The Princess and The Jester - A.D. McCammon Page 0,5
washing my face and brushing my teeth, I put just enough concealer and powder on to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Then I add eyeliner, mascara, and some lip balm with a slight pink tint.
The outfit I choose is a giant middle finger to Cole: the shortest pair of running shorts I own, paired with a T-shirt I stole from Cory during a party at Aidan’s house. He may hate me, but the thought of me with someone else will drive him crazy. All boys are the same, instinctively possessive. We were each other’s firsts. As far as he’s concerned, I’ll always be his. Even if he doesn’t want me anymore.
My hands are shaky as I walk out of my room, but it’s stemming from adrenaline more than fear. The smell of something cooking hits me while I head down the stairs, and my heart stutters at the sound of Cole’s voice coming from the kitchen. He’s talking and laughing with my parents, clearly having a joyous reunion.
My mother greets me with a smile when I enter the room and silently waves me over to the kitchen table, her mouth full of the breakfast that’s been whipped up for them. Cole turns away from the stove, his stare heating my skin as I make my way in. The bastard isn’t wearing a shirt, only a pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his slim hips. He looks like a freaking GQ ad standing there, with a spatula in his hand.
His lips curl as if he’s read my thoughts. “Good morning, Princess.”
A fire lights in my belly and I avert my eyes back to my mom. She squeals with excitement as I take the seat across from her.
“Isn’t it so wonderful to have him back home?” she gushes. “He even made your favorite breakfast.”
A plate full of French toast hot off the stove is placed in front of me before Cole plops down next to me with his own. His chair scoots closer to mine as he reaches for the syrup, his other hand landing on my thigh. My core pulses from the contact, my breathing labored from the tightness in my chest.
He grabs the bottle and his palm slides up, his fingertips sweeping under the bottom hem of my shorts. My eyes shoot across the table to my parents, who are obliviously devouring their meal, before connecting with Cole’s.
“Soaked?” he asks.
My eyes widen, my cheeks flaring from his husky tone. “Excuse me?”
His lips curl as he holds up the bottle of syrup and begins to pour some on my plate. “Your French toast, do you still like them drenched?”
“Goodness, no,” my mom answers for me. “She doesn’t need all that extra sugar.”
My gaze falls with embarrassment, but Cole squeezes my leg and continues to pour. “I disagree. I think a little extra sweetness would do her some good.”
My mom giggles. “Fair point.”
My French toast is covered with maple goodness by the time he moves on to his own plate, removing his hand from my body once he begins to dig in.
When he notices I’m barely picking at my food, he leans over and whispers in my ear. “You’re going to eat every last bite, even if I have to personally feed it to you.”
My eyes cut over to him as he pulls back, the lump in my throat growing larger. Cole was the only person who noticed when I stopped eating and started throwing up at thirteen. And he’s still the only person who knows about that time in my life.
I scoop up a big bite on my fork and shovel it into my mouth, chewing like a cow. A smile breaks across his face as he pats my head, and I’m not sure if I want to hug him or punch him.
An hour later, my parents are on their way into the city and I’m in the kitchen cleaning up the mess Cole made from breakfast. My mother was gracious enough to volunteer me for the job before her departure. At least the excruciatingly uncomfortable meal served a purpose. I know now why he’s staying with us and for how long.
The good news is this situation isn’t permanent. The bad news is he’ll be here all summer. I’m not sure my heart is strong enough for three days of being around him all the time; three months just might kill me.
My parents never even considered me in the decision. Not that they had any reason to believe it