Ignoring all three, I turn the water on the hottest it can go, hoping to wash away all of my mistakes while constantly telling myself to barge into Cole’s apartment and tell him I love him.
That if he’s willing to give this a go, then I am, too.
“You can do it,” I tell myself, repeatedly. “The worst he can say is ‘no.’” I hoped saying that last part out loud would encourage me that little bit more, but it does the opposite.
It sends panic through me.
I’ve lived with the fear of rejection my whole life.
Knowing my mom never accepted the person she helped create, resulting in me never letting anyone break down my walls.
If they couldn’t get through, they couldn’t reject me.
And if they couldn’t reject me, they couldn’t hurt me.
But that’s not true, is it?
By not letting Cole in, I’ve denied myself a chance at whatever he’s offering me, and ithurtsknowing I could have ruined it because drunk me wanted to watch him fail.
“You’ve got this.”
Turns out, I don’t, in fact, got this.
I’ve paced in front of his apartment door for five whole minutes, walking back and forth down the eerily empty hallway, genuinely surprised I haven’t heard voices coming from the other apartment on this floor.
Given the only other room is directly across from his, and occupied by Mara, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still passed out cold.
Once I’d gotten out of the shower, I threw on my typical oversized t-shirt and bike shorts, and ran out the door without shoes.
“I should’ve just baked,” I mutter to myself as I twist the door handle to find it unlocked. “Hypocrite.” I smile with a shake of my head.
His apartment is empty and quiet, with empty bottles littered everywhere, and pizza boxes scattered around his bench top.
“Cole?” I call out softly, careful not to wake his brother. I watch as his bathroom door opens, and he steps out in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
It’s like déjà vu, only this time I’m not here to tell him I want to fuck him senseless. I’m here to tell him I want to give us a real chance.
“Snow,” he whispers, stopping in his tracks, his eyes flicking to his bedroom door as it creaks open. “Shit,” he says. “I promise this isn’t—”
“Morning, big guy,” Mara says with a croaky voice, wearing nothing but the shirt Cole was wearing last night.
Her tits are perky—only just covered by the fabric—her stomach is toned, her bellybutton pierced, and her underwear a lace hot pink. Her thighs don’t touch, and there isn’t a dimple or stretch mark anywhere to be seen.
“Look what the cat dragged in. You’re brave showing your face here after the stunt you pulled last night,” she says to me, crossing her arms over her chest.
I wrack my brain, trying to recall what she’s talking about, but the only thing I seem to remember vividly was her attempting to sexually assault a man who was clearly intoxicated.
The same man she believed to be my boyfriend until that moment.
“Mara,” Cole warns her, because all he fucking does is warn her without following through with his threats.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I say, shaking my head instead of telling him what I came here to say.
“You’re absolutely right about that,” she says, taking a step closer to Cole, attempting to hook her arm around his waist, but he wriggles free. “And it’s about time you accepted it. I’m good for his career. You’re nothing but the help.” My eyes flick between the two of them, hoping he corrects her.
Tell her she’s wrong, I beg him with my eyes.
Tell me this is all a misunderstanding.My hands shake by my sides, but he freezes.
