When I flop onto my back, a masculine scent wafts into the air. The sweet and spicy aroma isn’t foreign to me, though.
Cole.
My heart jumps, my head turning to the other side of the bed.
Empty.
I let out a sigh of relief, but a heaviness weighs on my chest. My brain conjures a memory of falling asleep in Cole’s arms, but it doesn’t seem real. The matching puzzle piece doesn’t fit the picture.
Rolling over, I eye the vacant spot next to me and slide my hand over the wrinkled sheets. They’re still warm. He was here. But why? Cole hates me.
“Around the time you ripped my fucking heart from my chest.”
I wince as his words echo in my head, the sting from them radiating through me. He’s been relentlessly wrathful for so long, but last night he seemed injured.
Broken.
He crawled into my bed and held me as we slept. Just like he’s done so many times before. Does that mean he might be able to forgive me?
“No more lies, Princess.”
It’ll never happen. There’s always going to be one thing standing in the way: the truth.
My phone vibrates again, and I roll back over to grab it. There’s a message from Cole to Phantom Girl, and my stomach knots as I open it.
He kissed me, touched me, and claimed me last night. Then climbed into my bed and slept with me. Now he’s messaging another girl first thing in the morning?
Yesterday 11:20 PM
Goodbye, Cole.
Until tomorrow, PG.
8:00 AM
Good morning. Ready to admit
you’re jealous of Violet yet?
His arrogant question gives me a bad case of déjà-vu, and my heart skips as the scene plays out in my mind.
“Ready to admit you want me yet?”
Is he playing with both of us—me and Phantom Girl? Or does he realize there’s only two players on the board? No, it has to be a coincidence. If he knew, why wouldn’t he say something?
To mess with your head. Duh!
The entire weekend felt like mental warfare with Cole. This could just be part of his arsenal. But how would he know? Maybe he only suspects and thinks he can get me to confess.
You can try to ignore me if you
want, but I can be very persistent.
I could always block you.
True. But you won’t.
Isn’t there someone else you’d
rather be annoying first thing in
the morning?
My stomach flutters as those typing bubbles blink. Asking him this type of question isn’t very smart. It’s too telling. And it’s very possible I won’t like his answer. But I can’t help myself.
Is that your way of asking me
about Violet?
I groan. Fucking Violet.
If that’s what you need to tell
yourself.
Damn. You’re so stubborn.
Because I find it adorable, I’ll
tell you. Violet and I are JUST
friends. She’s in love with my
best friend. And he’s in love with
her. Which means I would never
even think about hooking up
with her.
Relief washes over me, and I bite back a smile as if he can see me.
So, you expect me to believe
there’s no girl in your life?
Only you, PG.
My heart flutters, but quickly drops. He’s not talking about me. He means Phantom Girl. You know you’ve reached the peak of insanity when you’re jealous of yourself.
For all you know, I could be a
guy.
Lol. That’s what Thatcher said.
But you’re not. I’d bet my life on it.
My eyes widen and I sit up. I’m not sure which part of his message makes me more anxious.
How could he be so sure I’m not a dude? And why the hell would he tell Thatcher about our messages?
You told Thatcher about me?
Of course. Don’t you tell your best
friend everything?
“You didn’t even tell your best friend about me. About us.”
Guilt gnaws at my gut. He seemed so hurt Mia didn’t know about our relationship. She didn’t even know we knew each other. Though she finally got some of the story yesterday, I left out the part about tricking Cole into talking to me.
Not always. Not about this.
Why not? You don’t want her to
know you’re a catfish?
A catfish? Oh shit. Is that what he thinks?
To be fair, it is deceptive. But that was never my intention. I just hadn’t properly thought this through.
I am not!
I’m not pretending to be someone
else. I’m just hiding who I am.
There’s a difference.
It’s okay. I like being on your hook.
A stupid goofy grin spreads across my face. I miss playful, flirty Cole. If only he could be this way with me. The real me. In person. I get the scowling, wrathful Cole.
Just so you know, that earned you
a hard eye roll.
I bet you smiled though. Just a little.
I huff out a laugh, my smile growing.
Bastard.
I’ve got to get to work.
Have a good day.
Think of me.
I drop my phone on the bed, my face hot as I sink back into my pillow. There’s no doubt I’ll be thinking about him all day. The feeling of his lips on my skin, the taste of his tongue, the skilled stroke of his fingers…
Sweet baby Jesus. I’m so screwed.
I freeze at the sound of a door closing down the hall, listening for Cole’s footsteps. His shadow passes under my door only to return a second later. My lungs refuse to take in air as he pauses there, my heart racing from the anticipation of waiting to see what he’s going to do. But he continues down the hallway without a word. Not even so much as a tap on my door.
