Page 51 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

My phone buzzes in my pocket, a jarring intrusion into the peaceful stillness. I glance at the screen, a smile tugging at my lips as I see Ainsley’s name. My free-spirited cousin, a walking whirlwind of chaos and laughter, is the antidote I need to the brooding intensity that’s been consuming Cole. Maybe a little dose of Ainsley’s chaos is exactly what we both need to break the tension.

“Hey, cuz,” I answer, my voice lightening as I greet her. “What’s up?”

“Lola!” Ainsley’s voice, a burst of sunshine through the phone, is laced with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “I saw the headlines! You and Cole Lawson? Back together? Seriously? I thought you swore you’d never speak to that man again after high school.”

My smile falters, a shadow of unease creeping in. I glance at Cole, who seems oblivious to the conversation, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. I lower my voice, hoping he can’t hear. If he knew just how vehemently I’d sworn off men like him, or him specifically, he’d probably laugh. Or worse, he’d be hurt.

“It’s a long story, Ains,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “We’re just… trying to help each other out.”

Ainsley snorts. “Help each other out? By staging a fake romance for the cameras? Girl, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“It’s not all fake,” I protest, a defensive edge creeping into my voice.

The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the tangled web we’ve woven, the lines between performance and reality blurring with every stolen kiss, every shared moment of vulnerability. The truth, the terrifying, exhilarating truth, is that I’ve fallen for Cole again, harder and faster than I ever thought possible. But I’m not ready to admit that, not even to myself, let alone my sharp-witted cousin.

What would Ainsley say if she knew the truth? That beneath the staged kisses and the carefully crafted public persona, something real is growing between us, something that feels dangerous and irresistible in equal measure. That I craved Cole’s touch, his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, with a desperation that both thrilled and terrified me?

“Oh, come on, Lola,” Ainsley says, her voice dripping with playful disbelief. “You expect me to believe you’ve actually fallen for that arrogant, brooding race car driver? The same guy who broke your heart back in high school?”

“It’s complicated,” I mutter, my gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the lake, hoping the reflection won’t betray the blush that’s creeping up my neck. And that’s the understatement of the century. It’s a tangled mess of history, hurt, and a hope that I haven’t dared to acknowledge, even to myself.

“Complicated? Honey, it sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. You know you can’t trust him, right? He’s just going to hurt you again.”

Ainsley’s words, though laced with her usual playful sarcasm, strike a nerve. The fear, a constant whisper in the back of mymind, echoes her warning.He’s going to hurt you again.It’s the same fear that’s kept me guarded, hesitant, unable to fully surrender to the pull I feel towards Cole.

“It’s not like that, Ainsley,” I say, my voice hardening, more to convince myself than her. “We’re both adults now. We’re just… playing the game. It’s all for publicity.”

It’s a lie, a shield I use to protect myself from the vulnerability that threatens to engulf me. But even as I say the words, I can’t help but think about the stolen moments in the garage, the heated glances across the dinner table, the way his hand brushed against mine earlier, sending a jolt of awareness straight to my core. It’s not just publicity. It’s a tangled mess of desire and denial, a dance we’re both playing, even as we pretend it’s nothing more than a performance.

“Publicity?” Ainsley’s voice takes on a thoughtful tone. “Hmm, that gives me an idea…”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, a flicker of suspicion sparking in my chest. Ainsley’s “ideas” usually involve some level of chaos, and I’m not sure I have the energy for any more drama, especially not one involving my already complicated relationship with Cole.

“I need a favor, cuz. A big one. I need to know how you do it. How you fake date a man you supposedly hate.”

“Hate?” I repeat, the word catching in my throat. I don’t hate Cole, and we both know it. The truth is far more complicated, a ball of emotions that I haven’t even begun to unravel.

“You know what I mean,” Ainsley says, her voice impatient. “How do you make it look real? The touches, the looks, the… you know, the chemistry.”

I’m suddenly curious what my cousin sees. How does he look at me? Is the chemistry that obvious? My gaze flickers to Cole, who’s still staring out at the lake, seemingly oblivious to our conversation. His shoulders are relaxed, his jaw unclenched, astark contrast to the tension he’s been carrying for days. For a moment, I’m struck by the urge to protect this fragile peace, to shield him from the drama that Ainsley is about to unleash.

But is he truly at peace? Can he hear the tremor in my voice, the unspoken truth that belies my words? Cole’s always been attuned to me, able to read my moods with an uncanny accuracy that both thrills and terrifies me. I can’t help but wonder if he’s listening, if he’s picking up on the dissonance between what I’m saying and what I’m feeling.

“It’s not that hard,” I say, getting back to the task and hand, while forcing a casual tone. “You just have to think of it as a role. You create a character, a backstory, and you play the part.”

The words taste horrible in my mouth. I’m a fraud, selling a lie to my cousin, a lie that’s becoming harder to maintain with every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every moment of shared vulnerability with Cole.

“But what about the kissing?” Ainsley asks, her voice now laced with a hint of apprehension. “The touching? What if it starts to feel… real?”

Heat creeps up my neck, a blush staining my cheeks as the memory of Cole’s kisses and the way his touch sends shivers down my spine floods my senses.

“It won’t,” I say, the words firm, even as a shadow of doubt runs through me. “You just have to… compartmentalize. Separate the performance from reality.”

Easy to say, harder to do. Especially when the “performance” involves stolen kisses in victory lane, heated glances across a crowded garage, and the kind of lingering touches that make my heart race and my breath catch in my throat.

“Hmm,” Ainsley murmurs, her voice thoughtful.

“And who is this lucky guy you need to fake date? Someone I know?”

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