I almost don’t believe my eyes when the next thing I see is Cole, stepping out of a smoothie bar and almost colliding with what can only be described as a human version of Fashionista Ken. (I saw an ad once, don’t judge.)
Cole doesn’t look particularly happy, whereas the Ken character appears absolutely delighted.
“You haven’t replied to any of my texts,” he says, mildly affronted. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop at first, but damn it, I want to hear why Cole should’ve texted him in the first place.
“I meant to,” Cole says. Then: “I’ve just been very busy.” My lips twitch. He’s lying through his teeth.
“What’s kept you so busy?” Ken presses. I grin. I’d pay money to see Cole’s face right now. He’s a terrible liar.
“I’ve been training for the… national potato sack racing competition.Brutalschedule. And, uh, knee-deep in a really demanding needlepoint project. The local needlepoint scene is so… intense.”
I have to bite my tongue not to laugh out loud, whereas Ken doesn’t sound all that amused.
“Fascinating. What’s your needlepoint project?” he asks.
“It’s… a llama in a field of daisies,” Cole groans, giving up.
The man exhales, loudly. “I get it. Please stop before you sign us both up for amateur taxidermy.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied,” Cole says, sounding sincere.
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” Ken replies, almost stern. Then, to my surprise, he softens.
“I know I came on strong. I just really like you, Cole. But clearly, we’re not meant to be.”
“Maybe we can be friends instead?” Cole offers, and my heart melts. He never wants to hurt anyone’s feelings.
“Friends,” Ken says, though his tone is wistful.
I take a step forward, ready to announce I’ve been eavesdropping, when another man emerges from the smoothie bar, looking at Cole like he’d rather be drinking him, not his smoothie.
It’s the Savage Amen guy, and he looks so ridiculous I accidentally snort.Loudly. All three heads swivel toward me. Cole’s eyes widen.
“Sorry, I was just…” I gesture vaguely toward the statue, as if that explains anything. Screw it. “Doing my mindfulness exercises for the potato sack race.”
Cole tries not to laugh but fails. Spectacularly. He slaps a hand over his mouth but a giggle escapes. The other two men glance between us, confused.
“I’m sorry,” Cole says at the same time as the stern one offers me his hand.
“James Lexington III,” he says in a posh voice.
“Xaden Bailey,” I reply, swallowing the first just in time.
“James, Xaden, this is Brett Morales from Savage Amen,” Cole says.
“Sup,” Brett says to both of us. He checks me out, blatantly, until my glare makes him switch targets and offer his hand to James.
“You dig poetry?” he asks.
James huffs. “The Lexingtons don’t ‘dig’ poetry. We absorb it.”
“Cool. You wanna absorb it at my place?”
I turn to share an amused look with Cole, only to see him already walking briskly away. And damn it, he looks good doing it.
For a second, both Brett and James glance after him, equally wistful.
I’m left standing there, trying not to remember what it was like to have him for myself for one whole night in Pisgah.
