Seductive Chaos Page 4

  “Ahh!” she shrieked, tossing the phone onto the bed.

  I grabbed it, wondering what had elicited such a response from her. I swiped the screen and started laughing. Because staring back at me, was an up close and personal picture of Cole’s junk. I’d recognize that vine tattoo and slight bend to the left anywhere.

  And I swear to God it was winking at me!

  Trying to stop giggling, I quickly deleted it and turned off the phone with a roll of my eyes.

  Gracie looked mortified. “I could have gone my whole life without seeing that!” she groaned, making me laugh harder.

  “Glad you find my disgust and horror so amusing,” she snipped.

  I shook my head. What could I say? Disgust and horror went hand in hand with Cole. As well as frustration, irritation, annoyance, knee trembling, palm sweating, dissolving into a pile of pent up sexual frustration…

  “Does he do that a lot? Send you pictures of his penis?” Gracie asked primly.

  “This is Cole we’re talking about here,” I said. And she nodded. That was all the explanation she needed.

  After I had locked myself into Gracie’s room on Sunday, I had spent the next hour ignoring my ringing cell phone. Cole had bombarded me with texts and calls.

  I didn’t answer right away. I was feeling touchy and upset and I couldn’t pin down the exact reason.

  Was I mad at Cole? Hell yeah. Though to be fair, he hadn’t been doing anything unusual. He had just been behaving in typical Cole Brandt fashion. But that had been the problem.

  The typical was getting old.

  Because this time, instead of being angrily aroused, I had felt painfully empty.

  Gracie had finally returned to the room and being the great friend that she was, she didn’t ask about Cole or mention what had happened after I had left the restaurant. We had gotten our things together and taken a cab to the airport. And then we had flown back to home.

  I had spent Monday trying to get my head straight. Maysie had called and said the show was great. She mentioned that several local newspapers and online blogs had covered the concert and the boys had gotten some great press. The indie label they were signed with was already pushing for a bigger album release than they had originally planned given the increase in media attention the Rejects were getting.

  Great things were coming. We all knew that.

  I was really proud of the boys I had known for years. I was proud of Cole most of all, stupid bastard that he was. I knew how much this meant to him.

  So when he called me the next time I had answered. We spent the first ten minutes going through the customary banter

  “What the hell is your problem?” Cole had demanded.

  “You’re my problem, dickhead!” I had responded.

  Insults were hurled, frustrations were voiced. And then when our anger had finally abated and when we normally would have run out of things to say to one another and hung up, we actually began to talk.

  Cole started telling me about the concert. He began to share with me what it was like to sing up on stage in front of a crowd that wanted to own him. It was as though he were desperate to share this important part of his life with me.

  His excitement was infectious. It filled me and spilled over. I was happy for him. And that felt so much better than the anger.

  And we had, just like that, fallen into something better than our usual. Because for the first time in the history of our relationship, we were talking to one another. Or Cole was talking and I was listening without wanting to tell him to shut up.

  It was disconcerting how easily it happened. And by the end of the phone call I was in a good mood and more than willing to engage in a boisterous round of phone sex.

  I should be annoyed with how quickly I was turned around by Cole. That despite all of my strong resolve, it was no match for a sexy laugh and a great set of pipes.

  Why did Cole have to make it so damn easy to forget that I wanted to hate him? Why didn’t I have any sort of self-control? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was the cutest doormat in Bakersville, Virginia.

  Gracie nudged me out of the way and started rummaging through my walk in closet. I loved our apartment. It sat on the bottom floor of an old Victorian house in the heart of historic Bakersville. It had been completely renovated before we had moved in and was open, light, and airy.

  My room was painted a soft, pale yellow and had French doors that led out onto a small, stone patio. My large four-poster bed that sat in the middle of the room had been a gift from my parents when I started high school. They had loaded it up with the rest of my bedroom furniture and driven it over four hundred miles from Pennsylvania the weekend Gracie and I had moved in.

  My mother helped me to arrange my room and even had a hand in choosing the tastefully framed artwork that adorned the walls.

  My parents really were wonderful.

  This room screamed Vivian Baily. You only needed to walk through the door to know everything about me. My personality, my passions- they were all there.

  I realized looking at my cream comforter and bright orange throw pillows that Cole had not once in the two years we had been sleeping together been to my apartment. He had never spent the night in my bed, wrapped in the blanket I had purchased for myself when Gracie and I had moved in.

  I had never shown him the pictures of my family and friends from back home. Hell, I don’t think he even knew whether I had siblings.

  And again, just like that, and despite Cole’s funny yet crude text that had made me laugh, I felt hollow.

  “Wear this. You’ll look gorgeous,” Gracie said, holding out a classic grey pencil skirt and blue silk blouse.

  “Wow, I didn’t realize I owned something like this,” I said, taking the clothes from her.

  “They’re Maysie’s. You borrowed them for the wine tasting we went to last year,” Gracie remarked dryly.

  “Oh, well that makes sense,” I said, quickly changing.

  “You really need to do some shopping. Halter tops and hooker shoes won’t cut it at The Claremont Center,” Gracie advised.

