by Lily Kate
That’s the final straw. I whip the car around, make my way toward the Lion’s Tavern, and park. It looks like I’ve beat Cohen here, so I order a drink and find the first open seat at the bar when my phone rings.
My heart stutters, skips a beat—it’s him.
I click answer, but not before I hear his voice speaking aloud, and it’s not filtering through the speaker.
“Well, look who it is,” he says, smiling when my gaze rises to meet his. “I’m glad you showed up, sweetheart.”
I gurgle a response, one that’s interrupted as he swoops in and plants a kiss on my lips that would’ve knocked my socks off had they not already been knocked off once tonight.
“Hi,” I say, once we pause for breath. “I don’t have to stay long if you want some time with your friends. I just needed one more kiss.”
“Well, we can fix that.” His other hand slides up to meet his first, and together they frame my face in his warm palms. Then he pulls me in, and presses a gentle kiss to my mouth. It’s slow, sensual, and it heats me up from the inside. “How about that?”
“Better.” I smack my lips. “But feel free to keep practicing.”
“I can’t believe you came here. I thought for sure you’d gone home.”
“Maybe it’s all a dream,” I say with a grin. “Because it feels pretty surreal to me. I never do things like this.”
“I can think of a solution to that.” Cohen traces one hand down my cheek, his fingertips leaving a trail of sparks behind. “What if you come home with me tonight? That way, once the sun rises and we’re still together, you don’t have to wonder if you’ve imagined it all.”
I rest my fingers on his chest, and I now understand why women everywhere have swooned over professional athletes since sports were invented. It’s not that Cohen is beautiful —he’s not in the traditional sense—but seeing him play tonight was eye opening.
All the adrenaline, the testosterone, the raw athleticism in his blood—there’s something inherently male about it, and the aura swirls around him now, and I sink further into his embrace.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling a very real sense of sadness that I can’t accept his offer. “I have class tomorrow. Plus, we haven’t had our first date yet.”
He frowns. “I want to argue with you, but I didn’t expect to win this battle, so I’ll let you have it.”
“I’m going to see you tomorrow.”
“I know.” He sighs, and blinks long and hard. “I’ll try my damndest to be patient.”
“I’m here now,” I say, a hint of light-hearted in my voice. “In case you want to make the most of it.”
“Honey, I don’t want you to ever wonder if this was a dream,” he says, leaning toward me and smelling of spice and need and desire. “So let’s make this something to remember.”
“Oh...” I can’t form a full response as his lips inch toward mine, tantalizing. I surrender to him, body, mind, heart because it’s more than a kiss. It’s almost as if he’s marking me, taking me as his own in front of all these people.
The hand he’s rested on the bar smooths over my back, sliding lower, lower, until the tips of his fingers reach the top of my waistband. He reaches the danger zone as his fingers dip inside, toying with the thin band of lace.
“Holy smokes, Cohen James,” a female voice says. “I thought you already played one game tonight. Round two for tonsil hockey?”
Cohen pulls back, but he keeps one arm snug around me. “Great timing, Chels.”
The brunette—probably the one who’d driven Cohen to the bar—sticks her hand unashamedly between us for a shake. I meet her fingers, looking up to find pretty brown eyes brimming with energy.
“I’m Chelsea,” she says. “Just so we make sure nothing’s weird, I want you to know that Cohen and I go way back. Childhood friends. We tried the kissing thing once when we were sixteen, and it went horribly wrong. Zero chemistry. Ever since then we’ve been friends. Siblings, really.”
“I’m Annie,” I say, digesting her words while struggling for a response. “I’m... uh, well, I’m Cohen’s...”
He watches me, amusement in his eyes as I struggle to find the right word. “I’m listening,” he says. “What are we?”
“I met Cohen at the YMCA,” I say, turning to Chelsea. “He’s my instructor.”
“Oh, how romantic,” Chelsea says without batting an eye. “Anyway, just wanted to say hello while we’re waiting for my fiancé to show up—he’ll be here any second.”
