8. Cole

Those green eyes.I'd dreamt about them so much that now all I had to do was close my eyes, even when I was awake, and I could see them—which was exactly what I was doing now as I stood in my kitchen at half past six in the morning. The bubbling sound of the coffee maker sputtered out, indicating it was done, and I forced my heavy-lidded eyes open.

I'd overslept the past three days because I'd been having an even harder time sleeping than usual. All I could think about was Bailey. Her hair, her eyes, her voice, the sweet floral scent of her perfume, lotion, or shampoo—I wasn't sure which. But above all else, it was her eyes that haunted me. It had been two weeks since I'd seen those eyes up close and personal, and I was beginning to think Sara might have been right. Maybe I did smile more when I saw Bailey. Because in the absence of seeing her, I felt a melancholy cloud looming over me.

"Morning." My sister's sleepy voice sounded behind me.

I turned around and saw that her eyes were puffy, her cheeks were hollow, and her complexion was pale. Her shoulders were slumped, and her movements were lumbered. She was in pain. A lot of pain.

"How was your night?" I knew the answer even before I asked. It was clear that she hadn't gotten any sleep.

The smile that lifted on her face didn't reach her eyes. "Okay."

"I booked an acupuncture appointment for you this Saturday at ten. I've got the kids." I hadn't booked it yet, but I would. I wanted to give her something to look forward to. I wanted her to know relief was coming.

"No. Don't." She shook her head. "Don't waste your money."

"It's already done," I lied. "And it's not a waste."

Anything I could do to make my sister more comfortable was worth it. Besides paying out of pocket for the medication that wasn't covered by insurance, I got her treatments that I knew helped. Hydrotherapy. Acupuncture. Red light treatments. Even if they just gave her a little relief. Her pain and discomfort were visible, and it killed me that I couldn't do more.

"Are the rugrats up?"

She shook her head as she yawned. "Carly's in the shower. The boys are still sleeping."

"I can make them breakfast before I go." I was running late, but if I needed to take a few minutes to make my sister's morning easier, then that's exactly what I would do.

"No." She waved her hand dismissively. "I got it. But thanks. Have a good day."

"You too, sis." I kissed her on the top of her head. "Love you."

"Love you."

I grabbed my lunch and thermos, then headed out the door. On the short walk to the garage in the back of the building, I checked traffic to the site I was working on. It was about ten miles away in Oakland, but with traffic, it could easily take from forty-five minutes to an hour. Since I needed to be there at seven, that would not be ideal. The commute was worse for people heading into the city, but over the past few years, it didn't matter which direction you were going in or what time it was; there was traffic. Thankfully, everything looked clear, so it looked like I'd be on time despite sleeping through my alarm.

The sun was rising over the Oakland hills as I drove across the Bay Bridge, and my mind drifted to the place it always did. Bailey. I'd replayed every second we'd spent in that bathroom together, about a million times. Maybe not a million, but hundreds of times. Half of those times, I kicked myself for not kissing her. The other half, I told myself that I did the right thing.

Hindsight, it turned out, was not always twenty-twenty. I was just as confused today as I'd been when I'd walked out of that bathroom. Just as torn as to whether I blew it or not. Just as confused as to why I felt such a connection with a woman I didn't know.

Something had transpired between us, something undeniable; I just wasn't sure what it was or what to do about it. The fact that I'd dreamt of her eye and hair color was one more piece of the puzzle; I just wasn't sure where it fit. But it had to be significant. Didn't it?

Or maybe not. Maybe the first dream I'd had in color in over fifteen years didn't mean anything. There were only so many eye/hair combinations. Maybe my subconscious had just taken a guess and gotten it right. Maybe we didn't have some sort of cosmic connection at all.

My mind was still on the maybe teeter-totter as I got to the site and pulled my company truck beside Timmy, who was seated on his open tailgate with Eric and Finn. The three men had been my best friends since we were twelve. Timmy Mendoza used to live in the same building I still lived in. I'd met Eric Walters and Finn O'Malley at the school I transferred to after I moved in with my sister.

Sara lovingly referred to the trio as the Three Stooges because, as she put it, they were prone to shenanigans. But they were also the best friends anyone could ask for. When my life imploded after Peter got sick and died, Sara had the twins and got sick; they were my age, only eighteen and nineteen, but they showed up with food, they helped with the kids, and they did laundry. Well, it was mainly their moms who did the cooking and laundry, but they still facilitated it. They would bring the meals, pick up the dirty clothes, and drop off the clean clothes.

