“I thought it was Caden, too.” He sniffs.
I shift in the bench and my side accidentally touches Cole’s. At every point of contact, lines tug and spark as if fractured wires are being fused back together. I wash my gluey cakes down with a gulp of ice water, buying myself time to create an excuse for this name debacle.
Honestly, I thought Cole was going to pretend to justbeCaden, but that plan went out the window a good ten minutes ago.
“Caden’s my twin brother, actually,” Cole says, gently grabbing my hand and rubbing circles on top of it with his thumb. “I’m sure Natalie talks a lot about him, too. He andNatalie are good friends and go out to parties together since I prefer to stay home and study—that pre-med track is no joke.”
Pancake lodges in my throat and I choke. Pre-med? Seriously? I don’t know what Cole is majoring in, but I can guarantee it’s one of three things: sports science, communication, or business—the holy trinity of majors for our school athletes.
I guess he decided if he’s lying about a relationship he might as well lie about his major too.
Cole gives my back a good thwap. “You okay, sugarplum?”
I sputter until finally the pancake clears from my windpipe.
My mom, for her part, pays my near death no attention. “With Natalie’s penchant to talk fast or mumble, I bet that’s what happened.”
“I don’t mumble,” I say under my breath.
“You just did, dear.” My mom’s eyes gleam as she glances across the table at Cole and me. “Anyways, we’re thrilled you’re finally spending the holidays with us.”
“Me too, thank you for inviting me,” Cole says. “It would have been a long break without seeing Natalie.”
His hand falls to the side of my leg. His pinky brushes against my hip, the touch light but noticeable. From across the table, it probably looks more intimate than it is. The masochistic part of me growls for more—a hand on my thigh, my whole side glued to his. Something.
Since I don’t want to lose whatever new game we’re playing, I do my best to wipe this new revelation away. I can’t let my impulse to romanticize everything win, or Cole will win, too. Earlier, when he was opening my door and helping me into the car, Cole issued me a silent challenge. One that saidI give you ten minutes pretending to be an adoring girlfriend before you crack.
On a good day, he’d be right. But today is not good. Today is decidedly bad. And as such, I am woefully spiteful and determined to make him miserable with how “in love” with him I am and force his hand. Either he can match me and my intensity—which would be hysterical to witness—or feign an illness and bow out. At this point, I’d take either.
In my quest for vengeance, I rest my head on his shoulder, mustering enough fake sweetness to rival the heaps my mother just poured into her coffee.
Cole’s soft smile falters as he glances at me, startled by my wide-eyed innocence act. Then his arm snakes behind me, settling across my back with a possessive ease. A touch so casual, it’s as if he’s done it thousands of times. His fingers splay across my side, and the light touch of his thumb against my ribcage sends a shiver through me, causing me to tense.
His chin nudges me, and his mouth skims my ear, the warm rush of his breath raising the hairs on my neck. “If you’re uncomfortable, tap me twice so I know.”
My hand stays still on my lap.
I should hate this—his touch, the way our bodies fit together like they were carved from the same pine tree, the way my body reacts to his proximity like it’s been lying in wait for him for years and suddenly coming alive.
And I do hate all those things. It’s just…there’s something else, something hungry, ruthless, and grotesquely unsatisfied, something that’s begging formore.It’sunrelenting in its request and unwilling to give up what little scraps it has.
My mom grabs another creamer and sugar for her third, maybe fourth cup of coffee. “Oh, you two are just so cute together. It warms our hearts seeing you this in love, doesn’t it, Gary?”
“Sure.” My dad grunts between tissues. “Saw Dillon’s mother in the Market Basket, almost had a word with her about the assof a son she raised, but then I thought about how you’ve moved on and decided I should too. Speaking of which, I saw there’s a hockey game tonight, and I thought since Dillon’s not on the team anymore, we might all go. Do you like hockey, Cole?”
Cole studies me with bewilderment. I’m not thrilled he now knows I dated his former teammate. Someone who eventually agreed with Cole’s own conclusion—I’m not in the same league as them. In the power rankings of hotness, they’re playing professional hockey, and I’m playing whatever they did in the Mighty Ducks.
Quack. Quack. Quack. Mr. Ducksworth.
“Actually sir,” Cole clears his throat. “I’m the captain of the hockey team, so I will be there already. Unfortunately, I don’t think Coach will allow me to sit with you.” He chuckles. It’s charming. A word I never thought I’d associate with Cole.
My mom purses her lips. “Well, it seems our little Natalie has been keeping quite a few secrets about what a catch you are from us. First your pre-med status, now this. Why didn’t you tell us you were dating another hockey player, dear? You know your father and I would have loved to cheer him on at more local games.”
“It’s not something I brag about.” I mumble. If I was to admit a minor flaw of mine, it’s that in my pie-chart of reasons why I hate Cole I may have a sliver reserved for “he’s a hockey player.” Which on its surface should be a benign fact about him, but in my Dillon-clad past trauma it’s a major penalty.
I stuff another bite of pancake into my mouth, hoping the combination of syrup and powdered sugar can heal—or at least mask—the lingering hurt I’ve never dealt with.
Cole’s grip tightens on me, pulling me deeper into his side. He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “Biggest dick I ever played with,” he whispers.