  “Maybe we can go after work! Oh, goodie! Retail therapy!” I enthused, clapping my hands together.

  Gracie smiled and nodded. “Sounds great!” she said, just as excited by the idea of shopping as I was.

  “Thanks again, G,” I said with a smile before shooing her out so I could sort out my makeup. It required my total and complete concentration. The perfect blending of foundation and blush was a work of art.

  My phone buzzed again and I saw Cole’s name flash across the screen. It was eight fifteen on a Monday morning. This had to be a record for him. Normally he’d sleep until the early afternoon.

  “Hello,” I said as I wiggled into my skirt. I smoothed the material down and looked in the mirror. Gracie was right. It fit me perfectly.

  “Did you like it?” he asked immediately.

  I smirked, knowing exactly what he was referring to, but I decided to play coy.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The picture, Viv. I knew you’d enjoy an eyeful of my tackle. What better way to start your day,” Cole stated with enough arrogance that it tiptoed between attractive and obnoxious.

  “Well, I couldn’t really see anything. It was so small,” I responded, trying not to laugh.

  Cole growled in my ear. “Don’t play that game with me, baby girl. Size has never been a problem. I’ve got more than enough package to keep you happy.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, me and every other girl out there.” I just couldn’t help myself. The jealous shrew seemed to be rearing her head already and we had only just started talking.

  “Don’t start that shit again, Viv,” he warned and I knew my remark had annoyed him.

  I could almost hear Cole grinding his teeth.

  “Just stating facts,” I said.

  “Always about the other chicks! Look, I love your possessive shtick. It’s hot and all. But not so much when I’m trying to have a little conversation
.”

  Was he serious?

  “Well, I sent you a picture of my boys, you need to send me a picture of your boobs,” he said, bringing us back to more important topics apparently.

  “What?” I asked incredulously.

  I could hear Cole sighing. “Your boobs, Vivian. I want a picture of your magnificent tits.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He was so unbelievable sometimes that it was hard to take him seriously.

  “I am not, and I repeat, not texting you a picture of my boobs. So get that thought out of your head right now,” I said firmly.

  “Aww, come on, baby! I need something to whack off to this morning,” he whined.

  “I’m sure there’s a magazine or two under your pillow as we speak. I’m sure you can find more than enough wank material,” I assured him, applying some mascara. It was getting late. I was going to have to leave soon.

  “But it’s not the same. I know what yours feel like. It makes the fantasy so much more real.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or repulsed. I settled on a strange mixture of both.

  “Sorry, Cole. I can’t help you out. I’ve got to get to work. I start a new job this morning, so I can’t waste time texting you pornographic pictures.”

  “This is bullshit,” Cole muttered.

  “Stop being such a baby.”

  “Stop being such a prude!”

  “Fuck you,” I lobbed back.

  “I would if I were there,” he countered.

  I found myself laughing again. Sometimes we were just too ludicrous.

  “That right there is my favorite sound in the entire world,” Cole said suddenly and my giggles subsided immediately.

  I cleared my throat. “I have to go, Cole,” I said, not liking the tightness in my throat at his careless, throwaway compliment.

  “You got a new job?” he asked, surprising me. Cole wasn’t one to take much interest in anything that didn’t have a direct correlation to him.

  “Yeah. I’m pretty excited about it,” I answered.

  “Tell me about it,” he urged, shocking me again.

  I was silent for a heartbeat too long.

  “You still there?” Cole asked, snapping me out of my dumbfounded stupor.

  “What’s this about, Cole? Why the sudden interest in what’s going on with me?” I asked shortly.

  I was met with stunned silence.

  “I’m a dick,” Cole said suddenly.

  Then I was laughing again. Side splitting, snort out my nose laughing.

  “Well, I’m not going to argue with that,” I told him when I was able to settle down.

  “I am interested in what’s going on with you, Viv. I know I don’t act like I care, but I do. When you left on Sunday, that hurt. I didn’t like thinking that you were upset. I wanted to talk to you. Make you feel better,” he admitted and I had to sit down on my bed so my legs wouldn’t give out from underneath me.

  My mind tried to process what he had just said. Me leaving on Sunday had hurt him. I found that so incredibly hard to believe. Yet Cole wasn’t one to say things he didn’t mean.

  I had hurt him. He cared about me.

  Those shiny possibilities danced in front of my eyes again.

  Damn him!

  Cole cleared his throat. “Uh, so tell me about your job. Please tell me it involves you in some high heels and a pole.” His voice became husky and I had to chuckle, relieved that he had taken some of the edge off the serious turn of our conversation.

  “No, Cole. There’s no stripping involved,” I said. It was amazing how seamlessly we could move from being angry to teasing and comfortable. This had always been the ease of being with Cole. While he didn’t profess to be the love poetry and watch The Notebook with you kind of guy, you knew what to expect from him.

  Most of the time.

  Though the tender comments and personal admissions left me totally unbalanced and I found that I needed this side of Cole that I was familiar with. I didn’t have time to think about the other side he was starting to show me in bits and pieces.

  “Damn. Because I would have flown back just so I could be your most devoted customer,” he quipped.

  “Well, I think I’d like more out of my life then to dangle off a pole while guys shoved bills down my G-string.”

