He tests it trying to see what the problem is. “The wheels are probably off track,” he quickly deduces. “You just have to lift it and set them back on the track.”
He grabs a hold of the doorframe, checks his grip, and lifts. His T-shirt stretches across his biceps as he balances the full weight of the door. His arms are a work of art, absolute perfection. He glides the door back onto its track and places it squarely back on solid ground.
He turns his attention to the other door and I get to watch all over again, only this time I have a different view. I can’t help but gape at his muscular back as he works, broad at the shoulders, narrowing slightly at his chest, then more at the waist, naturally forcing the eye down.
Gently, he places the door back down and tests his handiwork. Now the doors glide easily into place, opening up the shop for all interested guests. He pushes one open while I push the other and lock it in place. I hurry over to Cole who seems to be unsure of how to get the door to stay in position.
He holds the door and I duck beneath his arms to click the lock. That’s when the smell catches me. I actually close my eyes it’s so powerfully wonderful. I don’t know if it’s his soap, shampoo, laundry detergent, aftershave, or just his natural scent, but he always smells so incredibly luscious.
Still smiling adorably, he looks back down at me, and I can feel the blush rushing to my cheeks. “You have a beautiful smile. You should wear it more often,” he tells me. “Come sit with me. I have a few hours until I have to be at the field. You can keep me company.”
I’ve made a decision that I am going to try to be friends with Cole, so I reluctantly accept his offer. “I’ll be right over,” I tell him. “Let me grab some caffeine. Do you want anything?”
Cole’s grin turns positively wolfish. “If I answer that honestly you’ll probably never speak to me again.”
I roll my eyes and walk away.
There’s no way I can interrupt the baristas from tending to a long line of customers, so I slip behind the bar and make myself a large caffè Americano. It’s nothing more than a shot of espresso and hot water, one of the few concoctions I can actually make for myself.
I swipe a pack of gum off the counter and slip it into my pocket because no one wants to have coffee breath all day long.
With cup in hand, I wind my way through the crowd and join Cole who’s just sitting there watching me. His eyes practically . . . simmer . . . as he studies me. A crooked grin is fixed on his lips. I swallow and concentrate on drinking my coffee.
“You looked pretty comfortable back there working. Do you like to spend time in the kitchen?” he asks.
I almost spit out my coffee. Obviously, this man doesn’t know me very well. “Hell, no.” I tell him. “When I was little, I used to follow my mother around the house, even when she was cooking. If I got too close, she’d tell me, No! Stove. Hot. Bad. I’m a good girl, and I never forgot those words.” I repeat them just to be sure he’s listening. “Stove. Hot. Bad.”
That solicits a hearty chuckle. “Well, then – it’s a good thing that I like to cook. You’ll have to come over and let me make you something special.”
“You can cook? Seriously? Are you any good?” The image of this man fussing in the kitchen feels aberrant to me. I wonder if he’s got all kinds of tools and gadgets. Men sure do love their toys.
He smiles. “I’m okay. Mostly I like to grill. If you select the right cut of meat, you really can’t go wrong. I can work magic with a New York strip steak and a good old-fashioned charcoal grill.”
“That sounds great. The only home cooked meals I get anymore are when I visit my brother and his wife. Now that they have a baby, Megan’s become a fan of one-pot meals and anything that can be made in a slow cooker. I’ve had my fill of soups, stews, and casseroles.” I look at the face he’s making and I know it sounds terrible, but her cooking is actually much better than it sounds.
“That seals it. It’s a date,” he smirks.
“Slow your engines, mister man. No one said anything about a date,” I warn him.
“Relax, Houdini. I got your message loud and clear, more than once. First when you ran out on me, and then again the other day in your office. It’s just a phrase. It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, I make it a habit not to date anyone during baseball season,” he explains.
“You don’t?” I ask, stunned.
“You sound surprised to hear that. I know sometimes I come on strong, but you make it so easy. I like to watch you get flustered. Your cheeks get all pink and you get so embarrassed. Listen, why don’t you come over tonight, let me cook you a proper meal and we can exchange our sad stories.”
