Page 23 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

“What happened the other day in the shower.”

“That was two days ago.”

“Yeah, well… I want you to know that I wiped it out of my mind completely and I’m hoping you did too so we can make this temporary living situation way less awkward.”

I say nothing. She stands and steps closer to the railing that separates our balconies.

Then she extends her hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“A deal on what, Emily?”

“What I just said… Forgetting about—you know, and just… you know.”

“The only thing I know is that I’ve woken up and gone to bed thinking about how your pussy would taste in my mouth, andhow I’d kiss your tits until you begged me to stop teasing and just let me fuck you…”

Her jaw drops as slowly as her hand, her cheeks flushing deep pink.

“I was looking forward to seeing you in New York at your performance in a few weeks, and now I have to deal with the idea that that may be impossible, so… no.” I shake my head. “No deal on forgetting a goddamn thing.”

I leave her standing there and close the door to my room.

Then I head to the shower.

9

EMILY

My heart won’t stop pounding.

Not in a cute, butterflies-in-my-stomach way—more like I’m trapped in a loop, stuck reliving the moment Cole said those things on the balcony. That voice. Those eyes.

I barely know him. We’ve shared maybe twenty minutes of actual conversation. But the way my body reacts when he looks at me like that—like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and exactly what I want—it’s messing with my head.

I open a new notebook and scribble the title:Feelings I Can’t Reveal.

Before I can get past the first line, there’s a knock at my door.

I smooth down my hair, pulse racing, and crack it open.

My mom stands there, smiling with two mugs in hand. “Feel like talking?”

“Sure…”

She steps inside like she’s been waiting for the invitation all day. “I figured it’s been, what, a week since we had some girl time?”

I take the mug. One sip in, I wrinkle my nose. “Mom. There’s alcohol in this.”

“Of course there is.” She flops onto my bed. “No sane person drinks hot cocoa in the middle of summer unless it’s spiked.”

She’s in a good mood. That’s either a sign of something going very right, or about to go very wrong.

“This place is unreal, isn’t it?” she says, glancing around the room. “Can you believe we’re living like this?”

Not really. “Yeah… It’s beautiful.”

“If only my mother could see me now. She’d lose her mind.”

“Let’s not talk about Grandma,” I say quickly, steering us away from that familiar detour to disaster. “Tell me what you did this week.”

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