Chapter Twelve
Present
COLE
After the chaos that was CMA Fest two weeks ago, things at Brighton seem dull and slow. There isn’t much to do around here on a Monday afternoon. Everyone has either checked out or in for the week. Outside of the occasional package haul or food delivery, I’m left to wander freely around the hotel. Which would be fine, except I could use something to keep my mind off Gwen.
My head is still reeling from last night. I lost all control, and she took the victory. Even as Gwen was telling me she was mine, I was the one who felt owned. There’s no doubt she wants me, but that doesn’t mean she cares about me.
Lust and love are two different beasts.
I tried to get her out of the room before my emotions got the better of me, but she had to go and cry. It broke me, and I snapped. She doesn’t have the right to act like I broke her heart. That’s not how things went down.
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
Her words sounded so sincere, and I wanted to believe them. But she’s still lying to me, still hiding something. She basically admitted there’s more to the story. If she’s so convinced it wouldn’t change anything, why not tell me?
Despite all that, I felt like the asshole. When I stormed down the hall to her room, the plan was to take back the ground I’d lost. Then I saw her curled up in her bed half-asleep. The only thing I wanted to do in that moment was hold her.
The battle hadn’t merely been lost; I’d gone down without a fight. A white flag was waved, revealing my weakness.
I shake Gwen from my thoughts and knock on the closed door to Camille’s office, rolling my eyes at the FRONT DESK MANAGER plaque hanging on it. The woman puts on a good front when my mother or Arwen’s father are here, but she’s quick to shirk her responsibilities as soon as they’re away. Lord only knows what she actually does while she’s locked away in here all day.
“Come in,” she calls, not even trying to hide her annoyance.
> She doesn’t bother looking up from her computer as I step inside. The ugly scowl on her face is replaced with a bright smile the second her eyes lift to find me standing there. Camille is a grade A bitch to every other employee here, but she’s overly friendly to me. It could have something to do with being her boss’s son. Though the way she tends to drink me in makes it seem like there’s another reason for it.
If she weren’t such a shitty person, she might be halfway attractive. She’s like an off-brand Scarlett Johansson. Or maybe what Scarlett Johansson would look like in the real world without a professional stylist and makeup artist.
I’m guessing Camille has used her looks to get a lot of things she wants in life. Rumor has it she’s slept with several of the wealthy married men who pass through on business. Usually around the same time she shows up with a new designer handbag or pair of shoes.
“Cole,” she coos, getting up from her desk as she waves me in. “Come in and close the door.”
Discomfort settles over me as I do what she’s asked.
She’s on me like a fly on fruit once we’re hidden away, her hands pawing at the breast of my vest. “You are so damn handsome. I bet the girls just throw themselves at you.”
I smirk, pretending not to be repulsed by her. She’s in her late twenties or early thirties. Way too old to be hitting on a seventeen-year-old. One that also happens to be her employee. “Thanks. I do all right.”
She sits on the edge of her desk, her short pencil skirt hiking up to her thighs as she crosses her legs. Her attempt to be seductive only makes her seem incredibly desperate. There’s no telling what kind of fantasies she’s playing out in her head right now.
Never going to happen, lady.
“What can I do for you, darling?” she drawls. Her southern accent tends to come out more whenever she tries to flirt.
“It’s dead out there. I was hoping to hang out in the kitchen with Chef Lucas. Just until you need me, of course. He said he’d teach me some new tricks.”
It’s my dream to go to culinary school after I graduate high school, but I’m not sure how we’d afford it—despite my mother’s promises. Lucas has been teaching me as much as he can, when he can. And Patrick says there’ll be a chef job waiting for me at any of his hotels whenever I’m ready.
“He’s not the only person willing to teach you a thing or two,” she murmurs.
It’s obvious Camille isn’t expecting me to respond to her comment. She’s so preoccupied staring at my crotch I’m not sure she even realizes she voiced her inappropriate thought aloud.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” I muse.
Her eyes snap back to mine, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “You’re free to go hang out in the kitchen.” She coughs, straightening her skirt as she stands again. “Just make sure you’re back out front before the early dinner rush starts.”
“Thank you.”
She gives me a weak smile before scurrying back behind her desk, and I hurry out the door.
On my way to the kitchen, my phone buzzes with a text from Arwen.
Arwen: Wtf? Violet said you guys hung out at Gwen’s house yesterday!
Me: Yeah, so what?
Arwen: Don’t use Saint as a pawn in whatever game you’re playing with Gwen.
Me: Screw you. You know I wouldn’t do that. Princess wasn’t even home.
