabric shifting, drawers opening, hangers knocking together, and all I can think is… what the hell is happening between us?
I know what she sounds like when she comes. I know what she tastes like. I know exactly how she looks with my hand around her throat and her thighs spread for me.
But lately, I find myself wanting to know other things. Like if she makes any sounds in her sleep. What she looks like first thing in the morning. What it would feel like to kiss her.
And those are dangerous thoughts to have.
“Okay,” she says, dragging me out of my head. “You can turn around now.”
“Finally,” I murmur under my breath as I turn to look at her and—
Holy fuck.
She’s wearing a ripped band tee that slips off one shoulder and shows a strip of stomach every time she moves. Denim shorts hug her hips and leave her legs bare for miles, and she’s done something to her eyes, her makeup a little darker than usual, making her blue eyes pop that much more.
Her cheeks go pink under my stare. “Well?”
She’s so fucking beautiful it knocks every thought out of my head. All I can do is stand here, staring at her.
But I just shrug instead, because there’s no chance I’m saying any of the shit that’s swirling in my head.
Her brows pull together. “Does that mean you don’t like it?”
I lift a brow. “You need my approval now?”
She frowns. “No. I just…” She cuts herself off with a sigh and drops her gaze. “Forget it.”
She wants it.
Aurora usually walks into a room like she owns the damn place and dares anyone to question it, so the fact that she wants my opinion now has me pushing off the bed and stepping right into her space. My hand catches at her waist, turning her back toward me until those blue eyes lift to mine.
“You look beautiful,” holding her gaze for a second before my gaze drags down the rest of her, landing on the fuzzy slippers on her feet, and the corner of my mouth lifts. “You need some different shoes, though.”
A laugh slips out of her, and something in my chest jolts.
“Yeah, I know,” she says, turning back toward her closet. “I was thinking about these.” She holds up a pair of heeled boots, but then hesitates, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “I just don’t know if I should, since…”
“Since what?” I ask.
She looks like she’s considering saying it, but then sighs. “Chase used to hate when I wore heels if I was with him,” she says. “He always said I was too tall for them.”
I let out a scoff, shaking my head. “Your boyfriend’s a fucking pussy.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “Ex-boyfriend,” she says.
Right.
Doesn’t stop me from picturing him saying that to her and wanting to go back in time and knock his teeth out.
I step closer and hook my thumb under her chin, tipping her face up until she’s looking at me. “Wear the heels, Prescott,” I tell her. “They’re hot as fuck.”
She blinks up at me, and I can’t help wondering how the hell this happened so fast.
I used to hate her. Wanted nothing to do with her. Then somehow that turned into wanting her in my bed. Then wanting her to stay there. Then driving across town and dropping way too much money on concert tickets just because she’d looked disappointed and I couldn’t leave it alone.
I step back before I can stand there thinking about any of that for too long. “Ready?”
I turn toward the door, but her fingers catch on the sleeve of my jacket, stopping me.
I glance back at her, and for once there’s none of her usual attitude.
There’s no glare or smartass comment, just a soft, sincere look in her eyes that works itself into my body, making me wish I could stop time to just look at her.
“Thank you,” she says, smiling softly at me.
My mind goes back to sitting in my room for hours, scrolling through resale sites, watching the prices climb higher and higher, telling myself to leave it alone, that it was too expensive, too much effort.
That I had no business dropping that kind of money when I should be saving every extra dollar for Sophie.
But I still bought them, because I knew how happy it would make her.
Worth it.
Every fucking cent.
Halfway through the set, I realize I’m actually having a good time.
Which is annoying as hell.
I really thought I’d hate this and honestly didn’t care if I did, because I knew Aurora would be into it, but the place is drowned in blue lights, the bass loud enough that I can feel it in my ribs, and the songs are actually good.
Their music’s dark and gritty, and their stage presence is also really good.
I get why she likes them.
I’m still never admitting that out loud.
I glance down at her beside me for the umpteenth time. I swear I’ve spent more time watching her than the band. She knows every word. Every lyric, every beat as she sings along, having the best time.
And every time she turns to look at me with that huge smile on her face, something in my chest pulls.
I’ve had my hand on Aurora’s waist most of the night. At first it was just to keep some drunk idiot from slamming into her every five seconds, but at some point it stopped being about that. I just like touching her. Luckily, she hasn’t complained. If anything, she keeps leaning back into me.
When the next song starts, she whips around, her eyes widening. “This is my favorite song,” she yells over the music.
I dip my head closer. “You said that about every single song they’ve played.”
She grins up at me, her eyes shining and way too fucking pretty. “I know.”