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I wanted to say that threatening to leave his money to my failed hockey coach and bitchy neighbors was, in fact, the real joke. But instead, I said, “Fine. In the interim, I’d like to ask that you stop threatening my staff and the people who work at my building. Harassment isn’t a good look, Dad. Since you’re so concerned with appearances, you might want to look in the mirror.”
“Isuggest that you worry about yourself,” he countered. “You’ve never been in a relationship, son. You might think you’re sophisticated, but have you considered that maybe you don’t know what the hell you’re doing?”
“Bye, Dad.”
He didn’t return the formality. He simply hung up.
I headed back to bed. I didn’t feel much better, but at least I’d done something. I climbed under the covers next to Jenny’s warm body, refusing to give my father another thought until absolutely necessary.
JENNY
Cole was working that morning.I didn’t even realize he had a home office until he showed me the vast room on the far side of the kitchen. We’d made plans to finally see a Thunder game that night. Cole said he’d already bought me a Thunder hoodie and that we would have thebesttime. I couldn’t wait!
With a vow to come out of his meetings for lunch, he gave me a hot kiss. Then he reluctantly headed to his desk. I headed out to the kitchen, badly needing a coffee.
I hated to be apart from Cole for the rest of the morning, but it was likely for the best. I’d slept in and woken up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. All those rum punches, tequila shots, and emotions from vacation seemed to have caught up with me. I didn’t feel bad, especially, just tired. I had a lot on my mind. There was sifting and sorting to do, the need to figure out how Cole and I would make this work. It seemed easy enough. I’d already called Elena and quit. Next up was a call to my landlord, and then Cole and I needed to discuss whether or not he’d meant what he’d said about me moving into the Liberty.
When we first talked about our future, I’d thought he wanted to set me up in my own place. Then he’d kinda-sorta move in with me. It seemed that buying me my own condo was, in hismind, the next rational step. We’d only been dating for two weeks. We could still have some independent space if I had my own place. If I moved in with him here, we’d be officially official both internally and externally. Maybe that was too many adverbs for Coley to handle all at once.
But as soon as we’d gotten back to the Liberty, he seemed like he changed his mind. Like he wanted me to stay there and live with him full-time. Maybe hewasalready ready for more.
Was I?
The thing was, the answer seemed simple: I couldn’t imagine being away from him. Why would I want my own place if it meant he might not be there? Why would I want my own bed when I liked sharing his? It had only been a short amount of time, and yet I felt like I no longer made sense without Cole. He’d become just as much a part of me as my curls and honking laugh; I wouldn’t be me without him.
So I knew my answer, even though it scared the hell outta me.
It was yes. Yes, I was already ready for more.
I let myself sing a happy song in the shower, “Walking on Sunshine,” an oldie but a goodie. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t berate myself for hoping. I let myself feel, once again, that perhaps my hope was meant to be. Maybe good things could happen. Even for a girl like me.
I was still humming the tune while I dressed. I heard my phone beep and lunged for it, hoping it was Audrey. I wanted to know if there was anything new with crazy-ass Celia Preston. But it was a text from an unknown number with a six-one-seven area code, someone local but unfamiliar.
Funny to be seeing you so dressed up.
The sender included a screenshot of Cole and me walking into Todd and Evie’s wedding. My head was held high. Cole was grinning, his arm around me in my special mermaid dress.
Sluts like you don’t deserve dresses like that.
You can pretend, but I know the truth.
Once a whore, always a whore.
I blinked at the messages. They were so mean. I felt like I’d been slapped in the face.
There was a girl who I used to work with, Renata, who was always picking on me—she was real jealous. Maybe this was her?
Renata, is that you, you bitch?
Don’t you think it’s time you got a life?
It’s not Renata. What kind of frickin’ name is that, anyway?
It’s Aunty Theresa. Remember me?
The one who took you in? When you had nothing? When no one else gave a shit?
You stole from me, and you lied. And I ain’t ever gonna forget about it, BITCH.