Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
My hope sank in me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been all spontaneous last night. Maybe I should return to being cautious and boring Addison? Nothing like going home to an empty apartment to make the transition back, and I turned as the doors opened.
Walking inside, I expected to find Ken waiting for us in the doorway. He wasn’t.
Dorian was there instead, and he gave us all a polite nod.
I paused mid-step. The same disapproval was there from this morning—I saw it in his eyes. His face was blank, almost unemotional.
I frowned, feeling a nagging worry in my chest. Why did that bother me?
“Addison?”
Jake and Sia had gone ahead. They waited for me in the elevator.
Something didn’t feel right. Ken was always here. Where was Ken? I stepped into the elevator, my mind whirling.
“You want me to come in for a while?”
I’d been chewing the inside of my cheek when Sia asked. I looked up, realizing they were waiting for me to get out at my floor.
“Nah. I’m going to bed soon. I’ll see you later.”
Sia suggested lunch on Monday, and I might’ve accepted. I wasn’t sure. I was distracted, as a certain someone kept popping up in the back of my mind.
And I tried further distracting myself from that someone with a book and a glass of wine, but after reading the same page for an hour, I quit.
I was getting up, ready to go to bed, when my elevator buzzed.
Cole?
I rolled my eyes at myself. The hope that burst forth was annoying. It wasn’t like we were in the early stages of a relationship, where it was fun and exciting and everything left me breathless. That was not this, no way.
But I couldn’t ignore the fluttering inside as I crossed the room and hit the voice button. “Who is it?”
I didn’t check the camera because I knew. I’d tried telling myself it was probably Sia. She forgot something. She wanted to check on me. She wanted to apologize again for standing me up, but my body knew. There was nothing holding back the butterflies in my stomach. They were flitting around, worked up about an impending storm.
“It’s me.”
It was Cole, and everything clicked in place inside of me. It was like my intuition was laughing at me, Told you. My body knew it was him before I’d even stood from the couch, and now that I heard confirmation, my nerves had settled.
There was a weariness in his voice when he asked, “Can I come up?”
I hit the button allowing him access, already frowning, already wanting to know what was wrong. Then I jerked to the hallway mirror. I looked ridiculous. I was trying to smooth my hair back when the sounds of the elevator sunk in. It was coming from above, not rising from below.
Then the doors slid open, and any questions evaporated at the sight of him.
Bags were under his eyes. Dark smudges covered his face like he’d run his hand over it and left trails of dirt. His black sweatshirt reminded me of the first time I’d seen him on the running track, and he wore black athletic pants. Both molded to his frame in the right places, outlining his leanness, but I couldn’t look away from the pained expression in his eyes.
“What happened?”
He shook his head, stepping inside. He didn’t answer, just pulled me to him and rested his forehead in the crook of my neck and shoulder. I stood for a second, just holding him. He remained long after the elevator doors had closed again. I waited, unsure what to say, but I knew this embrace was for comfort, nothing more. He needed me in the truest way; he needed a friend.
He smelled of smoke and a faint tease of sweat, like he’d been running before he got here. They weren’t overwhelming scents, just clinging to him in a nice way.
After another few seconds, I pulled back. His gaze was hooded. I rested a hand to the side of his face. “What happened to you?”
He shook his head, pulling completely away. “I can’t tell you.”
There it was. Again.
“Of course.”
He shot me a look, but didn’t say anything.
I turned to the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”
“God, yes.”
I could hear how tired he was, and a part of me ached for him. “Tequila? Rum? Something harder?”
He’d gone to the couch, laying his head on the back. He rolled it to look at me. “Whiskey?”
My heart leapt for a brief moment, and I had to pause. It felt right to have him there, sitting on my couch, waiting for me. I reached for the closest bottle, and my hands gripped it tightly, like I needed something to hold on to. That shouldn’t be happening, the sensation of him being at home, like a piece of the puzzle had been put in place to complete the picture.