“Congratulations! When are you getting married?”
“We haven’t set a date yet.” She flaunts a hand in my direction, bling shining from her finger. “This just happened last weekend. We did a trip to Seattle, then went exploring the wine country. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Beautiful,” I say. “So sparkly.”
“Yes,” she sighs dramatically, “I love it, too. Then again, I picked it out. Enough about us old boring engaged folks. How long have you been dating?”
“Oh, uh, we just met,” I say. “We’re not dating.”
“Well, we will be,” Cohen clarifies. “She finally agreed to go out on a date with me tomorrow, and I’m determined not to screw it up.”
“Yay!” Chelsea pinches Cohen’s cheeks and gives him a cheesy smile. “You’ve found a winner, Annie. If I didn’t see him as a brother, I’d have taken him myself.”
An unfamiliar male voice clears his throat. “We talked about this,” the newcomer says, throwing an arm around Chelsea. “You can’t run off with the best man.”
Cohen turns to the newcomer. “How are you, Rich?”
Rich—tall, handsome in a shiny sort of way—clasps Cohen to his chest. Where Cohen is rugged, a bit battered even, Rich has the sleek polish of a Wall Street banker. Rubbing a hand over his fiancée’s back, he’s quiet in his affection toward her. If she’s all bright and festive, he’s more of a dull, metallic color that shines underneath her light. They complement one another.
“Have you ever been to New York? We’re debating a wedding there next fall.” Chelsea says, gesturing toward the waiter for a refill on her vodka soda. “Extra lemon, please.”
“No, always wanted to, though,” I say.
“This’ll be the perfect opportunity, won’t it Rich?” Chelsea slides her hand over his shoulder and gives a squeeze. “Cohen, you’d better hang onto this one long enough to bring her. We only allow for plus ones that we both like, and Annie fits the bill. Right, Rich?”
“Absolutely,” he says.
“Rich is a man of few words,” Chelsea says. “That’s why he can put up with me. I talk enough for four people.”
“We’ll have to see,” I hedge. “My mom’s getting married this summer, so I’m getting booked up with weddings.”
“Around here?” Chelsea asks.
“No, it’s down in the Caribbean.” My eyes give a shifty glance toward Cohen. “On a boat.”
Chelsea puts a manicured fingernail to her lips. She points it between the two of us, her jeweled fingers glittering under the dim lighting. “That’s how the two of you met? Swimming stuff? I knew Cohen was doing that volunteer thing.”
“I really hate water,” I admit. “And I promised my mom that I’d learn to swim by my next birthday.”
“Lucky for me,” Cohen says.
“Freaking adorable.” Chelsea grins. “We’ll keep you guys posted on the bachelor and bachelorette party. If you’re coming to the wedding, you might as well attend the pre-party. I promise it’ll be a blast.”
I wait for Cohen to take the lead which, thankfully he does by pestering Rich with questions about the impending bachelor festivities. I excuse myself to use the restroom and slide away before I’m forced into any more talk about happily ever afters.
When I return, Chelsea and Rich are in a conversation about flowers, and Cohen is staring with a somewhat wanton expression into his beer. I want to stay longer, but I do have class in the morning. I thank them for the invitation and say my go
odbyes.
“Let me walk you out,” Cohen says, despite my protests. Slipping a hand behind my back, he leaves me with no real choice in the matter. “Wait here,” he tells the others. “I’ll just be a minute.”
The temperature has dropped even lower, and I hide underneath all my layers of clothing. Cohen reaches over, his hands bare, and tugs the fur lined hood of my jacket up and over my head.
“Stay warm,” he says with a wink. “Can’t have you getting sick before our date tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise.
When we stop next to my car, he continues one step further to engulf me in a warm embrace. His breath is hot against the top of my head as he leans closer and plants a kiss just below my hairline.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” he whispers. “I won’t ask to stay over, I promise.”
“No, stay with your friends. Chelsea’s great, and Rich too. Plus, you have to celebrate. You’re the hero tonight, after all.”