If I knew then that Gwen was jealous of Violet, I never would’ve invited her over. The entire school knows Thatcher is crazy about Saint. It never occurred to me that Gwen would think I was messing around with my best friend’s girl. She must think I’m a real piece of shit.
Arwen: Don’t get your panties twisted. I’m just making sure. You’d do the same.
Me: And where the hell were you yesterday, asshole? I can’t believe you ignored my calls.
Arwen: I was tired. Stayed in bed most of the day.
Me: I bet you did. How is the golden boy doing?
Arwen: And GOODBYE!
I chuckle, stopping right outside the kitchen. My thumb hovers over the Instagram icon as I try to convince myself to leave Gwen alone.
It wasn’t easy leaving her bed this morning. If there’s not some serious distance between me and her for a while, I’m sure to crack. But that doesn’t mean I can’t keep messaging PG. It might be the only way to break her.
Grinning, I pull up our conversation from this morning. My last message was left on read. She’s been playing coy since my arrival at the Rhodes estate. It makes me wonder if she suspects I know who she is. Which only makes the game more entertaining.
I’ve got to get to work.
Have a good day.
Think of me.
Seen
1:00 PM
Just tell me one real thing
about yourself.
She sees my message almost immediately, and I anxiously await her response as she types. It’ll be hard for her to list even one thing I don’t already know about her, and she knows it. We may have spent the last couple of years apart, but I still know her better than anyone else ever has or will. Any honest answer she gives me could expose her.
I thought you were working.
Don’t deflect. Just give me one
thing. What harm could it do?
I’m secretly obsessed with Harry Styles.
I scoff. Pretty sure most girls between the age of fifteen and thirty are in love with that dude. Hell, even Arwen walks around singing his shit all the time.
Come on. You can do better.
You said ONE thing. That’s it.
But you cheated.
I did no such thing.
It’s not my fault you weren’t
clearer about what you wanted.
It doesn’t have to be anything
revealing. It can be something
most people don’t know about
you.
I can’t.
My muscles tense. There’s that damn word again.
Can’t or won’t?
She avoided this question last night; told me it didn’t matter. But there’s a very big difference in not being willing to do something and not being able to.
Can’t.
Her answer makes my stomach drop. Could there be something or someone controlling things behind the scenes? It isn’t an impossible notion. There are plenty of people in Westbrook who’d enjoy nothing more than to hurt me. They may not have known about my relationship with Gwen, but everyone knew of my affection for her. It would make sense for someone to use my biggest weakness against me. But what could they possibly have over her to make her do it? And why wouldn’t she tell me what was going on?
What happens when I figure it out?
The truth doesn’t always set us free.
Maybe not. But fear will always
make you a prisoner.
Chapter Thirteen
11 years old
COLE
“You want to gently crack the eggs on the side of the bowl,” Momma explains. “If you do it too hard, it’s sure to make a mess. And you don’t want someone eating little pieces of shell with their meal.”
I nod in understanding, tapping the first egg on the side of the bowl exactly how she showed me. She’s let me help her cook a few things before. Mostly just stirring and mixing. This is the first time I’ve ever tried to make something on my own.
It’s nothing complicated. Only French toast. But it happens to be Gwen’s favorite thing to eat for breakfast. I wanted to do something special for her, something to make her day a little better.
After the princess found out she didn’t get into her mom’s ballet school, she spent the entire night crying in her room. Her mom owns the school; I don’t understand why she even had to try out in the first place. But Nina told her it wouldn’t be fair to the other girls if she showed favoritism.
If you ask me, ballet is lame anyway. Gwen is too much of a free spirit for all that. She’s too good for that stupid stuck-up school.
“It
’s so sweet you want to do this for her,” Momma coos. “She’s so lucky to have a friend like you.”
I sigh at the way her voice fluctuated when she said friend. She’s asked me several times over the last five years if my feelings for Gwen were something more, always reminding me why that would be a bad idea.
To be honest, I have a huge crush on Gwen. Not that I’d ever admit as much. As far as Gwen and everyone else is concerned, she’s like a sister to me. It isn’t easy to ignore the flutter she causes in my chest, though. Especially when she looks at me with hearts in her eyes.
“We’re lucky to have each other,” I reply.
Despite my crush, Gwen is my best friend. Things haven’t improved much at school. I’m still picked on daily for being too thin and poor. But I’ve found that acting like a fool helps. They don’t laugh at me if they’re too busy laughing with me. And I made a new friend the other day, after I saved him from Shane’s torment.
The Princess and The Jester: A High School Bully Romance (Westbrook Three Book 3) Page 7