  “Yeah, you’re too smart for that shit. Besides the only stripping you’ll be doing is for me,” Cole announced firmly. And here was that odd subtext again.

  “I’m going to be the Events Coordinator at The Claremont Center,” I added quickly, brushing off my discomfort.

  “That place that has the opera and shit?” Cole asked.

  “Yep, that’s the place.”

  “So you’ll be an opera singer?” he asked and I could hear the grin in his voice.

  “Ha, ha. No, dumbass. People hire the hall out for special events. I’ll help coordinate those. As well as charity events and fundraisers.” I buttoned up my blouse and did a quick turn in the mirror. I looked good. Professional but classy. I hit the speaker button and set my phone down on my dresser so I could wrap my hair into a bun at the back of my head.

  “That sounds awesome, Viv,” Cole said sincerely. Was that genuine interest I detected? No, couldn’t be.

  “Uh, yeah,” was all I could say.

  “You’ll kick ass, Viv. You always do.” Since when did Cole designate himself my personal cheerleader?

  It was disconcerting to say the least.

  “Thanks,” I replied shortly.

  “I should let you go. I’m sure you’ve got all of that girlie crap to do. I just wanted to call and hear your voice and to say, I uh, I hope I see you soon. Maybe you could fly out for another show. I could pay for your ticket. It’s just better when you’re around.”

  It sounded as though the admission were strangling him.

  I leaned my forehead against the mirror and closed my eyes. He made it so easy to forget the ugly stuff he did. He made it so easy to want to be with him for real. For keeps.

  “Cole,” I began and then I heard something that brought the reality of who he was and who we were to each other crashing into my chest.

  “Hurry up, Cole! I need to go to the bathroom!” a female voice whined in the background.

  “You asshole,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying.

  “What?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

  “It sounds like you need to go and I have to get to work.” I tried to control my temper. I needed to. I was tired of giving him the reaction he was looking for.

  “It’s not what you think, Viv. Don’t start being a bitch before you know what’s going on,” he snarled.

  He did not just call me a bitch!

  “Look, some of us have commitments to keep. Not that you’d know anything about that!” I spat out.

  “Is that what all of this has been about? Commitment? Because we’ve talked about this, Vivian, you know how I feel about you. About us. But maybe we need to talk about it again. Because I don’t like feeling like I’m fucking up all the time,” he retorted angrily.

  I didn’t have time to get into this with him. And I didn’t want to. My head couldn’t be wrapped up in him when I had to get to work.

  “I’ve got to go,” I stated.

  “Fine, if that’s what you’ve got to do,” Cole shot back.

  My mood had done a one-eighty. Cole could make me giddy like a schoolgirl one minute and so unbelievably angry the next. Why did I subject myself to this over and over again?

  “Can I call you later?” he asked gruffly.

  “Why?” I demanded, slamming my brush down. I didn’t have time to do my hair now. Cole was going to make me late on my first day. He had an uncanny ability in screwing everything up royally.

  “Because, I don’t know, I just want to talk to you. We’ve got a conference call with the label later. They’ve been talking about some new opportunities for the band. I’d like to tell you about them, I guess. But if you’re too busy be
ing pissed at me, maybe not.” No apology for talking to me with another girl in his room. No contrition for playing the slut once again. Just blanket acceptance of what he was and what we were to each other.

  “I don’t know,” was all I could say.

  “Well, I hope you answer when I call,” Cole said before I could hang up. I didn’t say anything, the silence stretching between us.

  “I’ll let you go then. Good luck today. Not that you’ll need it. You’ll be amazing,” he said softly.

  “Thanks. Bye, Cole,” I said before I could succumb to his charm.

  “Bye, Viv,” he said, my name a whisper in my ear.

  I quickly disconnected the call.

  I gripped my phone in my hand and stared hard at my reflection in the mirror. Why was I so weak? Why had I settled for this, whatever it was?

  I stared hard into the eyes of the tired girl looking back at me and knew one thing for sure.

  I was stuck.

  And I was ready to make a jail break.

  The Claremont Center sat on the edge of town on six acres that spread along the river. At one time it had been a working plantation. The three-hundred acre estate had been broken up and sold off over the years and in 1986, Gregory Claremont, a local textile tycoon and his wife Jillian had bought the decaying manor house and surrounding property and pumped millions into fixing it up.

  Jillian had been some sort of Broadway star in the 1970s and a well-known champion of the performing arts. At that time the closest playhouse was an hour and a half away. So with their considerable fortune they had turned the stately home into one of the most illustrious performance halls on the east coast.

  I parked my car and started walking toward the front of the building. The lawn was impeccably manicured and the large windows twinkled in the early morning sun. The frost still clung to the grass, making it crunch beneath my feet.

  I had tried to shake my early morning conversation with Cole on the drive over. Sitting in traffic listening to angry chick music had gone a long way in soothing my jangled emotions.

  I refused to fixate on the thousand meanings to our phone call. I couldn’t let myself dissect and tear apart everything he had said to me.

  And I sure as hell wouldn’t think too long about the girl’s voice I had heard in the background. Because if I did, my professional first impression would go right out the window.