“Just say the word, and I’ll hop in your car and leave it all behind. My place, your place—your choice.”
I let my hands find their way around his back, slipping underneath the thick winter coat. My fingers rest against his shirt as I lean into him, the sheer size of him offering a wall of safety against the wind. I’m not looking forward to letting go.
“Thank you. Drive safe, okay?”
“Thank you for what?”
His face cracks into a smile. “For giving me a chance.”
I nod, since I can’t think of a way to respond that won’t have me asking him to come home with me. Instead, I beep my car unlocked and step backward. I slide into the driver’s seat and halfway wish my car won’t start. Then I’d have no choice but to stay with him longer.
Unfortunately, I’ve had reason and logic engrained in my brain for too long, and they win out this time. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say through my cracked window. “Sweet dreams, Cohen.”
Chapter 25
ANNIE
“Good morning, sunshine!” The words rain down on me, harsh pellets in the early darkness just before dawn. “Rise and shine, darling.”
My eyes crack open, screaming with reluctance, as I pair the screeching voice with the face of my grandmother. She’s dressed in a suit that looks like her Sunday best, except it’s pink and velvet. I believe she thinks it’s trendy.
“Gran, what are you doing here?” I pull the covers up to my chest. “How did you get inside my apartment?!”
“It wasn’t my fault.” Sarah pokes her head into the bedroom behind Gran, obviously anticipating my questions. “She bribed me. You know I can’t resist her homemade cinnamon rolls.”
“There are homemade cinnamon rolls?” I tilt my head to the side, considering this new piece of information. “Why do I feel like this is a trick? Don’t eat the rolls, Sarah, she wants something from us.”
“Nope,” Gran corrects. “Just from you, darling.”
I sigh and collapse back against the pillows. “It couldn’t wait until the sun rose?”
“I need you to come eat breakfast.” Gran reaches for my covers and pulls them back. “With your new teammates.”
“What team?”
“The synchronized swim team—The Dolphins—has a planning meeting today, and as an active member of the team, you need to be there.”
“You named yourself The Dolphins?”
“Because we’re beautiful and graceful.”
“I can’t come. Not today.”
“Unless you have a smoking hot date waiting for you outside, you’re coming with me.” Gran puts a hand on her hip and watches my face. “Holy guacamole, Annie. You’ve got a hot date!”
Sarah barrels into the room behind Gran. “Is this true?!”
I groan and pull a pillow over my face.
“Who is he?”
“Is this the swim stud?”
“Where are you going?”
“What are you doing?”
“Pictures? Can I come?”
I wave them away and try to inch the blankets higher, but seeing as they’re both sitting firmly on my comforter, it’s impossible.
“Cohen James,” I say. “You both know him. Of him, at least.”
“Good thing it’s barely six a.m.” Gran raises her eyebrows. “Surely you have time for a quick breakfast before your date.”
“No, I need beauty sleep.”
“We’re buying,” Gran says. “Really nice latte. From your favorite place down the road.”
“Brewberries?”
“The one and only.”
I inhale, letting the breath sizzle out in a frustrated rush. Breakfast from Brewberries is a tough offer to turn down. Especially since the damage of waking up early had already been done.
“Fine,” I agree. “But I have to be back in time for class. No exceptions. You’ve got an hour.”
“Deal,” Gran says. “Sarah, you’re welcome to come with us, but you’ll be sworn to secrecy. Either that, or you have to join the swim team.”
“I’ll stay here,” she chirps, and it’s suspiciously cheery. “Cinnamon rolls.”
“SOMETHING WITH THE museums?” Miranda Shaun says. “I’m on the board for the Natural History Museum, maybe we could work out some sort of deal with them.”
“Nope,” Gran says. “Too boring.”
“Car wash?” Lottie Bolt asks. “After all, we have those really sexy swimsuits that go up your hiney. I think we could make a nice chunk of change with a car wash.”
