Page 33 of Tempted Hearts
Friend of a friend.
And nothing more.
14
JULES
Mr. Stick Up His Ass was back with a vengeance.
At first when he’d fallen asleep on the train back, I was a little disappointed. No history lessons. Or wondering if he’d moved so close to me on purpose. With no phone to look at—the phone store in Florence had proven to be a bust—and no one to talk to, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep too. Instead, I listened to Cole’s steady breathing, and the group of friends in front of us speaking in Italian, and the woman behind us asking her husband in English if they’d missed their stop.
As usual, my mind wouldn’t slow down.
I thought of my book, on hold now for over a month. Of my classes. But mostly, about the sleeping guy next to me who was as much of an enigma as the reason I’d strolled away from the bathroom sans backpack.
“This is our stop.”
How long had he been awake?
“Okay,” I said, not feeling particularly chatty. It was exhausting keeping up with all these versions of Cole. Neither of us said a word on the way back. Not as we left the train station, or made our way through the pedestrian tunnel, away from Old Town toward the beach hotels. In fact, the only thing we exchanged were a few innocuous glances and more than one yawn.
“You can use the bathroom first,” he said as we made our way into the room. Neither of us had mentioned that since Parker and Delaney moved out of their room, there should be an extra. I should probably do something about that in the morning.
“You’re up,” I said, ready for bed. Cole hardly looked at me.
I turned off the lamp, pulled the covers to my neck, and turned my back to him. Trying not to imagine him in the shower, the sound of running water making its way clearly into the bedroom, I yawned again, wondering how I would possibly sleep.
* * *
A knock on the door jolted me awake.
I spun around, groggy, and looked at Cole’s bed. Empty.
Somehow, not only did I fall asleep, but it was nearly nine o’clock, according to the alarm on the nightstand.
Heading to the door, I fixed my top bun, looked down to see how much nipple was popping through in my thin nightshirt (not too bad) and opened the door.
Just like yesterday, Cole was in running clothes.
Sweaty.
And hot as hell.
It was the lack of glasses. They were fine, cute in their own way, but without them? He seemed… just, different.
“Why did you open the door?” he said, coming inside.
“Maybe because you knocked on it?” I shot back, heading to the bathroom.
“You had no idea who I was.”
Grabbing the outfit I’d laid out the night before on top of my suitcase, I locked myself inside and called, “Oops,” not knowing if he heard me. It was only after I showered and dressed that I realized he might have needed to use the bathroom.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I said, stopping dead in the center of the room. Cole was showered and dressed. What the hell?
“I got another room. Figured it would be easier. Moved my stuff over there but used my key”—he held a card up—“to get back in.”
Oh. Of course. “Good idea,” I said, hoping he didn’t notice the catch in my voice. I’d planned to do the same today anyway.
