by Mika Jolie
I hold her hand then step out of her reach. “First of all, I’ve never viewed Cori as a sister. Friend, yes, but never a sister.”
“You’re not denying the two of you had sex.”
A long weighted silence hangs over the room. I drag a hand through my hair. “What is this about, Kate?” Notice how I avoided discussing whatever happened between Coriander and me?
“She’s supposed to be untouchable. The same way I’m untouchable to your friends.”
My eyes narrow. The other night, she was at Lucas’ house, hanging out with him and Emma, like a big happy fucking family. “Which one of those assholes is sweet talking you?”
“No way, don’t try to change the topic.” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “This is about Cori and the fact that you hurt her.”
“She’s not talking to me, Kate.”
“Can you blame her?” She shakes her head. “You slept with her, then brought a woman with you to our yearly getaway, and rubbed it in her face. God, Dean, how can you be such an asshole?
I release a deep breath and drag a hand through my hair. Truth is, I am an asshole. “I’m not sleeping with Cori.” Not anymore. For fuck’s sake, we slept together one night. Okay we had sex all night and had the best morning sex of my life. My dick twitches. Mention Cori, and the asshole comes to life. “And her name is Meredith. She’s not a bimbo.” Angry maybe. The ‘go fuck yourself’ text I received a little while after I dropped her home pretty much sealed the deal of ever salvaging a friendship. Can’t blame the woman.
“So, Cori was a one-time screw?”
“Of course not.” Jesus H. Christ. My head hurts. I rub my eyes, suppressing the headache coming on. “Why are you so upset?”
“Other than the fact that now, there’s tension between my brother and a woman I consider a sister.” She looks me up and down, disgust in her brown eyes. “Cori is in love with you. Do you know that? She’s always been.” Another frustrated sigh leaves her mouth. “God knows, I don’t know why.”
Kate is still talking, but I’ve stopped listening since the Cori-is-in-love-with-you bit. “What did you say?” I ask, needing confirmation that the words I heard were not a figment of my imagination.
“You’re an inconsiderate asshole.”
Inconsiderate asshole. Check. Got it. “Before that.”
“You brought one of your bimbos on our ski trip, even though you’re sleeping with Cori, which makes you an inconsiderate asshole.”
Technically Cori and I were not sleeping together, but that’s neither here nor there. I shake my head impatiently. “Before that.”
Kate’s brows knit together. “She’s in love with you. Does that make you happy?”
Yes! My heart leaps. “Actually, it does.” I lean into my sister and place a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?”
I lock my laptop and head to the door. “You’re smart, figure it out.”
“Dean.” She’s quick by my side. One of her hands on my arm, silently pleading for me to keep my distance.
Not gonna happen.
Time to get my friend, my girl, back. “Cori and I need to talk.”
“Cori isn’t her parents. She needs a foundation, a home.” Kate’s voice is laced with love, concern. I’ve always admired their friendship.
“I’m aware of that.”
“If you can’t love her back, don’t mess with her head.”
I nod. “You have my word.”
“Friendship may, and often, does grow into love.”
A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR later, I enter Cori’s studio. A dozen needles are dancing their way across my forehead. Cori is nowhere to be found, but she’s here. I can feel her.
Other than the Callum Scott version of ‘‘Dancing on My Own” playing in the surround system, the large space is quiet. The lyrics fill the air without effort, giving me chills. In this tale of heartache, the singer is watching the woman he loves dancing with another man, while she is unaware of his presence on the dance floor. I remember the jealousy that coursed through my veins that night at the club while watching Cori dancing with Brandon. My mind replays the scene in agonizing detail. The way her body swayed to the music. The smile on her face as she looked up at him.
The green-eyed monster stabs me again. I shake the image out of my head.
Let it go, bro. You’re here to get your girl back.
Wait. Was she ever mine?
For a fleeting moment, she was.
Nerves, mingled with excitement, tap-dance in my belly. I quickly remove my coat and drop it on the green velvet lounge chair. And although I’ve been here a million times before, I give the room a cursory glance. Lots of storage space that is miraculously well-organized. Exposed wooden beams with visible pipes. Ancient mullioned windows casting squares of brilliant noon sunlight onto the wooden walnut floor. Shelves filled with color-coded paint tubes, books, vintage pottery jugs with art brushes, other materials and supplies, anything an artist could want in one place.
A wave of emotions sweep over me. I am surrounded by Cori. Her essence.
With my heart suddenly feeling too big to fit inside my rib cage, I take a few steps across the room. My pace slows as I stop to examine one of Cori’s latest art works. The colors are bold and painted with such precise lines that are curved, yet sharply defined, giving a stable appearance. Only the long, narrow lines tumble at the same time into a mosaic. Like me, I think, stable but in an emotional free-fall inside.
I’m still examining the painting, when the double doors at the back of the studio are pushed open. Cori emerges, wearing a ‘Let it Gogh’ teal T-shirt and black skinny jeans, both covered with patches of paint. Her hair is bunched in a messy bun. A dry art brush is tucked behind her ear, two rolls of paper towels in one arm, and a gallon of paint in the other.
