Page 242 of Summer Heat
I throw my head back and let out a frustrated groan. “I know, I know. I’m not saying to pretend you’re not my boyfriend—just put on a damn shirt.”
He’s wearing basketball shorts and nothing else. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, and I look down at myself and shrug. I look fine.
“Hell no. You’re not opening the door wearing that,” he says as he turns to my room.
“Cole, I’m wearing shorts and a tank top,” I say annoyed.
“You’re wearing tiny shorts and a tiny tank top that doesn’t even cover your stomach.”
I laugh because—well, what else can I do? Should I explain to Cole that Russell has seen me wearing a lot less clothing? I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear that. He hears it anyway, though, in my laugh.
“Blake,” he hisses through his teeth. “I don’t even want to think about that, so don’t make me. Put on bigger clothes, and I’ll open the door for the loser.”
“No,” I shriek. “Just let me handle this. You stay here. I’ll change, and you can stay in here.”
“Hell no. That’s not how this is going to go. I’m not hiding anymore.”
“Fine,” I agree as I change.
“That’s what you’re going to wear?” he asks amused.
I look down at the white summer dress I’m wearing. Not tight and not too short.
“What now?” I ask confused.
“You’re going to break up with the poor bastard—or let him know that you’re not going to get back together with him—wearing that?” he asks again.
“Cole, shut up,” I groan and walk past him.
He laughs and walks up behind me. “You look sexy in that,” he purrs in my ear before biting my earlobe and heading back to the living room with me.
I take a deep breath and open the door to find Russell leaning on the frame.
“Hey, Blake,” he says. Damn his accent. Damn. Damn. Damn. I feel so bad.
“Hey,” I reply. “Want to come in?”
“Sure,” he answers as he steps around me. “Are you busy?”
“Not really. Cole and I were just watching TV.” I hope that by mentioning Cole’s name I can break the fall a little for him. Actually, I hope Cole keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t say that we’re together.
“Hey, Cole,” Russell calls out from the kitchen.
“Russell,” Cole greets with a nod and a wave of his hand.
We sit down in the kitchen. I offer him something to drink and he takes a glass of water. I sit with my hands on the table in front of me unsure if I should start the conversation or let him.
“So,” he starts. “Have you had a good week?”
“Sure,” I shrug. “You?”
“I’ve had better,” he says as his hazel eyes search my face.
“Russell,” I say quietly. “I think we’re better off staying friends.”
“I know. I figured you would still feel that way this week.”
I blink at him. He doesn’t look angry. He looks a little tired, but beyond that, he looks fine. We’d only been together for six months—maybe he didn’t get too attached. I can only hope.
