The following evening, I received a Skype call from Cole and had to hustle to make myself halfway presentable before answering. I’d been sprawled out in bed binge watching the new run of Queer Eye (not as good as the old Bravo show) with my laptop on my tummy. I was wearing just a pair of my old, nasty sweatpants and a UT T-shirt and did not look presentable enough for the pizza delivery guy to see me. There was no way I’d let Cole see me like this.

I shot him a text to call back in five minutes, then flew around my room like a tornado. I’d never moved so fast. I was simultaneously brushing my hair, smearing on some makeup, and putting on my one pair of matching pajamas (a Christmas gift from Emma) all at once. They were long-sleeved, pink with white piping, and made of filmy, insubstantial silk. Wearing them made me feel just like Lucille Ball in ‘I Love Lucy’.

“You put those on just for me, didn’t you?” Cole asked when I answered the video call a moment later.

I frowned, busted. “What gave it away?” Growing up poor had taught me never to throw things away and get as much use out a garment as possible, so having dedicated pajamas was actually something of a new development for me. As a kid, Ward’s old clothes became my sleepwear. Even as an adult, buying matching pajamas—even for a clothes horse like me—was hard. My nicer casual clothes eventually became gym clothes when they became shabby. Gym clothes inevitably became loungewear when they couldn’t leave the house. Even loungewear then got cut down and became kitchen rags or dust rags. Only when the scraps were literally disintegrating did they hit the landfill.

“Your buttons are all off,” Cole replied with a small slip of white teeth. He pointed, and I looked down to discover that I’d buttoned the shirt all wrong. The top was comically wrinkled and bunched as a result.

I sighed dramatically. “So much for the elaborate fantasy I was trying to weave for you of me being one of those glamorous, classy women who doesn’t lounge around in their discarded gym clothes,” I told him irritably, fiddling with the buttons self-consciously. I couldn’t fix it without unbuttoning my entire shirt.

He didn’t look remotely disappointed. “Kate, I honestly couldn’t care less what you wear to sleep in. You’re always beautiful.”

Aww. Sweet. So very wrong, but sweet.

I arched an eyebrow at him. “I never said I slept in these. I practice the Marilyn Monroe approach. My sleepwear is two drops of perfume,” I purred.

His small smile became a grin and even through the poor resolution of my laptop webcam, I could see the pupils of his eyes dilate. “Even better.” Cole wasn’t wearing striped pajamas. He was wearing checkered a button-down shirt, and he looked nice, although I could only hope he wasn’t wearing those awful checkered shoes with it. “I’m calling because I wanted to tell you something face to face,” he continued. My heart sank, and I held my breath. He wouldn’t break up with me on a skype call, right? That would be horrible. Almost as bad as a text. “I bought the dealerships.”

Relief so powerful that I felt like a literal weight had just been removed from my chest flowed through me. “That’s wonderful!” Not only did that mean that Cole would have a stable thing to do with his life now that his football career was over, it meant he’d be sticking around. “Congratulations!”

Cole grinned at me. “Thanks! It feels really surreal right now, but I wanted you to be the first person to know.”

I smiled back at him. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to throw down that much cash. Was it scary to write the check?”

“Absolutely terrifying,” Cole replied. “It was really messed up. I’ve never had to put so many zeros at the end of anything coming out of my bank account.”

“Closing on my condo was the scariest day of my life,” I admitted. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that the down payment on my condo was a lot smaller than whatever you payed for BMW dealerships, though.”

“I didn’t realize you owned your condo,” Cole said. He looked impressed.

My answering smile was proud. “Yep, it’s mine, all mine.” Then I remembered. “Actually, it technically belongs to the bank, I guess, but in about twenty-five years, it will be mine. Not bad for someone who’s just a glorified bartender.”

“You’re the manager,” Cole corrected. “Ward’s the bartender.”

Yeah, but it wasn’t my bar. I let it slide. “I’m really happy for you, Cole. I know it’s scary to spend a lot of money, but it’s great that you’ve got such a good opportunity. Have you told your folks about your plans yet?”

Cole nodded. “Yeah I told them all about the dealerships. They’re probably sick of hearing about it at this point. Plus, our family lawyer helped with the deal.”

Of course, the family lawyer. How silly of me. Why didn’t I know that?

“You have a family lawyer?”

He blinked. “Is that not normal?”

I shook my head and frowned. “Depends on your definition of normal, I suppose. We had a family pawn broker.”

Cole’s eyes were wide, and he looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it wasn’t normal to have a family lawyer.”