My heart does that funny little thing saved just for Cori.
I’m so happy to see her.
But the slight pause in her steps is a clear indication the feeling is not mutual. Let’s be blunt, she doesn’t look happy to see me.
“Hi,” she greets in a low voice. “Sorry, you caught me off guard.” Her lips crack into a smile that never makes it to her eyes. I return a similar pained expression. “To what do I owe this surprise?”
My first instinct is to run to her and pull her into my arms, tell her how much I’ve missed her, her voice, her smile, her scent, her … everything.
So many words to say, but I can’t find a way to say them. My gaze lowers to my shoes for a moment. I give myself a silent pep-talk. All things break. All things can be mended. Time to fix Cori and Dean.
Meeting Cori’s gaze, I search her face and have to watch, in silence, as she closes herself off, right before my very eyes.
Okay. Okay. I can do this. Stay focused. I’m on a mission to win Cori back.
In the space of a heartbeat, I’m standing in front of her. Now that I’m closer, I notice her face is a bit puffy, her eyes red.
She’s hurting.
I’m the culprit.
My heart sinks to my stomach. Not wanting to dwell on my past actions, and how much I’ve hurt her, I take the paint and the paper towels from her hand. Our fingers touch, and I swear, her breath hitches. Ignoring the temptation to drop everything on the floor, cup her face, and brush my lips against hers, I cross the room and place her supplies on the counter top, next to the deep stainless steel sink.
Although my purpose for my visit here is clear, for a minute, I’m not sure how to proceed. My thoughts are scattered, too edgy to think straight. After a long stare, she flashes a smile, then heads over to her desk. Neither of us speak, yet the room is filled with noise—the ripping sound of tape, a sheet of paper towel tearing away from the roll, drafting paper being balled up and tossed in a wastebasket, the clink of brushes bumping against each other as Cori sorts through a jar for the right one.
“You never answered my text.” My voice slices through the
silence. It’s surprisingly controlled.
She glances at me with a puzzled frown. “You texted me?”
I nod. “Last week.”
Her index finger taps her cell phone on her desk. She lowers her head, seeming to read through her messages, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t see a text from you.”
Pulling out my phone, I check the message status. The word delivered at the bottom indicates my text has yet to be read.
“I had a phone mishap Monday night.”
On a few occasions while working, she’s dropped her phone in paint or whatever is near. Many times, we were able to salvage the device. The other times, the phone had to be replaced.
“I accidentally dropped it in a bucket of water,” she explains with a sheepish smile, and I can’t help but smile too.
“Did you have to get a new phone?”
“Yeah,” she says, blushing.
“So you didn’t just blow me off?” I ask, while rubbing the back of my neck.
She laughs. “Of course not.”
The knot of worry in my chest loosens.
She moves farther into the room, grabs a paint-splattered board, and sets it near the floor-to-ceiling window, on an old ladder that now serves as an easel. Once done, she saunters over to the shelves. After scanning the paint tubes, she grabs a few and heads toward where her easel stands.
Since I know her routine, I hustle over to the closet, grab a paint-stained sheet, and place it on the floor in front of the easel. Then I carry her stool to where she’ll be sitting.
“Thank you,” she mouths.
“Figured I could put my muscles to work.”
She smiles, the kind of smile that paints a ray of sunshine all over her face.
I made her smile.
Pleasure spreads inside my chest. My fingers are aching with a need to touch her. I want to feel her lips against mine, feel their softness, passion, and the promise of the sweetness she’s given so freely to me before.
My dick stirs for the first time in a long time. Can’t blame the shameless fucker. We’re in the same room with our Moonchild, standing inches away from her.
“So, what brought you here?” she finally asks, leafing through a book.
“I want to apologize.”
A sigh slips through her lips. Her shoulders go rigid.
“I can’t move on, Cori,” I say, ready to grovel until she sees I’m human. A flesh and blood man who is capable of making mistakes like everyone else.
Nothing but a loaded silence.
A few quick strides bring me by her side. I take the book from her hand, put it on the desk, and gather her hands in mine. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.”
“I’m not mad, Dean. I’m hurt. There’s a difference.”
I rub the pad of my thumbs over the chalk and pastel grease on her skin. “How can I make us better?”
She closes her eyes, her lips pressing together in a slight grimace. “Don’t do this.”
“The morning in the shower, I completely messed up,” I say, revisiting the hurdles leading up to where we are now. “I wish I could take back my reaction.” A deep breath slips out of my mouth. “But I can’t.”
Her chin trembles. Shit, she’s going to cry again. My doing. I don’t want to torment her any more than I already have. But I need to get everything off my chest.
“And I had no right bringing Meredith to New Hampshire.”
“Why did you?”
I’ve wracked my mind for all possible reasons, and only came up with one. I was hurt. “When I first asked her, you had just started dating again. After the night you and I shared, I should have rescinded my offer, but the way you left made me think you didn’t want a relationship. And then I thought you were still seeing Brandon.”
She lets out a breath, her eyes filled with raw emotion. “So an eye for an eye.”
No. Never. Not with Cori. She means too much to me.
“No.”
Slowly, she releases her hands from mine and ambles over to her stool. “Then why?”
