Chapter 4
“So what’s up with this guy from work?” Layla asked, peering down at the color on her toenails as the polish dried.
“Hmm?” Emma looked up from the magazine she was reading as the salon worker scrubbed furiously at her feet. Apparently it had been too long since her last pedicure.
“The one who texted you the other day. What’s the deal with him?”
“Oh.” Emma stared back down at the magazine. Layla had an uncanny ability to tell when she was lying from her face. “He works on another floor. I’m having dinner with him tonight.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Really hot. He’s tall, with an amazing body and these blue eyes…”
“Sounds like you really like him.” Layla smiled at something she read on her phone.
“I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Guess what Mom told me?” Layla said excitedly. “Cole’s coming to their Labor Day party. And he’s single! I was trying to pry and figure it out when we saw him the other day, but he never gave me a straight answer.”
Emma stopped breathing for what seemed like a long time. This was her chance to come clean to Layla about running into Cole. But that wasn’t what was really bothering her. The pit in her stomach was from knowing they would see each other again. Layla would work her magic, and Cole wouldn’t be able to resist it. He would look right past Emma, the quirky artist, and see only her sister, the beautiful attorney. She still couldn’t believe it hadn’t happened the other day.
“Maybe you should just wait and see if he asks you out,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant as she flipped through the magazine pages.
“You know that’s not my style. We’re perfect for each other. It would be romantic if we ended up together after all these years apart.”
Emma shoved down the stabbing jealousy that rose within her. Layla wasn’t trying to hurt her; she didn’t even know Emma had been seeing Cole. And they weren’t dating, anyway.
“Maybe we can all go out,” Layla said, her eyes shining. “Me and Cole and you and the guy from work.”
“Sure,” Emma said, smiling to herself at the mental picture conjured by the thought.
***
When her gaze landed on Cole perched at the bar in a dark t-shirt and faded jeans, Emma realized he looked every bit as good casual as he did in a suit. The t-shirt emphasized the lines of his wide shoulders and muscular back. She imagined pulling it off and running her fingers over his bare skin … sinking her nails into his back.
Wonder what he sounds like in bed? Hot. I’m sure he sounds hot.
“Hey there,” she said as she approached.
“Hi,” he said, getting up to greet her. She grinned when he gave her another kiss on the cheek. “This place smells great, let’s get a table.”
She had chosen a casual barbeque restaurant that was one of her Dad’s favorite places to go when just the two of them were having lunch.
“I’ve been thinking about this art exhibit we’re going to, and I need some advice,” Cole said as they waited for their food to arrive. “Help me out with some things I can say to people there to make me sound like I know what I’m talking about. Something besides, ‘That’s my favorite color’.”
Emma laughed at his grin.
“You don’t have to be an artist to enjoy art,” she said. “Just say what you feel.”
“Do you always say what you feel?” he asked. Emma’s pulse quickened at the low tone of his voice and his meaningful expression.
“Um … I do when it comes to art,” she said. A slight smile curved up his lips.
“And the rest of the time?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I tend to keep things to myself. What about you?”
“Usually I say what I feel, unless it would hurt someone.”
“Layla’s the straightforward one in our family,” Emma said. “She’s looking forward to seeing you at the Labor Day party, by the way.” An edge crept into her voice.
Cole flashed a quick look of annoyance.
“I’m expecting you to make that bearable, you know,” he said.
“Oh, I bet you’ll find Layla more than bearable.”
“Will you be there, Em? At your parents’ party?”
“I haven’t managed to escape one yet,” she said dryly. “So yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Good. You know, my Mom’s always had this hope in the back of her mind that Layla and I would end up together.”
“She must be conspiring with my Mom, because she’s got the same hope,” Emma said, smiling though the thought made her sad.
“It’ll never happen. I like Layla and all, but I just don’t feel that way about her. She’s … just not someone I’d be happy with.”
A couple seconds passed, and Emma asked Cole about work to relieve the tension. He told her about a trademark infringement case he was working on, which brought out his enthusiasm.
“There’s compelling case law on our side,” he said. “It makes all the late nights of research worth it when you’re confident walking into court.”
“You like your work – it really shows.”
“I do. But someday it would be nice to work on something that matters. Something that could change lives for the better. Right now I’m just a suit, looking out for corporations.”
“How’s your sister?” Emma asked. “She’s a doctor, right?”
