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“Almost like we keep getting pulled back together.”
“Almost.” I sighed and reached for the water in front of me. “How’d you meet Harper?”
“Mutual friends. My business partner’s wife’s best friend.”
“Must make for great parties.”
“Yeah. Well, they tried for a year to get me to go on a date with her, but I wasn’t interested.”
“What changed your mind?”
He shot me a look.
I already knew the answer.
I’d let him walk away that day. There was nothing to hold him back.
“And you’re still happy?” he asked instead of answering.
I nodded. “And you? You’re happy?”
“Yeah. Harper is …” He waved the bartender down for a refill. “I don’t know. You want anything else?”
“No, I have a panel at eight in the morning. I’m already going to be fucked up for it.”
“You’ll do fine. You’re brilliant.”
“Thanks for the confidence,” I said as the bartender set his drink down in front of him.
Cole picked the drink up and then took Tony’s unoccupied seat to fill the space between us. I held my breath as I caught the scent of him. My stomach fluttered, and I wet my lips, glancing away.
“I should probably go.”
He put his hand on my arm. “Stay for my drink.”
“It’s late.”
“I’ll walk you up.”
I swallowed. That sounded like a bad idea. But I remained where I was sitting.
“Is it serious?” I asked.
“With Harper?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged. “It’s been six months. You? It’s been, what, two years?”
“Almost. Two years on New Year’s Eve.”
“Are you living with him?”
“No.”
I didn’t know why he’d asked. I didn’t know why I had answered. Why were we hurting each other like this? Why did I have to torture myself with answers?
“Why not?”
“Are you living with Harper?”
“God, no. We’ve only been dating six months.”
“Living with Maddox as a roommate is really easy.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You live with a guy, and Ash hasn’t fucked him up?”
“He’s only like that with you,” I muttered.
“Yeah, well, I’m the competition.”
“He and Maddox get along fine. Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because it’s the elephant in the room.”
He was right. Maybe if I knew all about his girlfriend and whether he was in love, then I wouldn’t feel like a bowling ball was sitting in my stomach. I’d be able to see it for what it was and then just finally … move on.
“Probably not long before he proposes,” Cole mused.
The bowling ball slipped. “What?”
“Two years together. You’ve known him since you were in high school. Next steps and all.”
“We haven’t talked about it.”
Cole smirked. “Yes, you have.”
I turned away from him. Ash talked about it. He’d been talking about it since our first date. He wanted forever with me. And it wasn’t even that I didn’t want that. I did. But there was only one problem, and he was seated next to me. I’d never felt more split in half about anything.
If only I could have both without them killing each other.
I stood from my seat. “I should go to bed. I hope that you’re deliriously happy. You deserve it.”
“Lila,” he said on a huff.
I swallowed. “It’s too hard to sit here and talk about this with you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t even seem fazed. As if none of it matters.”
“Are you out of your mind? Of course it matters. Of course it fucking hurts to hear. But … this is reality.” He gestured to me. “People between us. Space between us. Everything is between us.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I know.”
We stood there in the busy bar with history crowding in. Suffocating us. And there was nothing to do about it. We’d each chosen a different path. It didn’t lead here. No matter how many times fate had brought us back together.
“Good night, Cole.”
He gently touched my hand. “Good night, Sunflower.”
I walked back to my room on leaden feet, remembering at the last minute to let Ash know I’d made it back to my room. I didn’t have the stomach to see his response. I curled into a ball and wondered why my heart ached for two men. And if I’d ever be whole.
29
New Orleans
October 11, 2014
My panel had been shit.
I’d barely slept, and I had been even more hungover than I’d thought I’d be. It hadn’t helped that I had a half-dozen texts from Ash about last night that I didn’t know how to answer or have the bandwidth for.
When the girls begged me to go out on Bourbon Street, I was ready to put the whole day behind me and dive straight into a Hand Grenade. We slutted up our outfits for the night—teeny miniskirts, plunging necklines, impractical heels, and beads. So many beads.
Trish led us down Bourbon. People called down to us from wrought iron balcony railings. Religious zealots patrolled the streets, demanding we turn away from sin. Everyone drank from long plastic tubes filled with sugary concoctions so potent that one could knock you on your ass. Outside of a bar, we were hassled by a woman with a tray of shots in test tubes that you were supposed to drink out of her boobs. Trish shrieked with delight and bought us all one. I declined the boob method and downed the terrible, sugar-packed shot. Trish tipped back the boob shot.
