“That’s what she said.”
“Ohmigod, Jess. How are we friends?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “You know you love me because I’m hellacioulsy funny.”
“I do, just stop cracking jokes when I’m drinking.”
She leans towards me conspiratorially, and I brace myself. “I wasn’t joking. You and Cocky Cole Cannon should hate fuck. He’s as sexy today as he was when he used to hang out with Cason at your house when we were teens.” I give her a look that suggests she’s insane. She ignores it and wags her brows. “He’s explosive on the ice, but do you know why they really call him the Cannon?”
“Because it’s his last name.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the only reason.”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
“Okay, then why?” I ask.
“’Cause he’s loaded between his legs.”
Yeah, okay, I totally set myself up for that.
“You don’t know that,” I shoot back. My mind races to my brother’s best friend, and I mentally go over his form. He’s athletic, tall and—as much as I hate to admit it—hot as hell. The perfect trifecta. Could he be packing too? Working with some top-notch equipment?
Jesus, what am I doing? The last thing I should be thinking about is Cole’s ‘cannon’.
“Come on.” Jess grabs her purse. “I’ll drive you there.”
I flatten my hands on the table. “I’m not going to his house, especially not unannounced.”
“Give him a call then.”
“No.?
?
She sits back in her chair and folds her arms, a sign she’s changing tactics. “And here I thought you liked your condo and food in your cupboards.”
I groan at the direct hit.
Her voice softens and she touches my hand. “But you know you always have—”
“Fine.” I stop her before she brings up my trust fund. Yeah, sure, Mom and Dad set money aside for me, but I don’t want to use it. I want to live by my own means, make it on my own merit. Besides it wasn’t their money I wanted, then or now, it was their attention, their love. I moved out years ago and only ever hear from them on my birthday or at Christmas.
I pull my phone from my purse. “I’ll text him. If he doesn’t answer, we don’t talk about this again.” I go through my contacts and find his number, having stored it years ago when he called to check on me after my injury. The call had taken me by surprise; so did his concern. Maybe my brother put him up to it. I don’t know. Nor do I know why I kept his number.
My fingers fly across the screen, but in no way do I expect him to respond. At least I hope he doesn’t. I read over the text. Sorry to hear about your concussion. I was wondering if you could help me with something. Then hit send.
I set my phone down and look at Jess. “Happy?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s going to be homeless.”
Point taken. Maybe I should be hoping he does text back.
My phone pings, and we both reach for it. Jess gets it first, and from her smirk, I guess my wish just came true—Colin responded.
Careful what you wish for.
“What does it say?” I ask, afraid of the answer.