Cole (All In Book 2)

by Liz Meldon

  “Of course. I don’t want either of you to get into any legal trouble. You don’t have to tell me anything about your relationship.” He studied the leaf, the green shimmer catching in the sunlight streaming through the enormous windows at the far end of the couch. “Cole has always spoken of you, without naming you, rather affectionately. I assumed there was a sort of familial-like bond between him and his…person.”

  Great. Skye chomped on her half of the leaf, catching the bits that crumbled onto her shirt. So, Cole talked about her like she was, what, a little sister? He had always been protective over her; he’d spared no expense on security for the apartment, installed all the right apps on her phone and laptop to keep her data safe, and insisted on her being escorted home after night outings, usually by his assistant if he couldn’t do it personally—even when his assistant wasn’t technically on the clock. She was a year younger; it made some sense that he would describe her as a sister to someone like Finn.

  But just because it made sense didn’t make it feel good.

  “Judging from your expression, that isn’t welcome news,” Finn mused. Heat flooded her cheeks and she looked away quickly, wishing he couldn’t read her quite so well. After all, he didn’t know her; they’d just had sex.

  “It’s fine,” she said, ignoring how stiff her words sounded. “Cole and I are friends too. I mean, outside of all the, you know, sugar daddy stuff, I actually think he’s one of my best friends. It doesn’t bother me that he’d talk about me like that.”

  “Funny how I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, I guess that’s your problem, isn’t it?” She picked at her nails, waiting. If Finn had worn a suit, he might have stood and buttoned up his jacket. Instead, he merely drummed his fingers along the back of the couch, smirking, and then tapped Oz lightly on the head. The cat rolled over, paws poised for destruction.

  “I’m not here to waste anyone’s time, Miss Summers,” he said, a shiver running down her spine at the use of her last name—something else she hadn’t given him. “Least of all my own.”

  Her gaze followed him as he stood. “Because you’re a very busy man?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Most of you are.”

  “Hmm. I suppose.” He pursed his lips, as if unimpressed with her implication. “So, let me be perfectly frank. Are you in love with Cole?”

  Her whole body seemed to spontaneously ignite at the question, her cheeks on fire, the heat spreading down her neck and under the scoop neck of her slouchy tee. “I… I… No.”

  Skye had never asked herself the question before, not seriously anyway, but it worried her that she stuttered over her answer. Even if she did love Cole, what was the point? Nothing was ever going to happen—why pine over a man who adored you like a sister, and whose friendship you might never be able to live without?

  “Right,” Finn said briskly, running a hand down the front of his T-shirt like he was smoothing the creases from a four-hundred-dollar button-down. “If there’s romantic love between you two, I’ll bow out. I’ll withdraw my name from consideration. I have no interest in mangling either of your hearts.”

  She sniffed, her heart pounding. “How noble of you.”

  “But since you’re not in love with him”—he looked down at her for confirmation, and she hastily shook her head—“then I’m all in.”

  “But—”

  “Not in public, of course,” Finn insisted, quieting her with his hands as one might soothe a startled horse. “I understand there are contractual obligations between you and Cole regarding your public personas, and I’m not here to sully that. But in private, I’m coming after you.” He all but smoldered down at her and Skye’s stupid stomach butterflies were positively beside themselves. “Hard.”

  “Why?” Skye couldn’t think of anything else to say in response to that. Never in her life had someone stated their active intention to pursue her. Even before Cole and the whole sugar daddy business, her dating life had been stunted because she worked all the time. Dates were more like one-night stands, and long-term relationships were usually just friends-with-benefits hook-ups that usually included food after.

  Finn studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  She snorted. “No.”

  “Me neither. Worth a shot though.” He flashed a smirk before swooping down and kissing her firmly, a hand on the back of the couch while the other cupped her face. The butterflies turned to fireworks, and she let out a tattered, ragged moan, her eyes dropping closed as her body arched up toward him of its own accord, desperate to be closer. Finn pulled away abruptly, ending the kiss just as quickly as it began, and her lips tingled pleasantly in his absence. When she pressed her hands to her furiously burning cheeks, her eyes wide, he laughed and headed for the door.