I smirked at him. “It’s not your fault you were born into a better financial situation than me.”

“I know,” he said, but still looked uncomfortable. “I just—” he trailed off, seemingly not knowing what to say. He spread his hands wide. “I guess I just wish it hadn’t been hard for you and your family.”

I shrugged. “It’s not like that now. But yeah, my mom’s jewelry went in and out of that pawn shop so often that it basically became her jewelry box. The last time she took her things home because Ward bought her the ranch and she was going to move, she called me and cried because she was so happy. Just knowing that she wouldn’t ever have to hawk another piece of jewelry made a huge difference for her. Honestly, I think it was a bigger deal for her than quitting her nursing job.”

He smiled. “I still have a tough time believing that your mom is an alpaca farmer.”

“She’s an alpaca rancher,” I corrected. “But yeah. It’s totally bizarre.”

“Do you like the alpacas?” he asked me curiously. “Are they friendly?”

“Hell no.” My answer was emphatic. “They’re the worst. My mom will say that they’re so cute and so sweet, but don’t listen. They’re a bunch of long-necked, snaggle-toothed stink demons.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I sense a story here.”

Oh, there was a story. Stories. Plural. I shifted in my bed. “Maybe some other time. I’m not ready to tell you all my humiliating secrets tonight.” I picked at the buttons on my top unhappily. “I’ve embarrassed myself enough today.”

“Impossible.”

“For me to ever embarrass myself enough?” I smirked. “Yeah, you might be right. My capacity for embarrassment is a deep well.”

“For you to ever tell me anything that would make me think less of you.”

My mouth fell open in shock and then closed into a smile. Who says things like that? Cole had the uncanny ability to knock me off my game, but in the best way possible. He made me feel like I was more than I was, and it ratcheted up my confidence in a way that filled me with lightness and joy. And also, desire.

“Does that mean you wouldn’t mind if I fixed this little buttoning issue?” I purred, sliding one hand up my top from beneath and pushing my assets together around it. I was cross-legged on my bed in front of the camera.

His breath caught, and his permission was the look he was wearing. It was a heavy, heated stare.

“Kate, there’s nothing little going on there,” he said. His eyes were locked on my chest.

I flicked the little pearl buttons open, one by one. The light silk fabric was soft, but stiff, and my nipples hardened against it as much from Cole’s riveted gaze as the cool air coming in my open windows as I slowly pulled it apart just an inch at a time.

“When did you get that piercing?” Cole asked, staring at the bar in my navel.

“About a month after the last time you saw me freshman year.” I measured everything that happened that year around his bombshell. “Do you like it?”

He nodded. “I like it. It’s sexy. Like your tattoos.” His voice was soft and appreciative. I wanted to show him everything. All my tattoos. I pulled the shirt off and halfway down my shoulders, baring my chest—and my under bust lace tattoo that extended up to my sternum—to him.

“Fuck,” Cole whispered, transfixed. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Do you really think so?”

Cole tilted the camera in answer. Beneath the loose, pale blue fabric of his pants, his erection strained, long, hard, and thick. Fuck. My breathing had become shallow and quick, and my hands felt empty. My whole body felt empty. I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted Cole.

“Do you want to come over?” I asked, cupping myself for him to display myself better. “We could celebrate your new business?” The invitation was almost a plea.

He ripped his eyes up higher, to my face. Cole’s cheeks were flushed, and his voice was a breathy, wicked whisper. “You’re gorgeous, but you’re trouble,” he told me. “If you let me come over right now, I’m going to make you mine in every way possible. If you’re not ready for the whole world to know it—including your brother—don’t invite me. Because he’s going to hear you screaming my name from clear across town.”

I hesitated, and then shrugged my top back on. My body felt alight, and I wanted him so badly I was almost ready to, but I was scared. I shook my head at him.

Cole’s smile was disappointed. “That’s what I thought.” Now that I was covered again, his voice sounded more normal. “We’ve got time, Kate. It’s ok. Besides, you’ve given me plenty to dream about tonight. See you soon.”

I knew what I’d be dreaming about, that was for sure. I smiled a sad little smile at him, feeling like a coward. This wasn’t what I wanted. I thought I could spare my feelings, but now it felt like Cole wanted everything, or nothing from me. I’d worked myself into a corner and now I didn’t know how to fix it. I wasn’t typically a commitment-phobe, but the look on his face a moment ago had been intense and the last time I’d felt something this strong for Cole, it had been intense disappointment. That disappointment had been so deep I’d almost drowned in it. “Sweet dreams, Cole,” I whispered.