He watched me with unseeing eyes, his brow shadowed. And then he blinked three times, and his look softened. “You did. Didn’t you?” Cole sounded surprised. So surprised a single laugh caught me.
“Yeah, I did,” I admitted, squeezing the hands I still held. He looked down at them, his warm, tanned hands connected with mine. Cold, small, and, now I realized, splattered with dried paint.
Cole squeezed back. He met my gaze again and narrowed his focus on me. “But you’re too young,” he said, sounding like he was talking to himself.
“For what?” I challenged, suddenly unwilling to let him talk himself out of whatever he was trying to talk himself out of.
He sniffed a laugh, and I watched him struggle to fight his smile. And then that smile turned sad. “Elise, I’m nineteen. I’m in college.”
The way he said it soured my stomach. As though making him say it meant I was dumb. Still the dumb girl in the room.
“I—” I didn’t care what I’d said to Alberta just yesterday. I wanted to argue that three years wasn’t such a big deal. But I knew how foolish that would sound, so I dropped his hands. “I get it.”
Feeling bruised, I popped up from the ground and started picking up my supplies.
Cole just stared at me. “What are you doing?”
I capped the spray paint and tested the drawer with the tip of one finger. This made it easier not to look at him. “I’m cleaning up.”
Cole was quiet, but I could still sense his eyes on me. “No, you’re angry,” he said, his tone going hard. “And not in the good way.”
I huffed a sarcastic laugh, grabbing the excess newspaper and wadding it up. It felt good to ruin something. “Well, I’m sorry. I can’t be angry the way you like on command.” I’d made a tight newspaper ball when Cole grabbed my wrist.
I froze, but I didn’t look at him. This was way too humiliating.
“Elise, look at me.” The hardness in his voice was gone.
But I wouldn’t look. Instead, I let my gaze drop to my feet.
“Dammit,” Cole muttered, pushing himself to standing. He did so without releasing my wrist, and then he was towering over me. Cole hooked a finger under my chin and made me face him.
But I was stubborn. He could tilt my chin up, but he couldn’t make me open my eyes. Behind my closed lids, I heard him heave a frustrated sigh.
“Fine. Don’t look at me. But you still have to listen.”
I knew I was being a baby, and I wanted to open my eyes. I really did. Because he was standing so close, touching me again, and I didn’t want to miss it. But now that the mortification had sunk in, I didn’t know what to do. And Cole was wrong about me. I hid. I hid all the time. I was hiding behind my eyelids right now because facing him might kill me.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said on a whisper. And just like that, my eyes fluttered open. What I found was Cole Whitehurst peering down at me, a battle warring in his eyes. “For months, I haven’t stopped.”
My lungs wouldn’t fill. They already felt too full.
“I should leave you alone.” His eyes narrowed in a kind of wince. “But seeing you is the best thing about being home.”
Oh my God.
If his fingers hadn’t been under my chin, my jaw would have fallen. “I-I’m glad you’re home,” I admitted, speaking before I even had the chance to question the wisdom and safety of my words.
Judging by his look, those words pained him. How could they pain him? “You’re just so young. I don’t want to hurt you.”
My stomach seized at this. I didn’t want him to hurt me either, and my head was telling me pain was almost certain. Just hearing Cole say he should leave me alone hurt. I knew he’d never call me a cock-tease like Jeff Griggs, but even if he didn’t mean to, I sensed Cole had the power to bring me to my knees in a way no other guy could.
But that wasn’t because of my age.
“I’m not that young.”
Cole arched a brow at me. “You’re sixteen. Technically, you’re not even old enough to see a rated-R movie.”
“That didn’t stop you from watchingSuperbadwith me and Ava last year.”
