“You remember that?” I gasp.
When he starts talking next, I swear that my heart stops. Shock. But complete wonderment. His voice, a pitch higher, whispers the words I said to him almost ten years ago verbatim. I should know—I practiced them for weeks in the mirror before I worked up the courage to actually say them to him. They were words I would never forget. Especially since he treated me with the indifference of a good friend after—until recently.
“I’m going to miss you, Cohen. I know you don’t look at me like I look at you, but one day, you’re going to come back and I’ll still be waiting for you. Waiting for you to see me like I see you. Mark my words, Cohen Cage. One of these days, you’re going to be mine. And until you’re ready . . . I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting.”
Holy shit.
“Holy shit,” I repeat out loud when he stops talking. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I will never forget it,” he vows.
“What does that even mean?” I throw back. Once again, here he goes with his hot-and-cold shit.
“That means exactly that. I won’t ever forget it. Just because I haven’t acted on this chemistry between us doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Back then, I couldn’t. You know that it wouldn’t have been appropriate with our ages. And now . . . Now, I don’t even know what it is because my head is in a million different places right now. But one thing I know is that I’m getting ready to leave. I’m getting ready to leave and, Dani, I just can’t put you in the position of being in limbo for months, years, who knows, just so that I can feel what you feel like.” He drops his head against mine and sighs. “I’ve never wanted someone as fiercely as I want you, Dani-girl.”
The tone of his voice is so heartbreaking that my chest clenches.
“I wish it were a different world. One where I wasn’t leaving and our future wasn’t unknown. If it were, you would have been mine already.” He gives me a sad, small kiss against my forehead—not pulling back for a few beats. He looks me in the eyes again before pulling himself up and walking out the door.
Well, if that doesn’t suck, I don’t know what does.
I might be grasping at straws here . . . but what he didn’t say was that we didn’t have a future at all. Just that he wasn’t sure what it was.
It’s not much hope—but it’s something. And that was more than I had an hour ago.
Two weeks later
“DANI!” NATE YELLS UP THE stairs, his impatience clear as day. He just got here two minutes ago to pick me up and he’s already reached his patience level.
“What?”
“You need to stop putting all that shit on your face so we can get going.”
“I’m not ‘putting that shit’ on my face, Nate!” I yell back as I recap my mascara and go over my lips again with bright-red lipstick, giving myself one more look to make sure everything is perfect. I have to look perfect today.
Summer has come to stay in Georgia. If my daddy saw me now, I’m sure he would have a fit over my outfit. I’ll have to deal with him later, but he won’t be able to do anything but complain about it by then. My jean shorts are just shy of what I would consider normal. They cover everything but show a lot—and I mean a lot—of leg. My red tank top is tight and gives me just enough of cleavage.
I look hot.
Really hot.
My legs look amazing. Like, off-the-charts ahhhmazing. The shorts matched with my heels make them look longer than they are. Weeks of working daily at the gym and a few more pole dancing classes have them toned to perfection, and thanks to the sun, my tan is the perfect shade of dark. My long, chestnut locks are hanging down my back in soft waves, giving them that “I woke up like this” look even though it took me almost an hour to get each curl perfect. But my makeup might take the cake. Maddi did it before she left the house, going heavy on my eyes so that my green peepers would pop like crazy. I’m not vain, but I can safely admit that I look hot as hell.
It really is a shame that I look this good and I know it might not do any good. I’m frustrated. Ever since that day in my room, Cohen has been like a ghost. Any chance I thought I might have had to try to further our conversation was just kicked like a bug. He just disappeared.
Okay, he didn’t disappear, but he didn’t exactly make it so that we could ever be alone to have a private chat. Nope. If I tried, he just wasn’t having it. He was hell-bent on keeping his distance, and that shit is ending tonight.
Nate pulls up to the event hall—a rustic, old log cabin—and grunts a few times when he looks over at me, clearly trying to tell me by his caveman speech that he isn’t happy about my outfit.
“What is your problem?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.
His eyes narrow, and he grunts again.
I give him a few grunts of my own. What the hell? Maybe he’ll understand what I’m trying to express verbally if I try to dumb it down to alpha speak.
“What are you doing?” he asks with his head tilting like a confused dog when I grunt a few more times.
“Well, dear brother, I’m trying to see if I attempt to vocalize as you and our father do that maybe you’ll answer me back. Clearly, I have no idea what has your panties in a twist today. You’ve been all snappy snapperson since we left my house.”
“You.”
“Uh . . . can we add a few words to that, maybe a dramatic pause for flair and express a coherent thought that is well thought out and planned to make sense so that it can be understood and processed?”
“God, you can be such a bitch.”
I smile. “Oh? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He sighs and looks out the front window.
“Seriously, Nate, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, Dani. I’m taking my bad mood out on you. Doesn’t help that you’re dressed like a tramp just to gain Cohen’s attention.”
I look down at my outfit again. I don’t think it’s trampy. Sure, it’s showing my legs off and my top is tight, but I’m hardly indecent.
“Okay, tramp might be too much, but couldn’t you have worn something that, I don’t know, covers all of that under your neck?” He gestures wildly to my body.
“You’re being ridiculous. And I’m not wearing anything for Cohen. It’s summer, in Georgia, and, like, over a hundred degrees. I’m pretty sure this is considered overdressed by most.”