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“Friendship phase?”
“Yeah, you know, the type of relationship where we aren’t constantly at each other’s throats? We’ve moved beyond the enemy phase.”
Cole assesses me while he finishes chewing. Whatever it is he’s thinking about, it’s making him irritated. I resist the urge to check for ketchup on my face. I won’t buckle under his scrutiny, not anymore.
Finally, he reaches for more fries and shakes his head.
“Sounds kind of boring.”
Oh, what’s that I detect? An air of annoyance? Well,excuuuuseme. Remind me to never bring up friendship with Cole ever again.
“Friendship offer officially revoked.”
He laughs. “So enemies again?”
“For life,” I tease.
He clears our dinner as I go wash my hands. “What should we do now?” I call from the bathroom.
“I was going to head down and go for a run in the gym.”
“But you just got back,” I pout.
I dry my hands and walk back out into the suite to see that Cole’s taken his sweater off so he can hang it back up in the closet. His undershirt is tight over his sculpted chest. His biceps flex in a way that zaps my brain cells.
“You don’t need to go work out. Look at you! You’re in tip-top shape. Your body-fat percentage is probably like point zero three.”
His gaze slices to me. “Okay. So what should we do instead?”
I swear his eyebrow lifts slightly.
A flame ignites low in my belly, but I don’t think he meant to turn me on with his innocuous question. I’m just a horndog.
“Argue about what TV show to watch?” I suggest helpfully.
I walk over to retrieve the remote off the dresser, and I wave it out for him to take. “Come on, you can go first. Pick something.”
He walks over to take the remote from me, but when he reaches me, he pauses for a moment. Those heady x-ray eyes are back as he looks down, cocky in his inspection of my T-shirt and sleep shorts. I watch him swallow, and I fear for my resolve.
What would I do if he took another step closer?
If he bent down and fisted my shirt, tugging me toward him?
If he wanted to kiss me ...
Knuckles pound on our door, distracting us.
I’m expecting housekeeping (Pavlovian response, probably, because who else knocks on your door when you’re staying in a hotel?), but when I open it, Camila and Lara are standing out in the hall.
“She’s alive!” Lara exclaims, throwing her hands up in celebration.
Camila wastes no time leaning in, trying to see past me. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
When she spots Cole still standing near the TV, her jaw drops open so wide I worry it might become permanently unhinged. Her gaze slowly shifts to me, filled with disbelief. “We heard you two were rooming together, but it just seemed like a dumb rumor. I mean, the odds ...”
The two of them exchange a glance; then Lara looks to me.
