Cole’s eyes widen likewho are you to dare speak to me, and then he flashes the same look to his brother. Caden shakes his head, and Cole’s shoulders relax.
A door in the hallway I’m forbidden to enter quietly closes. Cole’s tight about his privacy and doesn’t like me going down there, so I don’t. Although plenty of other women leave that hallway for a man who prefers his privacy.
I groan, hating the uncomfortable aftermath of Cole’s one-night stands.
“Well…” A cute, petite blonde peeks her head into the kitchen, silver heels in her hand. Her hair is half-mussed, half-finger raked. Her makeup is flaking on her face, and her shirt is rumpled and haphazardly tucked into her mini skirt.
Still, she’s somehow more put together than I feel most days.
Cole doesn’t look up. Doesn’t respond. Just leans against the counter, sipping his coffee.
“I—uhm, I guess I’ll be going,” she says, hesitating to make a move to the door. If she’s hoping Cole’s going to stop and ask her to have breakfast with him, she’s going to be waiting in that spot for the rest of her life.
In all the mornings I’ve spent here, he hasn’t acknowledged anyone who’s left his room.
Caden stops his hurricane around the kitchen and waves with a cheerful, “Have a good day!”
“How’d your economics final go, Natalie?” Cole asks, still not acknowledging the woman he just slept with as she walks out the door with sagging shoulders.
I don’t answer, keeping my gaze on Caden, pulling sizzling bacon out of the oven.
Cole hates being ignored, but he might as well get a taste of his own medicine.
My decision not to answer him has nothing to do with the fact that I’m pretty sure I bombed the final, and Cole—who is annoyingly smart—had offered to tutor me.
Obviously, I said no. I’d rather fail on my own than owe my success to that smug ass.
“Natalie?” Cole presses.
Again, I don’t respond.
Pushing himself up off the counter, he walks over to me with determination in his stride. “If you don’t answer, I’ll assume you failed because you were too busy staring at my gorgeous face all semester and regret not having the courage to accept my offer to tutor you.” With his coffee mug in hand, he comes to a stop just a foot away from me, his irritating smug grin still on display.
I straighten my spine, facing him with my full five-eleven height, but still, he towers over me. “Trust me, I’d much rather fail that class than spend a minute alone with you.”
“Oh, but sweetheart, I’d make that minute so worth it,” he replies with a wink. Something pulses, low in the pit of my stomach, a tug, tug, tug. I hate it—the nervous energy that hums in my body whenever Cole is around. I hate when people dislike me. And I hate that I let that get to me. Any energy spent on him and what he thinks of me is energy wasted.
I clasp my hands to my chest. “You’d last a whole minute? Really? Would that be a record for you?”
“I was talking about teaching you about aggregate demand, but good to know where your head is at when we chat.” He raises his mug as if to toast me.
“In your dreams,” I roll my eyes.
“No, in my dreams we don’t do much talking on this,” he says, one of his fingers lazily draws circles over the counter. My eyes betray me, stuck on his forefinger as it taps, taps, taps, on the same spot, slow, slow, fast, faster, another lazy circle. My throat grows hoarse, dry from a scream that’s never left my lips. A pulse thrums between my thighs. Tap. Tap.
Images of Cole lifting me onto the counter, hungry for me, terrorize my over-active imagination, kicking out the ones of sweet and caring Caden that I’d much rather cling to. He’s brutal, cruel with his mouth, punishing me for every rude quip and barb I’ve ever tossed his way and I whimper for him, desperate and pleading for more—more of his fingers—more of the teasing circle of his finger—just like he wants me to be.
I blink back to reality, burying the terrible intrusive images deep down where they belong and raise my eyes. I find a knowing gleam in Cole’s gaze. Like we somehow just shared that awful nightmare—except it doesn’t look like it was torture for him. “This counter is where you murder your victims, isn’t it?” I ask, through trembling lips.
“I believe the French call what you’d do a tiny death, sure.” His eyes land intensely on me, tracing the hollow of my collarbone like now he’s plotting how he’s going to strangle me.
“I wouldn’t go through all that trouble. Your presence is torture enough. No need to bring out the rope and knives.”
He chokes on his coffee with a muttered, “Fuck’s sake.”
A victorious grin takes residence on my face, happy to get him as off kilter as I feel. But it doesn’t last as Caden pulls out the blender from the pantry, drawing my attention away. My hand tightens on the scarf around my neck and I subtly pull itup to my mouth. Caden’s favorite peanut butter protein powder is seconds from filling the air with a plume of dust. As someone with a peanut allergy, the tiny explosions spike my anxiety every morning, but I’ve never told Caden to stop.
He knows I have an allergy.