  “Now, put my number from the business card into your phone,” he instructed, pointing to the abandoned black rectangle on the couch, “and text me so I have a better means of reaching you. Otherwise I’m just going to keep showing up here at inopportune times to kiss you.”

  “What a nightmare,” she said, pleased that her voice wasn’t a breathless mess. “Whatever’s a girl to do?”

  “Call me.” He flashed one last gorgeous grin before leaving, the most graceful, suave exit her front door had ever experienced.

  Alone again, Skye sank down into the couch and groaned, hands pressing harder to her cheeks.

  In her peripherals, over her fingertips, she caught Ozzy staring at her.

  “Oh, don’t judge me,” she snapped. “You were all over him too.”

  The cat offered a slow blink in response before resuming his noisy grooming session.

  What the hell had just happened? Was this real life? She wasn’t dreaming, passed out in delirious excitement after landing an interview?

  She let out a laugh born from adrenaline, anxiety, and flattery before heading for the chocolate roses on her kitchen island. Skye broke the head off one and shoved it in her mouth, then let herself moan as loudly as she had wanted to initially. Rai’s Sweets made the best chocolate in the entire world—fact. Unable to resist, Skye pulled out a barstool and dug in, deciding that gorging herself was easier—and more fun—than thinking about Finn Rai’s proposal.

  And his burning question: was she in love with Cole?

  She shook her head. No. That was a question she could save for another day. For now—twelve long-stemmed roses made entirely of chocolate were begging to be eaten in a single sitting.

  Who was Skye to refuse them?

  2

  Downward Dog

  “We have five other candidates to interview before the week is up, but I think you’d be a fine addition to the staff here.”

  Skye forced herself to sit still and swallow that maniacal cackle climbing up her throat at the thought of being able to end her job hunting for good. Hans Timmons, her interviewer at Gallery Sens, the sex museum disguised as a fine arts gallery for nudes to throw off fickle outsiders, had seemed thrilled with all her answers. Over the course of her nearly two-hour-long interview, they had chatted about her Museum Studies degree, her old customer service jobs, her cat—pretty much everything under the sun.

  Not only did he appear to like talking to her, but he hadn’t stopped smiling since Skye walked in, and she knew it hadn’t anything to do with her slim-fit green pencil skirt or the snug beige blouse she wore with it; all the Pride flags, pins, and law-reform-themed newspaper clippings suggested he went to bat for a different team altogether. Which she preferred. Skye had experienced one too many gross, leering interviewers in her day. None in the museum sector so far, but those fast food managers had liked to play just as fast and loose as their burgers.

  “Well, thank you for a fantastic interview,” she said, offering her hand over the desk and smiling when he took it with a surprisingly firm grip. Given the frail figure and the skin so tanned it could be a decent leather handbag knock-off, she had expected the sa
me wimpy little fingertip-grab she’d endured at other museum interviews. Not so. It was clear that Hans Timmons had a zest for life and had found his calling. She could only hope to feel the same one day.

  “I’ll be in touch after the weekend, whether you get the position or not.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  After getting sucked into a quick chat about weekend plans, which so far consisted of a tentatively scheduled beach day with her friends, Skye excused herself, ignored the other buttoned-up candidate waiting outside the office door, and practically skipped outside. The museum was a comfortable twenty-minute walk from home; it would be less comfortable as the summer dragged on and the heat got worse, but she really dug the guy running things. Now, if only everyone else could tank their interviews, then the coveted position of curator’s assistant—to the whole museum—would be hers.

  Rather than wearing the exhaustion of a two-hour conversation like a second skin, Skye walked out of Gallery Sens with a giddy spring in her step. While she’d planned to pick up food on the way home and crash on the couch with Ozzy, right now she had the energy to make her usual Wednesday night yoga class.

