Two weeks later
“DANI!” NATE YELLS UP THE stairs, his impatience clear as day. He just got here two minutes ago to pick me up and he’s already reached his patience level.
“What?”
“You need to stop putting all that shit on your face so we can get going.”
“I’m not ‘putting that shit’ on my face, Nate!” I yell back as I recap my mascara and go over my lips again with bright-red lipstick, giving myself one more look to make sure everything is perfect. I have to look perfect today.
Summer has come to stay in Georgia. If my daddy saw me now, I’m sure he would have a fit over my outfit. I’ll have to deal with him later, but he won’t be able to do anything but complain about it by then. My jean shorts are just shy of what I would consider normal. They cover everything but show a lot—and I mean a lot—of leg. My red tank top is tight and gives me just enough of cleavage.
I look hot.
Really hot.
My legs look amazing. Like, off-the-charts ahhhmazing. The shorts matched with my heels make them look longer than they are. Weeks of working daily at the gym and a few more pole dancing classes have them toned to perfection, and thanks to the sun, my tan is the perfect shade of dark. My long, chestnut locks are hanging down my back in soft waves, giving them that “I woke up like this” look even though it took me almost an hour to get each curl perfect. But my makeup might take the cake. Maddi did it before she left the house, going heavy on my eyes so that my green peepers would pop like crazy. I’m not vain, but I can safely admit that I look hot as hell.
It really is a shame that I look this good and I know it might not do any good. I’m frustrated. Ever since that day in my room, Cohen has been like a ghost. Any chance I thought I might have had to try to further our conversation was just kicked like a bug. He just disappeared.
Okay, he didn’t disappear, but he didn’t exactly make it so that we could ever be alone to have a private chat. Nope. If I tried, he just wasn’t having it. He was hell-bent on keeping his distance, and that shit is ending tonight.
Nate pulls up to the event hall—a rustic, old log cabin—and grunts a few times when he looks over at me, clearly trying to tell me by his caveman speech that he isn’t happy about my outfit.
“What is your problem?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest.
His eyes narrow, and he grunts again.
I give him a few grunts of my own. What the hell? Maybe he’ll understand what I’m trying to express verbally if I try to dumb it down to alpha speak.
“What are you doing?” he asks with his head tilting like a confused dog when I grunt a few more times.
“Well, dear brother, I’m trying to see if I attempt to vocalize as you and our father do that maybe you’ll answer me back. Clearly, I have no idea what has your panties in a twist today. You’ve been all snappy snapperson since we left my house.”
“You.”
“Uh . . . can we add a few words to that, maybe a dramatic pause for flair and express a coherent thought that is well thought out and planned to make sense so that it can be understood and processed?”
“God, you can be such a bitch.”
I smile. “Oh? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He sighs and looks out the front window.
“Seriously, Nate, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, Dani. I’m taking my bad mood out on you. Doesn’t help that you’re dressed like a tramp just to gain Cohen’s attention.”
I look down at my outfit again. I don’t think it’s trampy. Sure, it’s showing my legs off and my top is tight, but I’m hardly indecent.
“Okay, tramp might be too much, but couldn’t you have worn something that, I don’t know, covers all of that under your neck?” He gestures wildly to my body.
“You’re being ridiculous. And I’m not wearing anything for Cohen. It’s summer, in Georgia, and, like, over a hundred degrees. I’m pretty sure this is considered overdressed by most.”
Okay, so I’m lying. He knows it. It could be considered slightly manic in my desperateness to get some sort of reaction from him.
“You’re only going to get hurt, Dani,” he whispers so low that I almost miss it, and hearing him confirming my biggest fear brings tears to my eyes.
“You don’t know that,” I argue weakly.
He does know that though. Cohen’s his best friend. Regardless of the fact that he probably doesn’t like that I’ve always crushed on him, he’s never tried to stop me. Until now.
“What do you know, Nate?”
He doesn’t say anything for the longest time. He just continues to look out the window, taking in all of our extended family as they mill about the parking lot and outside the venue. I follow his gaze when I see it soften slightly and see Ember Locke waving at our direction. Her face falls when Nate doesn’t acknowledge her and she looks over at me. I give her a weak smile but bring my attention back to my brother.
“He’s bringing a date, Dani.”
And cue heart stop.
It just drops right into my stomach.
In all the years I’ve loved Cohen Cage from afar, he’s never, not once, brought one of his dates around the family. I’m not stupid. I know he dates. He practically has girls falling over themselves to get his attention. But throughout the years, he’s never brought them around. And with everything that’s been going on between us for over a month now, I really didn’t think he would stoop this low just to get me to leave him alone. Maybe he didn’t mean to leave a trail of hope in his little goodbye speech the other day.
“What?” I gasp.
“You heard me, Dani. Don’t make me say it again.”
“Is it . . . is it serious?”
“He’s bringing her, isn’t he?” He looks over, and I can tell he hates that he is hurting me right now. “I’ve only met her a few times. She’s nice enough. I honestly don’t know her or their relationship well enough to tell you any more. He’s bringing Chance, too.”
“Oh,” I say, looking back out the window.
“Yeah, oh,” he parrots, reaching over and grabbing my hand to give me a strong, reassuring squeeze. “Come on, little princess. Let’s get this over with.”