“Now you’re talking.” Gran grins. “I like Lottie’s idea. What do you think, Annie? You’ve seen the suits I found.”
“Oh, um... I don’t think that’s the best option. And those are not the suits we’re going with; we decided on skirts.”
“Really?” Lottie asks. “Why not?”
“Well, it’s not exactly original,” I say. “Pretty much every cheerleading squad and dance troupe in America uses car washes for fundraisers. Also, the suits Gran found would get you kicked off the streets for indecent exposure.”
I survey the ten ladies here, all of them having dragged themselves out of bed at the crack of dawn to talk about fundraising for a retired synchronized swim team.
They want to buy matching suits for the competition, and they want to do it the old-fashioned way with real, honest-to-goodness fundraising. My mind is boggled. It’s not like these ladies can’t just afford a suit.
“What about selling candy bars or something?” Miranda asks. “It must work. Kids are still coming around with them.”
“Nope,” Gran says. “We’re old. Half of us can’t eat candy anymore. As for me, I want to be skinny for the competition.”
“I like chocolate,” Lottie says. “But not nuts. I’m allergic to nuts.”
“What if we didn’t do chocolate, but some other treat?” Miranda looks around. “We could bake. Everyone loves baked goods.”
“Then we need everyone to bring something, and it’s a lot of work,” Gran says. “Something easier.”
“What if we all cooked together?” I raise a hand and glance at the ladies. “Pancake breakfast! Those can be fun.”
“I like this,” Gran says. “That’s where we all cook and sell tickets for five bucks a pop, right? It’s like a social gathering and a fundraiser. I bet everyone from church will come.”
“Donald loves pancakes,” Miranda says. “He’ll bring all of his poker friends.”
Gran leans over and whispers, “Donald’s her husband. He’s a grouch, but he’s rich. Fancy dentist or something.”
“Donald’s friends tip very well,” Miranda says, not disagreeing with the rest of it. “I think this is a great idea. We’ll have swimsuits in no time. Anything extra we can donate to charity.”
Lottie gives a resounding cheer all by herself. Then, she gestures for the waitress to pour another round of coffee and raises her mug like a mimosa. “All for it, say aye!”
An excited chorus of aye reaches my ears, and I
squint at the enthusiasm.
“My church has a gathering area in the basement they don’t use much Saturday mornings,” Lottie offers, pulling over a napkin and scribbling the name on it. “So long as there’s not a funeral, we should be good to use it there. We can make a donation with the leftover funds.”
“Done.” I take a napkin from Lottie. “I vote sometime in April. Give the weather some time to warm up, but it’s still early enough that we’re not running up against the dress rehearsal for the swim competition.”
“I’ll call and book a date so people know not to die that week,” Lottie says. “Even if there is a funeral, maybe we can combine the two and get some mourners in for pancakes.”
“Lottie!” Miranda says, her voice hushed. “Have some sensitivity.”
“It’s not a horrible idea,” Gran says. “It might cheer them up. Pancakes always make me happy.”
“Gran!” It’s my turn to scold. “Okay, I’m glad this is settled. I have to get to class.”
Calls of thank-you drift up from the table as Gran stands next to me. Together, we wave, call goodbyes to all, and head out the door. Once in the car, I look over at Gran who’s smiling happily behind the wheel.
“One question,” I tell her as she flicks on a pair of bright purple sunglasses and throws the car into reverse. “Why on earth do you need a fundraiser? Miranda’s got a ring on her finger the size of Jupiter. She could afford all of them.”
“Yeah, but it’s fun. I’m old, honey.” Gran rests her hand on my leg and gives a squeeze. “Let a woman have some fun. Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet a dashing young man there who’ll ask me on a date. Now, enough about me. Are you excited for today?”
“Sure.”
“You’re guarding yourself.”
“Am not.”
“Fine, then let’s try this again. Are you excited for today?”
“Maybe.” I offer her a small smile. “It’s too early to tell.”
“Take a leap, dear. Let yourself feel excited.”
“It’s too soon! When did you leap with Gramps?”