Before he can come up with another lame excuse that has nothing to do with me, I end the call.
I haven’t even set my phone down before it rings again.Jesus H. Christ and the horse he rode in on.
“For the love of all things holy,” I bark into the phone. “What in the ever-loving hell do you not understand about leaving me alone? Should I say it in French to get it through that thick skull of yours?Va te faire foutre.Understand that?”
There’s an elongated pause on the other end of the line, followed by a throaty chuckle that has the annoying habit of making me clench my thighs together. “I didn’t realize you spoke French, bean.”
My cheeks heat. Hell, my whole body heats, and not in a good way. “I don’t, but I do know a few choice phrases.”
It was how I covertly swore in front of my siblings when they were young. Fat lot of good that did me, considering Ava’s favorite word is “asshole.”
“Clearly,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
God, I swear he has to gargle gravel to make his voice that rumbly.
“My ex doesn’t seem to understand the concept ofwe’re not getting back together because you cheated on me,” I tell him.
Cole growls. He literallygrowlsinto the phone, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “He cheated on you?”
I hit the speaker button and set the device on the counter. I’m not embarrassed by it. His cheating has everything to do with him and nothing to do with me, but that doesn’t mean I want to get into the nitty-gritty details. “According to Josh, it wasn’t cheating. It was a momentary lapse in judgment.”
“What a fucking idiot,” Cole huffs. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness or you. And he needs to understand that you’re no longer his. Tell him he needs to back off.”
Whoa, there. I roll my eyes as I get a second towel for my hair. “Roger that, sir.”
“I’m serious, Maya. If he doesn’t get the memo, I’ll happily deliver it.”
My insides light up.Is Cole… jealous?
Nope. Not going there. “So, uh… what’s up?”
He makes an unintelligible noise, then cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. “It’s last minute, so if you have plans, I understand, but my meeting got rescheduled and I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me. I leave tomorrow and won’t be back until the New Year. I’m fine ordering in; I know restocking takes a lot out of you. But I’d like to see you. If you’re free. And want to.”
Cole’s rambling is more endearing than it should be. And it lowers my defenses just enough for a “sure!” to pop out. I can handle dinner at my apartment with the guy I fantasized about playing with my nipples no less than fifteen minutes ago. I think.
“Okay, great. I’m craving Chinese,” Cole continues, “and this new spot just opened around the corner from me. Thoughts?”
“Sounds good. What time do you want to come over? Seven-ish?”
That’ll give me enough time to clean my hot mess of an apartmentandblow dry my hair so I don’t look like a troll doll.
“That works. I’ve got to shower”—welcome back, inappropriate thoughts—“but traffic from here to the Back Bay shouldn’t be too bad.”
My breath catches and my senses tingle. “Uh, how do you know where I live?”
He chuckles, the sound raspy through the phone. “Don’t tell me you forgot that we kissed outside your door.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flush furiously, and it has nothing to do with the post-shower steam fogging up my bathroom mirror. “Right. Well, um, see you then!”
Once I’ve ended the call, I do a quick tidy of my apartment—a.k.a. shoving every miscellaneous item into my laundry basket and hiding it in my bedroom—then cycle through three different legging-and-sweater combos before landing on one that doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. Or so I hope.
By the time Cole arrives, my apartment is in semi-decent shape and I am, too. Cole, on the other hand? I don’t think he’s ever been less than extraordinarily handsome in his life. Even in sweatpants and a fitted tee, he looks like he stepped out of an ad campaign.
He leans against the doorframe in all his holy glory. His jaw is dusted in a layer of scruff and his plump lips are fixed into a reckless grin. The kind that urges me to knock the wonton soup out of his hands and climb him like a damn monkey.
It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to remain where I am.
“Hey,” he greets me. “I come bearing gifts.”
