“Tinkering?”He pulls back a fraction, assessing me, his sleepy eyes full of warmth.
“Mm-hmm. You know… toying with the idea, exploring my options, dabbling?—”
Cole picks me off my feet and tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of sweet potatoes, and all the air is forced from my lungs. “I know what it means, smart-ass.”
He digs his fingers into my side gently, and I squeal at the tickle attack, squirming as he strides for the couch.
“Cole!” I half laugh, half shout. “Put me down.”
He hoists me off his shoulder, but instead of setting me on my feet, he drops onto the couch and maneuvers me so I’m straddling him with our chests pressed together. “There. Now you’re down.”
I rest my hands on his shoulders, catching my breath. “Was that necessary?”
“Yep. Now I can hear you better.”
Though I roll my eyes at his bullshit excuse, a smile still plays on my lips. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I started mapping out story ideas.”
The corners of his lips creep up. “When can I read it?”
I puff out a deep breath. “I told you it’s not written yet. I literallyjuststarted really considering it this morning.”
He shakes his head. “No, the short story. I want to read that.”
“Oh.” Heat floods my face.
Head tilted, he studies me. “Other people have read it, right?”
By “other people,” he means Brian, whom he dislikes for no other reason than that the man exists. “People in my class have, yes.”
“Then don’t you think your own boyfriend should?”
Shoulders slumping, I sigh. “If you tell me you like it, I’m going to think you’re saying that because you’re my boyfriend. And if you tell me you don’t like it, I’ll pretend not to care but I’ll secretly be super upset. See the predicament?”
Cole gazes at me until I start to squirm under the scrutiny. He’s not going to let this go.Shit.
“You also don’t read that much,” I add.
He continues to stare just like Goose did this morning.
“And I don’t know if I can trust your judgment, considering you don’t likeNew Girl, an objectively funny show.”
When he stays silent, I pull back, arms crossed, and frown. “You’re being rude.”
“I haven’t said anything,” he counters.
“Which is rude.”
His mask finally cracks and he gives me a small grin. “You watch all of my hockey games even though you don’t understand all the nuances and rules, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s no different from me reading your work.” He squeezes my hips to emphasize his point. “And if I play poorly or have a bad game, that doesn’t mean I’m a bad player, does it?” Without waiting for a response, he goes on. “So in the very unlikely event that your story isn’t the best thing I’ve ever read—because honestly, I don’t know if anything will topAlien Lovers of Planet Dexxar—that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”
Tipping my head back, I let out a resounding groan. “Fine.” I clamber out of his lap, barely dodging the smack he tries to land on my ass, and stomp to the kitchen table, where I find the story in my aptly titled Creative Writing Class folder. Once I’ve handed it over, I try to sit next to Cole on the couch, but he pulls me back into the same position. I can’t say that I mind straddling my extremely sexy boyfriend, but it’s not conducive to reading. Even so, he holds me in place with one hand while he dives in.
I study every micro-expression on his face as he pores over my words. The way the right side of his mouth twitches at certain parts or how his brows lift almost imperceptibly at others. He even chuckles a couple of times. The moment is uncomfortably intimate. Though I know Cole won’t judge me based on what he’s reading, it’s hard not to feel as though that’s exactly what will happen.
He finishes, and as he sets the papers to the side, my body tenses with anticipation.
