JACE: YES. Cole being spontaneous is MORE IMPORTANT than my athletic achievements. And it takes a lot to admit that…
REED: Historic moment. Someone screenshot this.
COLE: You two are exhausting.
JACE: You're not denying it though.
REED: He's NOT denying it.
JACE: Proud of you, mate. Really.
REED: Don't fuck it up.
COLE: I'm muting this chat.
JACE: Hell fucking no you're not.
REED: You're going to read every message. And colour-code them by emergency level.
JACE: We'll be checking in later for a full report.
The dots are still blinking when I lock the phone and shove it into my pocket. Still, I can feel it continuing to buzz against my leg as I head toward Rory, the screen lighting up with what I can only imagine are increasingly ridiculous messages.
Their laughter follows me like a benediction. My heart pounds like I've just committed a crime rather than simply taking an afternoon off.
What the hell are you doing, Adams?
CHAPTER 8
Cole
Rory's trying not to smile, and failing spectacularly.
“Happy?” I ask with a raised eyebrow as I shove my phone back in my coat pocket.
“Very.” She loops her arm through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Let's go.”
The simple gesture sends a jolt through me that I'm not quite prepared for. The casual intimacy of it, the easy way she touches me like we're something more than what we are. When was the last time I had any physical contact that wasn't Hollie climbing on me or a handshake in a boardroom?
When was the last time I wanted someone's touch this badly?
This morning, my traitorous mind supplies.When you woke up with her sprawled across your chest, her hair tickling your jaw, and you couldn't bring yourself to move for twenty minutes because she felt too perfect there.
I push the thought away as we head toward the Tube station. Snow's starting to fall more heavily now, dusting her red coatand catching in her eyelashes. She's still eating her sandwich, taking enthusiastic bites between conversation, completely unbothered by the cold or the crowds or the fact that she's just convinced her grumpy one-night stand to abandon his entire afternoon.
“Do you always eat lunch alone?” she asks around a mouthful of cheddar and pickle.
“Yes.”
“Every day?”
“Yes.”
“That must get lonely,” she says, though her tone is gentle rather than judgmental.
“It's efficient,” I reply with a half shrug, trying to ignore how good it feels to have her arm linked through mine.
“You keep saying that word, but I don't think you know what it means.”