“What makes you think I have a sad story?” I mean, obviously I do, but am I ready to share that with this man who seems to take pleasure in toying with me for his entertainment?
“Doesn’t everyone?”
I hadn’t thought about it, but he’s right.
Reluctantly, I accept his invitation. Maybe getting to know him better will help. So we make plans for me to meet at his townhouse at seven o’clock tonight.
“Hey, guys. I’m on my break. Mind if I crash your little party?” Brie takes a seat at our table, turns to Cole and asks, “I had a blast last night. Did you have a good time?”
“You know I did,” he answers. That’s a cryptic answer. How would Brie know that he had a good time? Was it obvious? Is she the reason why he enjoyed it? She doesn’t seem to be overly flirtatious or cozy with him, so I doubt it.
Oh, my God! I have to stop with this inner dialog. He just got done telling me he doesn’t date during baseball season. Chillax!
Brie turns to me to explain. “Our friend here has a mean streak,” she tells me.
Really? A mean streak? Now I truly am confused. I lean in closer to hear more.
“Not my fault. Your mistake was taking me to a bar with skeeball and Ping-Pong tables. Am I supposed to hold back just because you’re a girl?” he teases.
“Um, yeah!” she says. “It’s an unwritten rule. Everybody knows that’s how it’s supposed to work.”
“Do I have to remind you that I got my ass kicked at the pool table?” Cole points out.
“Doesn’t count,” she answers back.
“Excuse me?”
“Doesn’t count,” Brie repeats. “Losing to Declan isn’t the same thing. The two of you ganged up against us. Cait and I didn’t stand a chance all night.”
“Oh, okay. I see how it is. We’re supposed to buy the drinks, pay for the games, and let you win.”
“No – I offered to pay for a round of drinks,” Brie argues.
“My mother raised me better than that,” he counters.
Brie smiles. She likes him, too. But then again, Brie likes everybody. “So, are you up for another night out on the town? I thought maybe we’d introduce you to the wonders of the Wonder Bar.”
“I’m going to have to take a rain check. I have a home game tomorrow and I need to be in top form. It’s an early night for me, I’m afraid.” He turns and winks at me. My insides melt, just a little.
A problem with the espresso machine pulls Brie away, leaving me alone with Cole once again. I can feel his stare burning into me. My pulse is quick and my mouth goes dry. I wonder if I have coffee breath.
I fish around in my pocket and pull a small, white piece of gum out of the pack and pop it into my mouth. I look back up to find Cole keenly watching me. Unfortunately he is bestowing upon me that boyish grin that leads to more dirty thoughts. The kind that can get me into a heap of trouble.
“I’d love to have a piece.”
Not at all amused, I suck in a breath. “Excuse me?”
His lips twitch with delight. “Of gum,” he clarifies. “A piece of gum. What did you think I meant?”
Completely embarrassed that I’d been played again, I thrust the pack of gum at him, ignoring his chuckle as he takes it. He has a great laugh. He flashes me a smile that I feel all the way to my core. Does he have to b
e this handsome? Seriously?
The conversations around us quiet as Cait comes charging towards our table, breaking the crackling tension between us.
“Why didn’t you wake me before you left?” Cait screeches into her phone loud enough for all to hear. She’s scolding poor Declan, I’m sure. Cait has three sound levels: Normal Loud, Agitated Loud, and Furious Loud. She’s leaving Agitated and on her way to Furious.
“Whatever. I have to go.” She hangs up and walks straight towards us. Cole immediately stands up and pulls out a chair for her.
“Well, if it isn’t Ole King Cole in the flesh,” she teases. Giving me an evil eye, she adds, “And good morning to you, too Kenny. Looks like you got another early start today.”
Cait slips into Brie’s vacant seat looking as beautiful as ever. I’d been told I was pretty, and on some days I believe it. On a good day I know I can work it. I never felt as hot as Cait or as cute as Brie, but I clean up well.
