She was throwing rocks at his window. What a cliché thing to do. He realized, in the split second before he opened the pane, that he was smiling, so he schooled his features into a scowl. Pulling the window open, he ducked out, his hands gripping the white sill, his eyes finding the one person he didn’t want to see, standing on the green expanse of lawn, in a green top and white shorts, a wrapped towel held against her shirt. “What?” he called down, his voice coming out irritated and scratchy. Good. Let her know that she’d woken him up. Let her know that she had no positive effect on his mood or demeanor.
“I brought you something.” She held up the towel, and he glared down at it. He couldn’t think of anything he’d want in a towel. Though… maybe it contained breakfast. He was hungry. He’d gone through the kitchen cabinets last night and hadn’t found anything. Another example of how much he needed Justin.
“Is it breakfast?” he called out.
“Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to holler down at me?” she yelled back. A distinct non-answer. He debated, then pulled back, shutting the window, watching Summer as her head dropped, and she headed to the back porch. He reached down for his T-shirt from last night, then thought better of it, moving out the door and down the hall, toward the stairs. If she wanted to barge into a man’s house at eight in the morning, she could suffer the consequences for it.
When he unlocked the kitchen door, he got the full impact of Summer in the morning. Her hair wild and long, curling around the top of her shoulders. The top straps of her bright green tank top had a scalloped edge, the neckline dipping behind the mound of towels in her arm. Her eyes shone playfully at him, her pink lips curved into a playful smile. It was such an unexpected and beautiful combination, so different from the injured girl who had run home yesterday after their kiss. He held open the door and tried to understand what was happening. Her eyes dropped down his bare chest and to the low hang of his boxer briefs, and she blushed, turning her head, her next words directed away from him. “I could have waited for you to get dressed.”
“I don’t think so,” he chuckled, leaning against the doorway. “You were awfully persistent with those rocks.”
She didn’t respond, but the sun’s shine on her flushed cheeks was beautiful.
“You have something for me?” he pushed, trying to see the toweled gift she cupped against her chest.
“Can you put on some pants?” she snapped, looking back at him, her eyebrows raised accusingly. “It’s rude to waltz around with your junk out.”
“Fine.” Cole swung the door shut, the edge not quite sticking, his view of Summer a thin sliver as he grabbed for his jeans, tossed on the kitchen floor last night. He stepped into them and tried to remember why, of all places, the kitchen had been where his pants had come off. Oh. Right. This had been ground zero for the first jack-off session, his eyes on Summer’s house, picturing her returning, catching him with his cock out, eyes closed, her soft gasp and then… he snapped the memory shut, twisting the fly of his jeans shut and returning to the door, swinging it open. God. Another minute of that and he’d have been hard again. “Come on in,” he called.
Her eyes skipped over his body briefly and she stepped inside, apparently approving of his new level of dress. Funny, a fan had never yelled at him to put on clothes. Though Summer wasn’t a fan. She’d made that abundantly clear.
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen and nodded to one of the bar stools. “Sit,” she ordered, the gleam in her eyes back.
He sat, hesitantly, more scared of friendly Summer than he’d been of the hostile version.
“I know last night was a little… rough. So I wanted to come over and give you a housewarming present.” She beamed, but didn’t set the towel down.
“A housewarming present,” he said slowly.
“Yes. To mend the fences. Between you and I,” she clarified, like he was a complete idiot.
“You want to kiss and make up,” he risked.
She glared at him, but he saw the laugh in her eyes. Oh… so many different pieces to this woman. “In a metaphorical sense. But what I said yesterday—”
“I got it,” he interrupted. “No kisses. You don’t like that.”
Her forehead scrunched in an odd fashion. “Right.”
“So what is it?” He gestured toward the wrapped bundle before he lost all patience and swept her onto the counter. The package, he meant. Before he swept the package on the counter.
“Oh, right!” She stepped forward and gently set down the towel on the counter, parting it in careful motions, as Cole leaned forward. When the head popped out, in one quick jerk, he jumped back with a curse, the stool flipping out from underneath him, his hands trying to grip the counter for balance, then he fell back, his ass hitting the tile floor hard, with a smack hard enough to make him yelp.
There was a quiet pause from behind the counter, then Summer’s head came cautiously over its edge, mirroring the actions of the tiny baby chick that wobbled out from the towel’s bed and looked down at Cole.
CHAPTER 42
A rooster. I thought he’d find it funny. We could laugh about it, in Cyndi Kirkland’s ridiculous rooster house, and make amends. Get our friendship off on a better foot, one that didn’t involve insults and barbs and impromptu kisses. I woke up that morning determined to get over my insecurity in regards to kissing and to get on the right side of the asshole that was Cole Masten. I needed this money, I needed this role, and if I happen to suck at kissing, so be it. A present was the most obvious solution to the problem. I would have made him something to eat, but he had curled his lip at my apple cobbler so I had to think outside the box. And when I thought of a rooster, it seemed perfect. Funny, light-hearted, a country gift for a city boy. I didn’t expect the man to fall backward like I’d put a bomb on his doorstep. Didn’t expect him to glare at me like he was, right then, my hands gently wrapped around his new pet.
“Are you crazy?” he gasped, pushing to his feet and brushing himself off. Not much to brush off. Cyndi Kirkland’s floors were cleaner than a Holiday Inn room on inspection day. “Literally, I need to know this, for the future of the movie. Are you insane?”
The baby chick clucked nervously in my palms, and I slid him back a few steps, closer to the protection of my chest. Against my fingers, his heart beat a rapid patter.
“Well?” he demanded, and I blinked.
“That’s a serious question?” I responded. “I thought you were just asking it to be a smart ass.”
“No. It’s a serious question. What normal person brings someone a fucking bird as a housewarming present?” He gestured to the baby chick, and I had the ridiculous urge to cover up its tiny ears to protect it against the swearing. I should have. Just to see the look on Cole’s face.
“I am not insane,” I responded. “And it’s not a baby bird. It’s a baby rooster.” I nodded in the general direction of Cyndi Kirkland’s decoration insanity. “I thought it’d be funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious.” He raised his hands to his head and turned away. “This whole thing is fucking hilarious. I’m gonna have a nervous breakdown over how fucking hilarious this is. What am I supposed to do with that? Eat him?”
I started back, bringing the tiny body to my chest. “No! He’s a pet!”
“I—” He pointed to me, then to the baby chick. “I can’t have a pet. I don’t have anywhere to keep a fucking rooster, Summer.”
“Would you please stop cussing? It’s so… unnecessary.”