The jacket matching both his and my clothes for the evening. If anyone were to look too closely it might even look like we’d coordinated outfits on purpose.
A ridiculous idea, but a thought, nonetheless.
My black mesh top skintight with a bralette underneath. Gray denim jeans with holes running along the knees. The fabric of his scarily similar. Black long-sleeved shirt, dark denim, and beacon boots finishing the look.
The clothes on his body worn like a walking, talking sign for sin. A temptation I was anxious to give in to with how well they clung to his every muscle. Accentuating his every curve.
Cole stops in front of me. My back arches into the wall when he leans down so that we were at the same eye level. A tangled mess of things flashing through his eyes as he studies me. I keep my face neutral giving nothing away. Even if it is painful to do.
He tries again, voice deepening. “What did he say, princess?”
“That you’re his least favorite hellhound,” I deadpan. “Same as mine.”
A small grin crosses his face like he was expecting that kind of answer from me. I like that I’m the only one who gives him that look.
It’s like a switch flips then. Something turning in his brain as his brows furrow. His arm wraps around the nape of my back pulling me closer to him. I let out a small gasp in surprise not expecting it.
“Tell me!” he grits out, baring his teeth.
A fire that matches my own building behind his eyes.
“He didn’t say anything.” Well, he had, but now didn’t seem the relevant time to mention it.
Cole’s head shakes, not believing me. “I am very familiar with what a panic attack looks like, Rory.” A shadow crosses his eyes like he was recalling something from memory. I wanted to know what it meant.
Looks like I wasn’t the only one harboring secrets.
His voice softens the smallest amount. “What did he say? Indulge me, baby.”
“What caused your attacks?” I ask on shaky breath instead. Hoping my answer would be enough to distract him.
“Not mine,” he admits, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Not meeting my gaze. Swallowing he has that distant look in his eyes again. “Can I ask for a wish?”
An unwelcome stirring happens in my chest. Praying he didn’t push anymore, because I would most likely give in if he kept looking at me with that sincerity like he was now.
“Everyone knows you only get those on your birthday.”
“Humor me.” My heart somersaults when he raises my head with the bottom of his finger.
The music downstairs nothing compared to how hard my heart pounds, coming alive. What could he want?
“Kiss me again.” Voice light, airy.
I don’t move, whispering out my response. My throat suddenly dry. “There are plenty of girls downstairs that would kiss you.”
My worries and doubts put to rest as soon as he speaks.
“I didn’t ask then, I asked you.”
“You wouldn’t have had to ask them.”
He runs his tongue along his lower lip, wetting it and I watch in anticipation. Need. Heat igniting between us like a fever.
Cole was the flame, and I was the smoke. He and I, a slow burn that could only end in one way. A ruin of ash if we continued this any further.
The stillness excruciating. The anticipation unyielding.
“I. Asked.You,” he said, breaking the silence.