  So, she hurried home, changing out of her sweaty—both from the nerves and the late-afternoon heat—interview attire and into her standard yoga gear: bright purple knee-length leggings, a cute new sports bra, and a big slouchy tee. This T-shirt in particular had a photo of kitten-aged Oz on it; her friend Brynn had made it to celebrate her main man’s first birthday three years ago. Throw in her comfiest flip-flops, a dollop of sunscreen for the walk, and her vintage aviators—another gift from Cole—and Skye was ready to party.

  She paused only briefly, leaning against the kitchen island to respond to Finn’s text asking how her interview went. When she gave him the good news, he texted back a slew of heart-eyed emojis, which made her laugh, followed by an invitation to celebratory drinks at a bar up the street. Grinning, Skye shot him down as politely as she could, which he gracefully accepted a few moments later by asking if they were still team-watching a reality cooking show together that night instead. Last week, they had realized they both watched the same show every Wednesday night, and then spent the whole episode texting about the dramatic contestants and the awful judges—and now apparently it was their new weekly thing. Skye’s butterflies did somersaults at the thought, and she agreed, promising to have her snark ready for eight-o’clock sharp.

  After, she stuffed her phone and a little post-yoga sundress into her cat-themed tote bag, showered Oz with kisses, and zipped out the door.

  Fifteen minutes later, Skye had her things in a locker, her favourite studio mat—the teal one with a neon-green palm tree pattern always made her feel good—tucked under her arm, and was strolling from the locker rooms through the main reception hall of the studio. While the front desk attendants were all namaste and bowing and serene smiles for class attendees, Skye merely offered her usual friendly nod and tried not to engage. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the spiritual side of yoga; she knew it was there and what it could do for people. It was just that she felt a bit…silly pretending when she was really just there for the awesome workout.

  Never had her balance, core strength, or flexibility been better than when she’d started doing yoga. Adding it to her weekly gym routine, a requirement from the sugar daddy agency contract to keep in relatively good shape, had done wonders for her overall health. She just couldn’t get behind the flow of energies and chakras and the power of the mind rhetoric. Still, those who did go for that kind of mindset made the classes really peaceful, and it was the only place she was able to work out without feeling even slightly self-conscious.

  Her eyes darted to the smoothie bar when one of the blenders whirred to life. There was no namaste-fake-smiles nonsense over there—ever. All that mattered to the folks behind the counter was upselling, and while the product was expensive, damn was it good. Skye already had plans to grab something to slurp on the way home after her session.

  Now, would it be a Berry Blaster or a Greenie Energy Booster today? She scanned the menu board as she followed the herd toward the studio doorway, a few minutes to spare to find her place somewhere toward the back and get comfortable. However, in her moment of distraction, mentally debating whether to add protein or wheat grass to her smoothie, she hadn’t realized that not everyone was moving with the flow of foot traffic—and walked right into a very, very solid body.

  “Oh my god, I’m so…” Skye’s mouth fell open when she found herself staring up at a decidedly dressed-down Cole Daniels. Heat rushed to her cheeks. This was their first face-to-face run-in since Finn’s party. “Hi.”

  “Hey,” he greeted, swiping a hand through his sun-kissed brown-blond hair, the motion followed by an easy sort of grin that made her knees weak. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Yeah, fancy that. She had only attended this class once a week for the last two years—which he knew about, since his credit card got the bill. Skye shifted the rolled mat under her arm, then planted her free hand on her hip. While she and Cole may not have physically seen much of each other since that awkward goodbye, they had exchanged a few equally awkward text messages over the last two weeks.

  Maybe this was Cole’s attempt to smooth things over. Dressed in a deliciously form-fitting white T-shirt and a pair of loose black shorts, the kind that didn’t show everything but managed to highlight enough, he had clearly stepped out of his comfort zone and into hers. Just because they had had similar childhoods, similar family struggles, including frequent brushes with the poverty line and unstable parental figures, didn’t mean Cole slummed it often these days. His suits, his cars, his various beach homes, his ridiculous number of technological devices—he did what he could to distance himself from anything even remotely casual.

