Coldhearted King: Chapter 25

“What are you doing this weekend?” I tuck my phone between my cheek and shoulder as I drop the tea bag into my cup and pour in the hot water. It’s Friday night, and with Cole having plans, I decided to leave the office at a normal hour, relax at home, and give Mom a call. Considering how distracted I’ve been with work and Cole over the last two weeks, we haven’t spoken as often as usual.

“A book I’ve had on hold for weeks at the library has finally come in, so I’m going to pick it up tomorrow morning and spend all weekend devouring it,” Mom says.

I laugh. “Sounds perfect.”

She sighs happily. “Doesn’t it? One day, when I have my dream house, I’m going to make sure it has its very own library. One with a ladder to reach the top shelves.”

“And a window seat?”

“Of course. A window seat is essential for any home library. Oh, and it needs to be a bay window looking out over a beautiful garden.”

This is a game my mom and I play. It started when I was young and one of my friends pointed out a big, beautiful house behind a black wrought-iron gate and enviously listed all the fancy things that must be inside it. She didn’t know the house belonged to my father’s family, but I did. Mom had always been honest with me, and that included answering my questions when I started asking about my dad.

When I saw Mom that afternoon and mentioned it to her, she’d sat me down and told me that a house can be big and beautiful and full of expensive things, but that doesn’t mean it’s full of love. And then together, we’d started dreaming up all the wonderful things we’d put into our own dream house. One that would be full of everything that gave us joy.

And we still do it today.

After chatting for a while longer, I say goodbye to Mom and immediately go to my little desk in the corner of the room. I pull out the plans I keep rolled inside a document holder and spread them out over my desk.

Mom doesn’t know it, but describing our dream house that day ignited my desire to be an architect. I wanted to be the one to design my mom’s perfect house. Throughout high school, I used to doodle ideas in the backs of my schoolbooks. Once I started college and learned the proper skills, I began drawing them up. The thought of surprising her with the plans one day, and eventually having enough money to build it for her, was the dream that kept me going through years of study. And after that, the hard work to get my license.

Imagining her happiness when she finally got to live in her dream house—one that would far surpass the house my dad had lived in when I was young, because it was full of everything she loved—always made me happy.

I make some changes to the plan in front of me. I’ve already added a library, since it’s something she’s mentioned before, but now I want to make it larger and add in the bay window. This isn’t the first iteration of Mom’s house I’ve created. I’ve gone through quite a few variations throughout the years. As my skills increased and I had different ideas, or when Mom mentioned something else she’d like that I hadn’t already thought of, I’d make changes.

I’m so caught up in perfecting Mom’s library that I don’t realize Alex is home until she speaks behind me. “Working on your mom’s house again?”

I put down my drafting pencil and stretch before turning to face her. “I want it to be perfect by the time I finally have the money to build it for her.”

She peers over my shoulder. “It looks pretty perfect to me.”

“It’s getting there.” I roll up the plans and store them back in the corner. Then I get up and wander to the couch while Alex rummages around in the small kitchen, putting together a dinner of leftovers. Pretty much what I had done several hours ago.

“Not spending the evening with lover boy tonight?” she asks as she shoves some Chinese food from a couple of days ago into the microwave.

“No. He has some kind of event he has to attend tonight.”

“It’s been a few weeks since we’ve had a Friday night together,” she says.

I grimace. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad friend.”

“No, you haven’t. I’m only joking. It’s good that you’re getting some so regularly. At least one of us is.” The microwave dings and she pulls out the steaming bowl of food, then comes over and plops next to me on the couch.

“Does Jaxson have plans to visit?” I ask.

She sighs. “Not for a while. He’s busy attending PR events and then they’ll be in the studio to record their album.”

“Has he said anything more about their plans? Are they still considering moving to LA?”

Alex’s shoulders slump a little. “They’re still debating it. It makes sense for them to be there, but all four of them have lived in New York their whole lives. It’s a big choice.”