“I didn’t think what we’d shared mattered to you.”
She sends me a long, pained look then breaks eye contact.
“Cori.” I take a step forward then stop. “You need to know I never want to be the one to hurt you.”
“But you’ve already hurt me, Dean.” Her voice is filled with the pain of my betrayal.
“I know.”
Silence lingers.
She removes the paint brush tucked behind her ear, examines it as if she’d forgotten it was ever there. Then she rises to her feet, walks over to one of the shelves, and sticks it into one of the vintage pottery jugs filled with other brushes. “Brandon and I went on a couple of dates. But he wasn’t the one.”
I say absolutely nothing, because I’m too fucking scared to ask if I’m the one. What if she says no?
“You’ve been on my mind,” she says, while she wipes her hands on a rag.
My heart kicks up a notch. I blink twice. No, make that at least six times. If I knew for sure I wouldn’t come across as a little on the pathetic side, I’d pinch myself.
She’s been thinking about me.
That means . . . Hope leaps wildly and ricochets off my chest. My heart has been sitting heavy in my gut for the last two weeks. Slowly, I feel it go back to its designated spot, now that Cori and I are standing face-to-face.
Fighting the urge to pull her into my arms, throw her on that desk, and make sweet, passionate love to her, I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I miss you.”
Red leaks into her cheeks as a small smile plays on her lips.
I take a couple of steps forward, closing the space between us. “Coriander.”
“I’m angry and confused.” Emotional pain seeps out of her words. She lowers her gaze to the small towel in her hand. A long beat of silence fills the room.
“Cori,” I say her name, my voice as rough as gravel, filled with panic and fear.
Chin up, she meets my gaze. “Let’s start over.”
Holy shit!
Holy shit!
She’s giving me a second chance. My breath catches. I’m happy as a pig in shit. A grin creeps onto my face, and it soon stretches from one side to the other, showing every single tooth. “I like the sound of that.”
“We can be friends,” she continues.
“Friends,” I say the word as if it’s foreign to me. No. No. I can’t go back to being the boy friend. Not with all of these emotions pouring out of me. “What’s the alternative?”
She shrugs.
Wait. That’s it? Friends. Or nothing.
Out of desperation, I want to accept her offer, comply with all the rules that come with it. Friendship is better than nothing at all, right? I mean, friendship is a precious gift. Cori doesn’t owe me sexual or romantic interactions. Just respect her, and the relationship I already have with her, right?
A convincing fuck no comes from my heart.
It’s the whole package or nothing. But I’m skating on thin ice, a new territory between us. “Is that what you want?”
“The last two weeks taught me something.”
“What’s that?” I try to ignore the tightness in my chest.
“I’d rather have you in my life as my friend than nothing at all.” She smiles and squares her shoulders.
“Do you want more?”
Her head shakes. Whether in answer to my question, or because, whatever is on her mind sums up too abstruse to understand, I have no idea. Turning her to me, I watch as her long lashes sweep upward, whiskey eyes pummeling me with a one-two gut punch.
“Too much at risk,” she says. “Our friendship is more important to me than testing the waters to see if we’d work.”
In my heart of hearts, I know Cori is the one for me, but, in her eyes, I can see the doubt and the desire to have me back in her life. I don’t want to admit it, but she has a point. There’s no guarantee we’ll work, but I want to at least try. “Okay, we ca
n go back to being just friends . . . on one condition.”
She shakes her head again. “You have that look in your eyes.”
“I want a date with you first.”
Cori stands as still as statue. “What?”
“One date.”
Her brows rise in curiosity. “Like a ‘date’ date?”
I nod, brushing the pad of my thumb over the corner of her lip. “A man and a woman date, where I kiss you at the end, or we make love.”
Her breath catches in her throat. Her eyes darken with unmistakable desire.
“However you want it to end.”
“But—”
“Say ‘Yes Dean, I’d love to go on a date with you’.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she pins me with a stare. “Why?”
But I’m not afraid anymore to let her know how I feel. My muscles are relaxed. There’s a lightness in my chest. I move closer, to erase the distance between us, facing Cori straight on. Clasping my hand around the back of her neck, I tilt my head down and kiss her. Her lips immediately part, welcoming me. Shivers run down my spine, and I cling to her like a life line, until we break for air.
“I want to be your boyfriend,” I say in a low voice, my lips a fraction away from hers.
“What?” she says on a nervous laugh.
Stroking her cheek with the pad of my thumb, I say, “Give me one date to show you I can be a great boyfriend.”
“One date,” she repeats, eyes locked on mine.
Hope burns in my heart; mentally, I will myself to stay calm. “Is that a yes?”
Her head tilts back just enough for her gaze to meet mine. I can see the flecks of doubt swirling in her eyes. There’s an emotional war going on. The part of her that wants me, then the cautious Coriander.
After the longest pause, she finally says, “Okay, Dean. One date.”
Waves of relief ripple down my spine. And I’m the happiest man in the world.
“One day, love and friendship met.”
I HAVE A LITTLE SECRET. One I’m trying to mask as I consider my appearance in my bathroom mirror.