Page 5 of The Exit Strategy

Then the front door opens.

My stomach drops.

Some things you recognize instantly, like muscle memory forcing you to recall every painful moment, regardless of how much time has passed.

Cole Whittaker steps into my world, stopping just feet away from my car, and I focus on controlling my breath while Hudson and Fenway hurry to greet him.

When our gazes connect, he doesn’t move.

For a second—just one—his composure slips. His body locks up, his shoulders tense around his ears as though someone hit pause on his entire being.

Then it’s gone.

And he’s studying me like I’m a problem he’s already calculating how to solve.

Too bad for both of us, he stopped being my emotional crutch when he walked away.

Liar.

He lifts a hand in an awkward wave, and three thoughts hit me all at once.

One, he’s bigger, harder, hotter.

Two, I need to create an exit strategy. Immediately.

Three, I’m going to put fish oil in his shampoo.

Because old habits die hard, and it’s easier than being soft and getting trampled.

Fenway’s talking animatedly, while Hudson’s as stoic as ever, glaring in my direction. But Cole? He just stands there in jeans and a button-down that has no business fitting him as well as it does. It makes me regret the Frosted Flakes pj pants I’m wearing. I wasn’t supposed to see anyone until tomorrow.

Frankly, he’s the one being rude. Standing there, staring at me with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes? Those still hold the same dark and steady confidence that always sees too much.

That’s the real problem. He always saw too much…until he walked away without a word or a goodbye.

Some part of me longs to know why, but I’ll never ask.

It’s easier to be angry. Easier to pretend I don’t care,didn’tcare. Six years is a long time, and I don’t hold grudges—for long.

Say it again louder, Junie, for those in the back—we don’t hold grudges for long.

With a heavy sigh, I exit the car without getting too close. I’m happy he’s flanked by Hudson and Fen. It’s better to have a buffer.

“Junie.” His voice is lower than I remember. Rougher. My name rolls off his tongue like it pains him to say it.

His hand flexes at his side, almost as though he wants to reach for me but stops himself.

“Cole.” I keep my voice flat. Professional. The tone I use for people I don’t trust.

He steps forward, his arms held out stiffly. Is he trying to freaking hug me?

My shoulders lift to my earlobes, and he snaps back like an elastic band pulled too tight. When I glance up, confusion flickers in his expression, there and gone in a flash.

“We’re heading inside. I have to piss.” Hudson physically drags Fen away from us.

There goes my buffer. Hudson has leveled up his assholishness today.

“How was the drive?” Cole asks.