“And there’s you. Don’t forget, you’re his future too, not just his music. Have you told him how much you’re missing him?”

Alex bites her lip. “I’ve tried to hide it. I want Jaxson to do the right thing for him and his band without worrying about how I’m feeling. But honestly, just this little taste of having a long-distance relationship has been harder than I expected.”

“What about your idea of getting a job in the LA office?”

“I asked about it, but they don’t have any positions available. Something might open up in the future, but nothing at the moment.”

“Would you consider joining another firm?”

“If I have to. I suppose I’m waiting until the guys make up their minds about what they’re going to do. And then I’ll decide.”

I reach over and give her a hug. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard and you miss him. I shouldn’t have left you here all by yourself so often.”

Alex waves her hand in the air, her usual smile returning. “You haven’t. And it’s not like I’m curled up in bed crying. Yes, I miss him, but we talk every night and I’ve got my classes. And it’s not like you’re my only friend.” She pokes me in the stomach. “I go out with my other friends plenty. That doesn’t mean I won’t monopolize your attention and get you to update me on what’s happening with tall, dark, rich, and handsome when you’re here.”

I stretch my legs in front of me. “I don’t know if there’s much to update you on. I go over to his place. We have sex. I come home.”

Alex looks at me skeptically. “In the last two weeks, you’ve been at his place almost every second night. There must be more to it than just sex.”

“I don’t know. I mean . . . you know what I said about him being overwhelming? Well, he is, and sometimes it’s hard to separate what’s him being the man that he is from him feeling something more than just lust. Every now and then he does something that makes me think there might be more between us. The next minute he does something that reminds me that this is just casual sex for him.”

Alex slurps up a noodle. “Maybe he’s still working out how he feels.”

“Or maybe I’m reading too much into things, and this is just how he is with the women he sleeps with—intense.”

“Well, how do you feel about him?”

That’s a loaded question and one I’ve deliberately avoided asking myself. I want to believe I can keep this thing between Cole and me only physical. That I can enjoy what he’s offering, knowing it will end one day and he’ll walk away without a second thought. But what I said to Alex is true. He is intense, and his occasional hot-and-cold attitude gives me whiplash.

He’s all over me when I’m there with him, doling out orgasm after orgasm until my legs shake so much I can barely walk, but the minute it comes time for me to leave, he goes cold. Since that first night, he doesn’t kiss me when I go. He kisses me plenty while we’re naked and writhing around together on his bed or his couch or his dining table, but when I’m dressed and standing at the elevator doors, all I get is a cool farewell.

That should be more than enough for me to keep my heart under wraps, but there’s something in the way his gaze lingers on me right up until the elevator doors close that makes my heart do crazy things. And there are other moments too. When I see one of his rare smiles or hear one of his even rarer laughs. When he runs his lips tenderly down my neck or traces the outline of my mouth with his fingertip, as if he’s memorizing the shape of it.

It’s confusing. He’s confusing. “I think if we keep this up, there’s a chance I might fall for him,” I admit.

Alex stops eating, a line forming between her brows. “So maybe you should break it off, then? Especially if he hasn’t given you any sign he might want this to turn into something more.”

“It’s only been a few weeks, and I’m not sure I’m ready to give this up yet. If I feel like I’m approaching the point of no return, that’s when I’ll tell him I think we should stop.”

Alex’s frown reveals her concern, but she doesn’t push me on it. “When are you supposed to see him again?”

“I’m going to his place tomorrow night, but I was thinking maybe you and I can go out for lunch before that?”

She nods. “I’d like that.”

We switch on the television and get caught up in a new rom-com that’s on. But eventually, my mind drifts to Cole, as it does so often these days. I find myself smiling as I think about tomorrow night and how good he’ll make me feel. I’ll just enjoy the incredible sex while I can because I know very well that giving my heart to a man like Cole is a risk—a risk I can’t take.

Although, from the way butterflies whirl around my stomach at the thought of being with him again, there’s a chance I may have already started down that slippery slope.