Two is a Lie(35)
He used to be able to do twenty of these, but he’s lost a lot of muscle mass. I count silently, watching his ass flex through each dip and rise. And damn, his sexy grunting noise. Those always got to me, like the rigorous, full-throttle sounds of sex.
His back begins to shake on the tenth lift, and I know he only has one or two left in him. But he powers on, pressing out three more before he collapses beneath me.
“Thirteen.” He grunts, breathing heavily. “Fuck.”
I slide off his back and stretch out alongside him. “You’ll get there.”
“Yeah.” He inches toward me and brushes the hair from my face. “I will.”
We goof around the house for the rest of the day, doing mundane things, like laundry and housecleaning. He changes the oil on my car, trims back the old oak tree in my yard, and fixes the leaky faucet in the bathroom.
Between him and Trace, Cole is definitely handier around the house, and I’m so grateful for that. But I wouldn’t choose him just because he keeps things in working order. A non-leaky faucet doesn’t top the list of things that are important to me.
Dancing is important to me, and Cole seems to appreciate my need to constantly move my hips, whenever, wherever. Like today, when I crank up my Beyoncé playlist and dance around him while he prepares a late lunch. He doesn’t get annoyed or tell me to grow up. He shakes his head and laughs and tells me I’m beautiful.
Then it’s time for me to go to work.
He walks me to my car, lingering beside the open door as I buckle my seatbelt. Hands on his hips, he stares at the pavement, looking for all the world like he’s seconds from dragging me back into the house.
The cords in his neck go taut. His expression hardens, and it takes him long uncomfortable seconds to meet my eyes. I know the question is coming before he asks it.
“Will you come home tonight?”
I ache to siphon all the pain from his posture, but I won’t lie to him. “I don’t know.” Stretching toward him, I touch his stubborn jaw and guide his gaze to mine. “I won’t have sex with him.”
His nostrils flare, and he grips the back of his neck.
“Is this too much?” Worry tinges my voice. “Are you miserable? Because I can’t bear—”
“As long as you’re not fucking him, I can handle this. I’m just… I’m being a selfish prick.”
My breath stutters. “I’m the one who’s selfish. I’m dating two—”
“No, Danni.” He crouches beside me and leans into the car to hug my waist. “I did this to you. I put you in this position because of decisions I made. I’m fully prepared to pay for that.”
“Cole—”
“Make no mistake. This is the most important fight of my life, and I’m going to give it all I got.” His timbre scratches, gruff with emotion. “I might not have trained for this, but I was trained to win. And winners never quit.”
Cole is decidedly some kind of soldier. Retired or not, the snake is his spirit animal and venomous aggression burns hotly in his blood. So I’m not at all surprised when he shows up at Trace’s restaurant later that night.
When he ambles in, I’m on the circular platform at the center of the dining room, four hours into my belly dance routine. He doesn’t look at me, his attention on the young hostess as he leans down and says something to her. Then he points at the only empty table near the stage.
Trace’s table. Trace isn’t here now, but he’s been in and out all night, sitting in that very spot. He probably reserved it for the evening.
The hostess shakes her head and leads Cole to a different table. But instead of following her, he veers through the dining room toward me.
He got his hair cut. Faded up the sides and spiked on top, it’s similar to the high-and-tight style he wore when we met, only more rebellious. And way sexier.
Dressed in dark jeans and a black collared shirt, he sits at Trace’s table a few feet away and lifts his gaze to mine. I don’t let the clean-shaved face, nice clothes, and new hair cut fool me. He’s up to no good.
The hostess rushes over, and he crooks a finger at her. When she bends down, his lips form one word. Menu.
More head shaking, her mouth moving as she points across the dining room. When he waves her away, she huffs and storms off, probably to call Trace. This should be fun.
Cole returns his attention to me. He’s seen me belly dance, but not on a stage in a packed room. I found the job at Bissara shortly after he left as a way to keep myself busy in his absence and earn some extra cash for the wedding.
Tonight, I’m wearing a black balconette bra with a scalloped trim and a strappy halter accent that divides my minimal cleavage. The black wide-leg pants flow like a skirt and sit so low on my hips it’s impossible to miss a single ripple or twitch in my abs.