Without sitting back down, Cole looks down at his watch and shakes his head. “Sorry, ladies – duty calls. If I leave now, I can still make it to practice on time.” He offers Cait a friendly peck on the cheek, then turns on his heels, bends down, and puts his face beside mine. He places a kiss on my cheek and tilts his chin just enough so his unshaved scruff tickles and scratches my skin. It feels as if my face is on fire, burning hot. “Later,” he whispers in my ear.
I can’t help myself. I can feel my face lighting up and I’m certain I must be grinning like a schoolgirl.
Cait leans back in her chair and slides her sunglasses back, soaking in the rays of the morning sun. “What the fuck was that all about?” she asks without even looking at me.
“We’re having dinner tonight. At his place.”
She sits up straight and slaps her hands on the table. “Thank God. Are you finally going to hit that? Because if you don’t soon, I just may have to step in.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but we’re just friends. He doesn’t date during baseball season and, well, you know my situation. I like him, that’s all.”
She smirks. “Yeah, sure. Good luck with that.”
Officially, for the rest of the day, I busy myself stacking books, checking inventory, creating a new novel display, fudging with the staff schedule, and sending out e-mail invitations to meet with members of the local PTA about a fundraiser in the fall. I also find some time to finish reading Hemingway and get a little sun at the same time. You can never underestimate the value of a good healthy dose of vitamin D.
Unofficially? I spend a good portion of the afternoon daydreaming about a certain jock with ice-blue eyes. The daydream also features those eyes staring up at me as he trails wet kisses across my tummy, around my navel, and . . . no.
No, I tell myself repeatedly. My brief encounter with Cole had been nothing more than a rebound. I had just been through a break-up and he was a welcome distraction during a strange time in my life.
I could have gone the Bridget Jones/Cathy cartoon route and eat every single serving Duncan Hines microwaveable cake in my cabinet while listening to Christina Perri and Ellie Goulding. I could have declared my friends better than any man (which they are). I could have gone on several esteem-empowering but wallet-depleting shopping trips or even gotten myself a cathartic Katy Perry haircut.
But I didn’t. Without planning it or putting much effort into it, an opportunity arose and I chose to heal my broken heart and cleanse my soul with a little dirty sex with a stranger in a far away place. It was everything rebound sex is supposed to be – liberating, thrilling, and mind-blowing.
Thinking about that night conjures up all sorts of feelings. Keeping busy at work is the only thing that keeps me from locking myself in the office and grinding on my hand for a few minutes. Yes, even nice girls do that and if they say they don’t, they’re lying.
Besides, Cait has been locked up in that office nearly the entire day planning promotions, placing ads, and updating social media sites. The only time I saw her all day was when she slipped out to get lunch.
As the clock nears six, Cait steps out of her cave for some fresh air just as I’m about ready to leave. “You still planning on going to Cole’s place for dinner?” she asks.
“Yeah, why not? I’m pretty sure I can handle him. We have an ... understanding.”
She eyes me from head to toe. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”
I look down to check myself. Khaki shorts, T-shirt, and a brand new pair of Keds. “What’s wrong with the way I look?” I ask, slightly insulted.
“Nothing, so long as you’re taking a class of second graders on a trip to the zoo. It wouldn’t kill you to try to look a little more like a girl, just this once.”
“What difference does it make?” I ask. “I’m not trying to seduce him or get in his pants, so what’s the point?”
“Trust me. This is the first step in getting you back into civilized society. Do you want to do it dressed up like a tour guide, or looking like the strong, beautiful, confident woman you are? It’s time you stop hiding and let the world see you.”
“I don’t know, Cait. Wouldn’t that be sending the wrong message?”
“No, hiding your true self is the deception.” She drags me into her office and shuts the door. Hanging on the back of the office door is a dress bag. “Here. Look inside.”
Curious to see what she’s planned, I unzip the bag and peer inside. My eyes grow wide when I realize what she’s done. “Oh, my God! It’s my dress!” I exclaim.