“Shay? Yeah, she’s downstate.”
“I never really got to know her well, since she was already in college when you guys moved in. I never saw her much.”
“Yeah.”
“Is she married? Does she have kids?”
“Nope. Hey, are you up for a walk on the pier?” he asked, passing the server the check and his payment.
“You’re not paying again,” she protested, reaching for her purse.
“I just did.” He smiled.
Will that smile ever stop making me feel like I just melted into a puddle on the floor? Cole Marlowe had always possessed the kind of charm that was real, not contrived. Men with fake smiles and shitty pickup lines were easy to turn down, but when Cole looked at her, Emma felt like the only woman in the world.
I’m not, though. I’m probably the only one he knows in the city right now, so we’re hanging out. When he meets someone he wants to date, that’ll be it for us.
“What’s your best memory from high school?” he asked as they slowly made their way to the pier.
“Oh, there are so many to choose from,” she said sarcastically.
“You didn’t love high school, then?”
“No, but it was okay in its own way, I guess. It’s where I discovered art. Without Mrs. Blickenstaff I never would have pursued it, and I can’t imagine what my life would be like without it. I had a few close friends, discovered some treasured books, had some good times. My experience was just … different … from yours, and Layla’s.”
“Still waiting to hear your best memory,” he said, looking ahead at the pier.
“Okay, if you really want to hear about the loss of my virginity. It was my junior year, and Connor May —”
“No!” he protested, gaping at her. “Is that really your best memory?”
“No, it’s a lousy one. Okay … best memory.” She leaned against the rail of the pier, gazing out at the black night water. “I won the ‘Emerging Artist’ award my junior year, which was pretty amazing. But there was also my freshman year when I was in the stands at the playoff game where you scored the winning touchdown.”
“Really?”
“Isn’t that your best memory?”
He shrugged, looking away, and Emma couldn’t place his expression.
“I guess it is,” he said.
“Or prom night? With the lovely Layla Carson?”
He shook his head.
“It was okay, I guess. I think we went to the dance and then a party and we didn’t even stay out that late.”
Yeah, according to my sister it was a little more than that, Cole. Or have you forgotten?
“I always wondered what it was like to be one of the chosen ones,” she said. Cole looked at her quizzically.
“It’s what we art nerds called the kids like you and Layla. The ones who could have anything, do anything you wanted.”
“I don’t know about that. I worked hard for my grades and I worked hard at football.”
“I didn’t mean those things,” Emma said. “I meant the social stuff.”
“Oh. Well, it wasn’t that great, honestly. A lot of those kids were assholes. I was glad to get away when I went to college.”
“I never would have guessed that,” she said. Cole leaned his arms on the railing, too, scooting closer so their arms were touching.
Oh, holy shit. He’s touching me. On purpose. I’m going to die. Right here and now.
“I like being with you, Em,” he said softly. She wanted to respond, but all she could do was stare into his cloudy sky eyes, wondering if this was the longest, most vivid dream of her life.
As he leaned down to bring his lips to hers, her inner voice protested. He’s kissed Layla, you know. You’ll be a disappointment compared to her.
But she had dreamed of this moment through her entire adolescence, and she’d be damned if her inner pessimist was ruining it. She tuned the voice out just as Cole gently pressed his mouth to hers, the breeze blowing her hair as she kissed him back.
The kiss was warm and sweet, with a lone sweep of his tongue into her mouth that promised something more. She could smell him, feel the heat of his body, and the intimacy of it made her inner fourteen-year-old do a cartwheel.
He ended the kiss but kept his face near hers as they huddled close. It was a moment she didn’t want to spoil with words, so she silently tried to commit his scent to memory. She was sure she’d never again be able to hear the gentle swirling of waves in the breeze without thinking of him.
I can’t wait to tell Layla about this.
Guilt stabbed her in the gut as she realized she couldn’t. She could tell her, she’d just have to pretend it was the imaginary guy from her office who was making her feel a rush of something she’d never experienced from a kiss.
I’d rather say nothing than lie, she thought sadly. But the sadness dissipated quickly as Cole reached for her hand.
“It means a lot to me that you were at that game,” he said, his voice almost sad. Emma was sure she’d been less than irrelevant in his high school life, but she squeezed his hand with gratitude just the same.
“Want to walk out to the end?” he asked.
