“What?” I ask, glancing over.
“The club opening Hailee demanded we all attend. It’s next week. Ooooh,” he sings. “You should invite Freya.”
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I open the message that Hailee has sent to everyone with a reminder of the date she demanded we all put in our calendars months ago.
The guilt knotting up my stomach lessens as excitement creeps in.
I should definitely invite Freya. But…would she come?
She’s walked away from the spotlight. She’s trying to live a quieter life.
“Just ask. What’s the worst that happens? She says no, you get photographed with some hot bunny, it makes her insanely jealous, and she jumps your bones the second you get back to your little love nest. And if she says yes, well…potentially the same outcome, if you know what I mean.”
“The pilot knows what you mean,” I deadpan. “We’ll see.”
“You know you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Ignoring him, I close Hailee’s message and open my conversation with Freya instead.
Cole: Just landed. Get your walking boots on. We’re going out.
35
FREYA
The relief that surged through me when I got Cole’s message was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been avoiding him since that moment in his kitchen last week. As much as it might have excited me, it terrified me in equal measure.
I ran out of the apartment as soon as he got home that night. The moment I climbed into my new car, I regretted it. But I refused to go back up after that, so I pulled up my big-girl panties, pressed my finger to the start button, and let the beast of an engine growl to life.
It doesn’t matter that it’s by far the fastest car I’ve ever driven; I was being so cautious it took me longer than ever to get home.
I can’t lie, though. It’s an incredible car. The leather on the seats is unbelievably soft. The drive is so smooth, and the speakers are insane. I’m not going to admit to anyone just how loud I’ve had Taylor Swift booming out of those babies over the last week.
Every time I’ve driven it, I’ve gotten a little more confident.
Well, until I need to park it.
I have zero awareness of how big it is.
I went to Target the other day, and I was ashamed of how I left it. Although not ashamed enough to fix it. I figured the parking lot was almost empty and no one would notice or care, so I shuffled away as fast as I could with my head down.
Since Cole left for two road games, I’ve been counting down the hours until he’s back. I swear, the time has gone slower than I’ve ever known. I’m nervous as hell to see him again.
What if he’s forgotten all about that moment between us?
I’ve been here obsessing about it and secretly hoping that it’ll happen again, and he could have been halfway across the country, forgetting I even exist. Of course, I know that’s not the case. All men think with their stomachs, but none more than professional athletes, I’m learning.
I keep myself busy in the kitchen, preparing him a snack for when he gets back. My hands tremble a little as nerves rattle through me.
I’m glad we’re going out. I’m pretty sure that if I had to spend the afternoon here with him, I’d combust.
I lay the plates out for him, along with a fresh orange juice, before marching toward my bedroom. No. The guest room. This isn’t my bedroom, even if I have spent more time in it than at my parents’ recently.
It’s hot out today and walking in this heat is going to be hard. But I’m not backing down. Instead, I strip down to my underwear and slather myself in sunscreen before pulling on a pair of cycling shorts and a sports bra.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom, looking at the amount of skin I have on show. Unease rolls through me as I lift my hand to my stomach.