In my hand is the first thing I bought with my very first royalty check. It’s a simple white summer dress made of cotton with a sweet floral embroidery. The dress was made by Versace, which I bought at Saks. It cost nearly a thousand dollars, but it was worth every penny.
I’ve worn it twice already. Once at my first book signing in Manhattan, and then again in a photo shoot for my second book’s jacket cover. I just love this dress. The full skirt and fitted bodice makes me feel very feminine and pretty. And I haven’t felt that way in a very long time.
“If you wear this dress and he can still keep his hands off you, then you know he’s a stand-up guy.”
Something magical happens the moment I put on my pretty dress. I feel more confident. I stand a little straighter and walk with a little more swag. I leave my dirty blonde hair to hang casually across my shoulders, grab my purse, and begin the trek to the north end of the boardwalk.
“Why don’t you come with me?” I ask Cait. “I’m sure he’d love to see you, too.”
“Sorry, Kenny, but I have plans. Brie and I are meeting up at the Wonder Bar with a couple of guys we met last night. Rain check?”
“Yeah, sure. Next time,” I reluctantly tell her. I really do wish she were going, too. She always takes control of every situation and most conversations. It would make things so much easier. But it’s time to go and I can’t force Cait to chaperone.
Luckily, it’s a beautiful day for a walk. The sun is still shining brightly and the sky is a beautiful crystal-clear blue with nary a cloud to be seen. As I walk past Wilkinson’s Bar on the boardwalk, I get more than a few head turns from some of the men and I absolutely hate it.
This is why I don’t dress up any more. I feel much more comfortable blending into the landscape, unnoticed and untouched.
I walk as fast as my legs will take me until I nearly reach my destination. Cole’s townhouse is the last structure at the north end of the boardwalk. There are six townhouses attached to one another, all with an equally impressive view of the ocean. His townhouse is the first, so I take a deep breath, swing open the gate, and walk up to the sliding glass door.
I get my first uninterrupted glimpse into Cole’s home as I peer through the glass. It is a near perfect exemplar of a bachelor pad: bar, pool table, flat screen television and recliners. Typical.
I knock on the door and wait as a pair of men’s legs begin to appear on the stairs leading into what I would call the game room. Little by little, in almost slow
motion, the rest of his glorious physique is revealed. He is a walking billboard for Abercrombie and Fitch in his perfectly fitting khaki shorts and white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and just a few opened buttons.
I stand a little straighter and take a few seconds to catalog the strong forearms, sun-kissed skin, freckles scattered across his nose, and his hair swept back from his chiseled features. Cheekbones that could cut glass. And those eyes, currently giving me the three-second inventory. Oh yes, a very good-looking man. I finish my perusal, and meet those eyes on the return trip.
He opens the door and smiles, his eyes sweeping across my body from head to toe, taking me in. “Hey there, Houdini, you look beautiful,” he says.
I am in so much trouble.
CHAPTER 7
COLE LEADS ME INTO TO HIS SMALL BAR AND PULLS OUT A BAR STOOL FOR ME. He hops behind and smiling at me asks, “Can I get you a drink? You like blood orange martinis. Am I right?”
Wow. He remembers.
It was a mojito, not a martini, but I’m not about to quibble over something so trivial. He goes about making my drink and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he has purchased fresh blood orange juice – something I’m certain he doesn’t normally keep stocked in his bar.
He makes not one, but two drinks, and joins me. He taps his glass against mine before we each take an experimental taste. “Not bad,” I tell him honestly.
Cole gazes at my face while I sip my martini. I can’t help but notice how his face lights up when he smiles. It’s hard to look at anything else. I pull away and look around the room and ask, “You have a great place. Do you have any roommates?”
“No, I live alone,” he answers quickly.
“I don’t see any dogs. How about cats?”
He laughs. “No. I’m allergic to cats.”
I tip my glass towards his. “Me too,” I admit as we tap glasses together.
We sit in silence, and within a few seconds I feel the need to fill it. “So, thanks for inviting me over tonight.”
“Might as well. My nights and weekends aren’t too exciting these days.”
Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1) Page 9