I’m desperate for it, and if I were the type to give in to temptation, I would be banging on Cole’s apartment door, demanding he give me what belongs to me.
The toy, that is.
Not him.
Definitely not him.
“Knock-knock.” Cassandra’s voice sounds from my door before she opens it, letting herself in. After Cole questioned me for leaving my apartment unlocked, I took his advice and locked it. But I expected my best friend this morning, so I didn’t bother to lock it when I got home from the grocery store.
“Hi,” I call out over my shoulder without looking at her, busying myself in my kitchen.
“What’s going on?” she asks cautiously, singing out the word ‘on’, and I hear one of the stools at my island squeak as she takes a seat.
“Baking,” I tell her over the sound of my brand new mixer working overtime. I’m flipping through the pages of a desserts cookbook that I spotted at my twelfth visit to the grocery store in ten days.
I’ve developed a problem.
At least it’s not alcohol, I remind myself.
“I think you mean nervous baking,” she corrects me, clearing her throat, her fingers tapping against my counter. “You haven’tbakedin the last year, Jenna, and now, suddenly, it’s how you spend all of your free time. Wanna tell me what’s going on, or can I guess?” she asks, and I spin on my heels to watch her, not missing the humor across her face while she snorts at my appearance. “And I have a good feeling that if I were to guess, it would be pretty accurate.”
“That bad?” I ask, sighing as I wash my cake batter covered hands in the sink with warm, soapy water.
“You have what looks like flour on your face and egg in your hair. Almost as if you’ve just stepped out of a movie.” She hands me a pocket mirror from her purse, and I stare at my reflection blankly. I’ve seen it all before.
Especially in the last week and a half.
There are cracked eggshells on my bench top, milk splattered in various locations on the ground and near the sink, whisks,spatulas and spoons all covered with some type of creamy looking substance that I have no memory of making, and my eyes heavy with dark circles that not even concealer could hide.
I’ve barely slept since Cole burst through my apartment door while Cassandra was here having our weekly catch up. And, of course, it had to happen the one time her sisters tagged along.
It’s been ten, very long, sleepless nights.
I’m running off fumes, and cake batter, apparently.
I was sure he was reading lines off his script when he blurted out what he did. It sounded so rehearsed. But the way he blushed when he noticed we had company told me the words came from him, and that he meant them, too.
It’s no secret that he and I have had sex, now on more than one occasion. And—thanks to his uninvited outburst—it’s obvious to everybody in my close circle that it’s something he wants to continue.
Me sleeping with Cole at Cassandra and Harley’s house broke every single rule I’d had in place for my own protection. I’ve only ever slept with one man multiple times and he broke my heart into a million tiny pieces because of a mistake my mom made.
Until now, I’ve stuck to it.
I’ve gone against everything I said I would do, all because, suddenly, sex with one man has become my absolute weakness, and I don’t know how to make it fuckingstop.
“Why don’t you let it just…happen, Jenna?” My best friend hands me a towel that she dampened to clean the ingredients off my skin before rounding the bench top to guide me to my couch.
“I don’t know,” I admit with a sigh, taking a seat. “We have an expiration date, and I guess that’s a good thing, but what if my walls come down without my permission? What if, when the time comes, I don’t want it to be over?” I whisper, hating that I’ve just admitted it out loud. “Or, you know, what ifhefalls in love with me andIhave to be the one to break hisheart?” I playfully roll my eyes, hoping it steers the tone of the conversation to something a little less vulnerable.
I hate this daily internal battle I’m fighting.
He wants me; he wants me not.
“Listen. I’m a relationship girl. We both know it. But for as long as I’ve known you, you haven’t been. I met Harrison once, and that was when he broke up with you, and you threw all his shit out the window of our apartment.” She chuckles, taking my hand in hers, placing them both in her lap. “Since then, you’ve never let anybody get close to you—”
“That’s—”
“Don’t you dare blame the stupid Rogers curse, Jenna, or I’ll pour that entire bowl of cake batter all over your damn head and have Harley cut the water to the building.” She huffs, cutting short my attempted protest, and I absolutely believe that she would do something like that. “Harrison is in the past and what your mom did to break you guys up is right there with it. You’ve healed from it. He no longer exists in our world. Focus on you. If having sex with Cole is something you want to do, then fucking do it.” She walks to my kitchen, finds two champagne flutes and fills them with tap water.
