“It’s just—are you sure about this? And why now?”
“Yes,” I said, because despite my nervous moments and hesitations, I’d never been more sure about anything. I took her arm and steered her to a far corner, where there were no paintings displayed on the walls and therefore no guests to overhear us. “And as for now, I don’t think I have a choice anymore. I can’t get him out of my head,” I admitted. “He’s getting into my dreams. I’ve never had a guy get this far under my skin, and it’s driving me a little bit crazy.”
“So this is an exorcism?”
“Maybe. Hell, I don’t know. Why?”
“Because we’re friends, Kat. All of us. Me and Tyler, Angie and Evan. And even you and Cole. I don’t want it to get weird, and I don’t want—” She shook her head. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. Shouldn’t go there.”
No way was I letting her get away with that. “Go where?”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
She dragged her fingers through her hair. “I just happen to know that Cole doesn’t date. I don’t want you disappointed. And—to be perfectly selfish—I don’t want to lose the dynamic between the six of us.”
“I don’t, either,” I said truthfully. “But I need to do this.” I didn’t try to explain that if I didn’t, the dynamic between us would change anyway. I’d crossed a mental line, and no matter what, I couldn’t go back to being Friendly Kat, the girl with the secret crush on Cole. Because this wasn’t a crush. This was a need. This was a hunger. I’d opened Pandora’s box, and even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t shove everything back inside.
“What do you mean he doesn’t date?” I pressed.
“That’s what Tyler told me. He fucks,” she said with a quirk of her brow. “But he doesn’t date.”
“That’s part of what makes him perfect,” I admitted, because although I had no way of knowing for sure, I’d watched him long enough and intently enough to guess that Cole was at least as fucked up as I was. “I just want to scratch this itch. And if you’re right, then Cole has the same itch, and this should work out just fine.”
“So you’re just looking for a fuck buddy?” She narrowed her eyes, obviously dubious.
“Yeah,” I said, though I hadn’t really put it in those terms before. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Kat . . .” She trailed off, and there was no way to miss the censure in her voice.
“What?”
“That’s a load of total bullshit.”
“No,” I said firmly, “it’s not.” And it wasn’t. I’d admit—at least to myself—that the attraction I felt for Cole pulsed hard and drove deep. But that didn’t mean I wanted to date the man—or, more specifically, it didn’t mean that I would date him, no matter how much I might want it.
Not that I could explain all of that to Sloane. We might have become friends since she’d rolled into town late last summer, but no way was I opening my closet so she could see all of my skeletons.
I didn’t need a degree in psychology to know I was fucked up, and I didn’t need a degree in human sexuality to know that I wanted Cole’s hands on me. The second one I could do something about. The first one I just had to live with.
“Trust me, Sloane,” I said, hoping that I wasn’t about to screw up royally. “I know what I’m doing.”
For a second she didn’t answer, then she nodded. “It’s your life. Go get him.”
I laughed, then signaled to a passing waiter. He paused in front of me, and I grabbed a glass of chardonnay.
I held up my finger as I downed it, silently signaling the waiter to stay. Then I exchanged my empty glass for a full one. “Liquid courage,” I said, more to Sloane than the waiter, though his lips twitched as well.