“Would you get your dirty boots off the table?” Van’s voice carries into the kitchen from the living room.
“Why? A little dirt would do your prim, anal tendencies some good?” TJ’s low voice grumbles.
Jos groans. “If you two want to keep at it, take it to the bedroom. I’m about to shove my head in the refrigerator and slam it just so I don’t have to listen to your constant verbal sparring.”
I grab a bottle of water and a granola bar, then join them in time to hear Van ask, “Why are you even here? Can’t find any other women willing to tolerate your militarist, emotionally unavailable state?”
“Oh, for the love of. . . ” Jos pops off the couch. “I need sugar if I’m going to survive the two of you.”
I flop on the couch beside TJ as sports highlights flash on the TV.
Great.
This is exactly what I was trying to avoid today.
“Where have you been?” TJ grumbles.
“The gym.”
It was the only place to help me keep from thinking about Cole.
“You didn’t watch the game?” Jos hollers from the kitchen.
I thought about it all afternoon. Really, I thought about him, his wrist, and whether he won. Instead, I ran ten miles and punched the shit out of a bag. Then, I showered and pulled on the sweatshirt I officially stole from him. It’s the one thing I’m allowing myself.
I tuck my knees inside the soft material and bring them to my chest, inhaling his scent.
Jos curls into a chair, shoving a bite of—
“What is that?” I squint, leaning closer to inspect the food in her hand.
“Oh, this?” She holds it out. “They were delivered earlier. The box is on the counter. I left the card beside it.”
I stare at her as my stomach twists and then flutters back open. “Go ahead. Help yourself,” I say, shoving my legs out and standing.
“Listen, I had to deal with these two for the last hour, trying to watch The Assignment. . . ”
I don’t hear the rest as I rush to the kitchen. On the counter is a plain white bakery box with a card beside it.
I pull in a breath, lifting the envelope and slipping the note out.
You owe me another dance.
I close my eyes.
Damn him.
I’m doing thisforhim.
I lift the lid, and inside are a dozen, well, now, eleven of those ridiculously addicting cookies. Cole’s winning cookies.
My eyes burn.Someday he’ll see.
I close the lid, depriving myself of anything good.
Shit.Who am I kidding?
I flip it back open. Maybe just one, but only if he won the game. It seems fair.
