“Well, this is easy,” Cole said, and being the moron I am, I actually felt relieved before hearing what he had to say. “It sounds like you already gave her something unforgettable, my friend.”
I collapsed onto my back on the bed. “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
I blew out a breath. “That’s debatable right now.”
“You don’t love me enough to flash me on my birthday, though,” he lamented.
“The debate has ended. Our love is over.”
“Awww,” Cole cooed through the phone. “I’ll win you back. MaybeCosmohas an article about this online.”
“Cosmo?” I asked.
“You know, the magazine,” he said, as if I were playing dumb.
“Why would I know about that?”
He made an annoyed sound. “Do you even want solutions, Addy?”
I sat up and shifted so I was sitting against the headboard. “I do, man. I want her to be comfortable here, but I feel like I’m messing up. And then I almost, kind of… tried to kiss her the other night.”
Cole gasped, and I could picture him shooting to his feet. “How did you not tell me this before?”
“I was getting to it,” I grumbled.
“What happened? Did little sis kill your moment or something?”
“Honestly, I wish she’d interrupted sooner, to save me from my insanity.”
He was silent for a beat. “So, what happened?”
I took off my glasses and set them on the bed beside me, rubbing my eyes with one hand. “She panicked, man. Flinched back like…. I don’t know.I don’t know.” My voice had turned a bit pleading and a lot pathetic, but I didn’t rein it in. Not for Cole. He’d seen me at my worst, and I’d seen him at his, so there wasn’t any reason to filter myself.
He made a disgruntled noise. “She probably remembered how you looked naked, right at the wrong time. Or the right time, maybe. It would startle anyone, especially considering how modest you usually are. All covered up in your flannels and whatever.” He whistled, then laughed. “I bet it’s hard to dress like that down there, isn’t it?”
It was. Not so much that I’d actually bought myself any shorts, but one more evening of this coastal humidity in my jeans and I’d probably be ordering some.
Just… not jorts.
An image of Ireland in her ripped-up jean shorts flashed through my mind, and I gripped the phone tighter.
They definitely worked for her.
Just not for Pops. Or me.
“Okay, okay,” my best friend said. “Here’s what you need to do.”
I put my glasses back on. “Tell me.”
“First of all, get some exercise this weekend. Whatever you have to do to achieve that, do it.”
“There is a gym, and I think I saw something about fitness classes at the Locc. I’ll look into it.”
“It’ll be good for you. You’ve been on your ass for too long. Speaking of… do you have a doctor for your ankle or foot or whatever down there yet?”
“I have a lead,” I hedged.