“Sure.”
It was late and she had to get up early for work the next day, but Emma didn’t care. Instead of painting imagined magic, she was experiencing some, and she didn’t want it to end.
Then — Ten years earlier
The football spiraled toward him, making a perfect arc before falling into Cole’s open arms. He clutched it tightly, unwilling to take any chances in the game that would land his team in the state playoffs.
He charged ahead, his feet moving swiftly to avoid the other team’s defenders, his mind blocking out the deafening noise of the screaming crowd. This was a big game; his school hadn’t made it to the state playoffs in more than 20 years.
His friend Drew smashed into a player from the other team, knocking him into the air for several seconds before he hit the field with a thud Cole felt the vibration of. He’d have to thank Drew later.
Right now, his mission was his team’s goal post. He ducked his head and ran with everything he had. All the years of training, grueling practices and long weight lifting sessions had prepared him for this moment. He was a senior, so it was now or never.
He sprinted, hugging the ball to his body for fear of dropping it. As he added yards of distance between himself and the other team’s players, he allowed himself to hear the roar of the crowd. Glancing over, he saw nothing but a swirl of blue. Fans were decked out in blue shirts, feathered hats and even face paint.
Once he hit his mark, it was pandemonium. He couldn’t help the tears that flowed as two teammates crushed him with a powerful embrace that knocked him to the ground. They were tears of happiness, sure, but there were other things there, too. Resentment. Sadness. Anger, even. Of the thousands of people in the crowd, many screaming his name, the people he wanted to share this moment with more than anything in the world were absent. It was bittersweet.
He pushed his hard feelings aside as Coach McGraw approached. He was a good coach, and his expression of elated pride brought a few more tears rolling down Cole’s cheeks.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he said, gripping Cole’s shoulders and slapping his helmet before hugging him fiercely. McGraw looked out into the crowd of faces, scanning them. “Where are your parents?” he asked. “Let’s get them down here!”
“They’re not here!” Cole said, yelling over the noise of the crowd. McGraw looked at him, his mouth dropping open with shock.
“Death in the family,” he explained in his coach’s ear. “My Dad’s mother.”
The lie tasted bitter on his lips, but Cole pushed that feeling aside, too. Shannon Crouse was rushing his way, her cheerleading skirt flying as she ran. His parents might not be here to celebrate this moment with him, but she would. And if not her, another girl. It didn’t really matter who it was, he just needed someone to want him tonight.
***
“So you said your parents are gone for the whole night?” Shannon asked Cole as they walked into his house.
“Yep. Out of town,” he said, tossing his football equipment bag to the floor.
“You might get lonely here all by yourself,” she said, smiling coyly. Shannon had dark, chin length hair and full red lips. Her toned body had just the right amount of curves.
“I might,” Cole said, stepping closer to her. “Maybe you can help with that.”
Her eyes widened when he bent to kiss her, and Cole’s hard feelings about his parents drained away, replaced by the burn of arousal. Shannon moaned as he pulled her close, and Cole decided there was no reason to wait.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, leading her across the kitchen, through the living room and up the stairs.
“I’ve never been in your house before,” Shannon said. “I’ve wanted you to ask me out for so long. This is really—”
She stopped and Cole turned around to see her gazing into an open doorway.
“Come on,” he urged.
“What’s this room?” she asked, stepping inside. Cole cringed and his annoyance flared.
“It’s … my sister’s room,” he said. Shannon looked around at the white walls, pale purple bedspread and a few personal items left on Shay’s desk. Her eyes lingered on the nonsense words scrawled on the wall next to the closet in black marker.
“So you do have a sister?” she said, eyeing him. “I heard you did, but you’ve never said anything. I heard she’s weird.”
Cole shifted his feet, his desire for a quick screw gone.
“I’m not feeling this anymore, Shannon,” he said. “You should go.”
“What? No!” she whined, pressing her palms to his chest. Cole turned and led her out of the room and back down the stairs.
“Really, it’s been a long day and I just want to go to bed,” he said.
“What did I do?” she asked, her red lips forming into a pout.
“I don’t feel like talking. Just go,” he said, anger creeping into his voice. Shannon glared at him as she walked out the front door.
Cole sighed deeply and headed for the kitchen, his emotions swirling. The high of winning the game had dissipated into a memory already. There was nothing that brought him down like the mention of his sister.