“Hi.” My eyes devoured him in his tight red T-shirt that accentuated his pectorals and showed off his biceps. His T-shirt made him a walking red flag, but I wanted him anyway. When my gaze landed on his face, my heart stopped. Cole’s green eyes were ravenous for me. “Can I see your library card?”
Cole’s expression turned to confusion.
“You’re totally checking me out,” I deadpanned.
Cole’s mouth slowly quirked up into a smirk. “Are we doing this in the hall?”
I stepped aside to let him in. “What are we doing?”
Cole stopped a couple feet into my apartment to survey it. It wasn’t much. A total of 750 square feet of open floor plan with a bedroom and bathroom. My kitchen island doubled as the dining area, and my living room had a couch, coffee table, armchair, and a TV mounted on the wall. A present from Sara; I’d never watched it.
“You were working?” Cole asked, motioning to my laptop. “It’s Friday night. I was afraid you’d be out.”
“More like hate-dissecting and tracing data in reports. But you didn’t come here to talk about my work, so tell me why you’re here.”
I wasn’t harsh but direct. Cole could not ask me again what I wanted from him when he initiated contact. My nonexistent social life wasn’t his business. I closed my laptop and directed him to sit either on the couch with me or in the armchair. Cole chose to sit next to me. My body wanted to kneel in front of him and beg, but my body was foolish.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he said, gripping the back of his neck and squeezing. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Cole’s guttural voice should not turn me on. He was struggling with the admission and had dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Okay,” I said, hoping to encourage him to continue.
“I’ve been angry for so long.” His head remained down but he lifted his eyes to mine, and I nodded. “Furious with him. Hating myself.”
“I,” I paused, not sure how much I wanted to say, “understand that.”
Cole raised his head and searched my eyes for more. When I didn’t give him more, he ran his hands over his thighs. My brain never worked like most people’s, but this man came here to confide in me, and I longed to replace my hands with his, strip him naked, and suck him off. I wondered if our chemistry had somehow changed my neuropathways and made me a deviant.
“That’s the thing about you. I feel like youdounderstand. You saw me at my worst and have never said one word about how I should try to move on or get over him. And I deserve that speech after the way I treated you.” Cole shifted slightly closer, bringing the heat of his thigh next to mine.
“Speeches are for the person giving them and useless for the receiver unless they specifically ask for your opinion. You can try to cobble your heart back together after a loss, but it will never be the same.” I touched his arm but quickly withdrew my hand.
“Who did you lose?” Cole asked.
“My loss happened a long time ago. You will never get over it, but it won’t rule your life if you make the decision to heal. It’s not a straight line; as long as you keep moving, you can alleviate some of the pain. It seems like you’re stuck.”
I wanted Cole to understand hope existed, but he had to choose it. I wanted to help him with his grief, show him a way out. But our attraction wouldn’t allow for it. I wouldn’t know how to help without constantly wanting to engage in sexual activity. Cole wasn’t ready for that. I wanted more than friendship, and I wouldn’t be his bandage over his bullet wound. He needed more than I was capable of giving.
Cole made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “I am stuck and a hundred different other things.”
“Can we get back to my question? Why are you here? What can I do for you?”
Okay, technically that was three questions, but I wasn’t up for a night of wallowing in pain.
Cole swallowed hard, and I braced myself for his answer.
Cole
This might be the craziest idea that I’ve ever had. Watching Shane’s stiff posture had me second-guessing myself. I wanted to still his fingers drumming on his thigh, but touching him would be a bad idea. I might not stop, and he had to agree to what I wanted before anything happened.
If my brain worked like Shane’s, it would have calculated the odds of him agreeing. But if I knew the odds, I probably wouldn’t be here. I took a deep breath.
“You told me you can’t unknow things about yourself. I feel the same. You were right, trying to ignore it is making it worse,” I said, and Shane went completely still.
That made me more nervous. When Shane’s movements stopped, I had a hard time reading him.
I stood and paced to the window. It might be easier to handle his rejection if I wasn’t looking at him. Or stop me from demanding he drop to his knees.