They were the guys that, in the immortal words of Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting, if I asked them to, would "take a fucking bat to someone's head" for me, and they wouldn't ask questions. They were loyal. They would always have my back.

I got out of the truck, and we all walked onto the site. The guys were mid-discussion of what they'd gotten up to over the weekend. Eric and his friend-with-benefits hookup, Sabrina, had attended a sex club. Finn had spent the weekend in Vegas and lost a grand. And Timmy had gone out on another date with an Instagram model whose DM's he'd slid into about a month ago and got head in his car outside the restaurant they'd gone to.

"How was your weekend?" Finn asked.

"Good. Quiet." I hadn't had any jobs, and I'd done my best to keep the boys out of the apartment. On Saturday, I took them and Carly to the zoo, and on Sunday, we all went to the House of Air trampoline park just to give Sara some peace and quiet.

My life was very different from that of my friends.

The first half of the workday passed without incident. I'd checked my phone every hour or so, just to make sure Sara hadn't messaged me. Her complexion had been so pale this morning that I worried she might have one of her episodes.

By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, my stomach was growling. I met up with the boys in the parking lot, and we sat on the tailgates of our trucks. I grabbed one of the turkey sandwiches from my insulated lunch box and finished it in two bites. I was pulling out the second one when my phone alerted me to a message. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw it was another wedding. This Sunday. It was a repeat client, which always made things easier. Layla Simms had hired me over the past year to accompany her to a Christmas party and a ten-year high school reunion.

Layla was beautiful, smart, funny, and could easily get a date. She was also one of the ten percent of women who showed zero interest in me. There were a handful of clients who I looked forward to seeing—well, three, actually—and she was one of them. Layla, who worked in tech; Charli James, a supermodel turned doctor; and Rebecca Miller, a fitness blogger who had launched a fitness app that was now estimated to be worth over twenty million dollars.

All three women were successful, gorgeous, and could get any man they wanted, yet they hired me to go to events with them. Charli told me once that the reason she hired me was the same reason successful and attractive men hired prostitutes. They weren't paying for the sex; they were paying them to leave after. She explained she didn't have time for the emotional baggage a date brought with them. Nor did she want to deal with the aftermath of someone falling in love with her. She knew that I would pick her up on time, be the epitome of arm candy, be good company so she wasn't bored, and not expect anything from her at the end of the night. She said it was worth every dime.

"Is that another date?" Finn asked.

"Yeah." I nodded as I put my phone back in my pocket.

"Hey, um…" Finn, Timmy, and Eric exchanged looks, and I braced myself to once again be asked if I would ‘hook them up', meaning bring them on board at TPOP.

I'd mistakenly shared with them when my co-worker offered to pay me to go to the wedding. Then, after I got more ‘dates' I'd openly discussed my plans to make it a business. That was my mistake, especially since anonymity was a necessity and they all had big mouths. Which was another reason I wasn't sure I wanted to expand and include them in the business. All three of my friends were good-looking, single guys, but just like I didn't trust them to keep it in their pants, I also didn't trust them not to brag that they got money to take people out on dates. Especially if they had a few beers in them.

"We heard Lindsay is back in town," Eric blurted out.

All of my friends froze, staring at me, waiting for a reaction. I wasn't sure exactly what they were expecting. Did they think I would freak out? Did they think I would get upset? Did they think I was going to get mad?

"Oh." I bit into my second sandwich.

"She didn't tell you she was coming back?" Timmy asked.

I shook my head as I took a swig of water. That would be impossible since I'd blocked her from everything, which, looking back, was probably an immature thing to do, but, hey, I was only twenty-one.

"Danny ran into her," Eric explained.

Danny was Eric's brother. He was a few years older than us, and I was pretty sure he'd always had a thing for Lindsay.

"Are you going to call her?" Finn asked. "Are you going to see her?"

"Why would I?"

Again, the trio exchanged looks as if they had something to say about my response, but none of them had the balls to say it.

"What? Just say it."

"It's just…" Finn shrugged. "You know you're Lindsay and Cole. Cole and Lindsay."

"Yeah, when we were young."

Timmy didn't look convinced. "Okay, but, I mean, you two were… and I don't know; I was just thinking, you know, maybe now, now that she's older, you're older?—"

"We're not getting back together." Academically, I think I understood why she'd done what she had. I assume she needed to blow up our relationship because it was too much for her. We were both so young, and overnight, I became responsible for four lives. She hadn't asked for that. But that didn't change the facts of her actions. And actions had consequences; reasons didn't matter.

Which was why it was better that I didn't kiss Bailey. Because that would have had consequences. And I didn't have room in my life for consequences.