Page 52 of Stolen Summer
I should turn around, go home, and say fuck you to Cole Riley.
I should, but I wouldn’t.
Damn my moral compass. Why was it I had no problem breaking into a stranger’s house, and yet I couldn’t go back on this ridiculous deal?
Was it me? Or was it Cole?
And who the hell orders someone to come over when they have no intention of being home? What did he expect me to do? Just sit around and wait for him? If this asshole showed up drunk like I’d found him earlier on the beach, so help me God, our fight earlier would be child’s play compared to the wrath I’d bring down on this house.
I reached for the knob. “Asshole,” I muttered under my breath when it didn’t budge. The thought of having to lug my bag to the back of the house, over the iron fencing, into the pool area filled me with dread, so much so that I abandoned my stuff. I’d get it once I got inside.
Just as I’d done a dozen times before, I punched in the code to unlock the back door and let myself inside. Silence greeted me as I stepped into the kitchen, and an instant wave of déjà vu hit me. How could it have been less than a week since I’d been caught here during the hurricane? We’d had dinner in the dark and drank wine, a very different setting from now.
Empty bottles of beer were scattered over the counters. Someone was either having a very fun day or a very shitty one. But by the number of bottles, Cole hadn’t been drinking alone.
Not that it was my concern.
If he wanted to get stupid drunk and sleep with a dozen girls, I didn’t care as long as he held up his side of the bargain.
Leaving the kitchen, I went down the hall to retrieve my bag, dragging it inside to the bottom of the stairs. I glanced up and groaned. It would have been great if Cole was here to carry my shit upstairs, but heaven forbid he do something gentlemanly.
Not that I needed a guy to do shit for me.
I could handle this on my own, just like every aspect of my life.
It took twice as long to get my bag to the top of the second floor, and once I got there, I eyed the hallway of bedrooms. The master was located on the first floor so I didn’t risk any chance of choosing his parent’s room, which would have been awkward.
But I still had to decide where to sleep. My eyes darted to the room on the right. Cole’s bedroom was off-limits. I could always stay in his brother’s room—the forbidden room—across the hall. Appealing, but I remembered how it had smelled too much like Cole.
I needed to sleep in a bed that didn’t reek of him.
One of these had to be a guest room, and my guess was the one with soft blue floral wallpaper didn’t belong to any of the Riley boys. I towed my bag inside, leaving it in the middle of the room. With my energy spent, I wouldn’t be doing any unpacking tonight. The only thing I wanted was a big, oversized chair to curl up in, and I knew exactly where to find it.
Checking my phone, I had no notifications from Frankie or Cole. Jerk. I stuffed my phone into my back pocket and headed downstairs, making a stop in the kitchen, which was flanked by two other rooms with large bay windows, both with views of the pool. The dining room sat on the right, and on the left was my favorite spot in the house, an office with an impressive floor-to-ceiling book collection.
Reading ran in my family. I just never had time to sit down and enjoy a book for longer than a few minutes. It had been too long since I sunk my teeth into the pages, and with nothing on the agenda tonight with no Cole and no job, I took advantage of the opportunity.
With my glass of wine in hand, I strolled along the shelves, running a finger over the spines and scanning the titles for something interesting. I’d been in this room several times before. It had a cozy atmosphere that invited you in and wasn’t stuffy or dark like other offices I’d seen on TV. This space had windows and natural light, flowing, soft curtains, oversized round chairs, and a fireplace that clicked on with a push of a button.
I picked a book I’d been meaning to read for some time. Mrs. Riley seemed fond of smut. And I fully approved.
Curling up in one of the chairs, I clicked on the fireplace, took a sip of my wine, and opened the book.
An hour or two must have passed, and not once did I glance at my phone. The glass of wine was gone, and I was thoroughly invested in the story the author weaved when I heard someone else moving around in the house.
The footsteps grew closer, and keys clattered on the kitchen counter. It wouldn’t be long until he found me. I lifted my eyes from the page to see Cole, his dark hair windblown as if he’d been riding on a motorcycle, leaning in the doorway watching me. We stared at each other.
A crooked smile formed on his lips the longer we looked at each other. “I see you had no trouble getting inside,” he finally said.
My scowl deepened. I swallowed the urge to demand to know where he’d been, why he hadn’t been here, but I didn’t want to sound like an unhappy girlfriend. What Cole Riley did with his time mattered little to me. “Some skills stay with you,” I snapped.
Cole crossed his arms, and the lamp shining behind me caught the ink covering his fingers and up his forearms before disappearing under his sleeves. He wore all black and perhaps came from a dinner party in his attire of dress pants and a buttoned shirt casually rolled up his arms. “What did I do now?” he asked, but his wary tone defied the gold twinkle in his eyes and the twitch of his mouth. He was amused by my evident irritation.
Did he want to pretend like our fight earlier hadn’t happened? My eyes narrowed. “Besides you being an ass twenty-three of the twenty-four hours?”
His grin was full of arrogance. “You’re in luck then. This is the one hour of the day I’m not a jerk.”
I snorted, sticking my finger between the pages of my book so I wouldn’t lose my place. “I’ll let you know after the hour is up.”