  Her gaze darted down to his feet. Sandals. Cole Daniels. Wearing sandals. Hell might have frozen over.

  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her lips quirked. “What, the home gym getting a bit boring?”

  “My private yoga guy’s a pretentious twat,” he replied with a shrug. “You always speak so highly of this place… Thought I’d give it a go.”

  “Huh.” Why hadn’t he told her? He’d known she’d be here on a Wednesday night, usually around this time. Cole’s eye twitched, and when he chuckled, she caught a glint of playfulness in those ocean-blues.

  “What? Don’t believe me?”

  “You should have told me.” Skye shrugged, and a quick glance toward the door sent the pair across the now-empty reception area at a good clip. “We could have made it a date.”

  “I’ve already sprung one outing on you this trip,” he said, his voice dropping as they crossed the threshold into the studio. Incense burned on either side of the door, the vanilla clashing with the lavender. She glanced up and bit back a smile: Cole hated both scents, though he downplayed his disgust well. Only a slight flicker of contempt skittered across his scruffy cheeks, like he was trying to be on his best behaviour.

  For her?

  Maybe.

  “Today can be off the clock, if you want,” he told her as they hurried to the far left corner, snagging the only two spots available. Skye took the last row, while Cole settled one row up, one spot over. She knew he was joking, but the comment didn’t sit all that well with her as she unrolled her mat. When she looked up, she found him studying her, one hand fisted, the other clicking his nails together furiously. As their eyes met, he cleared his throat and stilled. “I just mean… We’re two friends doing yoga together, that’s all.”

  Her unease softened, and Skye managed a genuine smile, her chest tight with affection. “Yeah. Of course we are.”

  He exhaled softly, hands loosening, and stepped onto his mat as the instructor floated into the room in a burlap dress thing that looked itchy as all hell.

  As Tash, who Skye knew for a fact only adopted the air of mysticism when she taught classes, welcomed everyone to that night’s session, Skye tried
to ignore the hurricane of feeling roiling in her gut at Cole’s sudden appearance. After all, she and Finn had been texting and chatting over the phone relentlessly since he dropped by her place last week. Skye had shot down all invitations for a date, preferring just to talk about their days and whatever else came to mind—safe options. She wasn’t opposed to dinner or anything; she just hadn’t decided if she wanted to go through with it—if she wanted to go somewhere public with another man, pretending just to be friends as he literally charmed her pants off.

  And now, seeing Cole, all that flirtatious energy she had reserved for Finn, all the excitement he brought out of her just at the sight of his name on her call display, turned to a lead weight that she couldn’t shake. Skye knew she shouldn’t feel like that. Cole had confirmed, yet again, that they were just friends—with contracted benefits, none of which were the kind Skye wanted. Yet there she was, dropping down for a brief stint of cat-cow, feeling guilty for what had transpired over the last week.

  Because she had texted the boy she had a new, thrilling crush on.

  And now here she was staring at the ridiculously sculpted ass of the other boy she had very real feelings for. Maybe love. Maybe something in the murky middle between love and best friend. A man who, as he lifted that sculpted ass up into a long downward dog, still made her feel awkward after the way they’d left things…

  If only Skye put some stock in all the Zen chatter Tash spouted from the front of the room. Maybe things would have been easier. As it was, Skye’s mind had started to race, and no amount of deep, concentrated nostril inhales or sharp, punctuated mouth exhales could stop it.

  In fact, as she lay in flat back position, breathing in time with the rest of the class, Skye decided that today’s class had been a bit of a wash. No matter how hard she tried, she had constantly found herself distracted by Cole—by the corded muscle along his arms in every warrior pose, or by the ripple of strength up his back and across his shoulder during a plank. Of course, the physically scrumptious distractions were just a bonus. Cole himself was her mind’s primary target, and every single one of Tash’s reminders to focus, to empty her mind, to live in the now, fell on deaf ears. He had totally thrown her off her game, and by the time everyone was rolling up their mats and bowing to the front of the room, Skye was more tense than when she’d arrived.