Page 8 of Holding The Reins

Cole is already hard at work leveling my book shelf when I saunter out to the kitchen rubbing my eyes.

“I sure hope you’re planning to unpack and clean up today, it looks like a cyclone went through here.”

I look around my living room at the ten different outfits from the night before strewn across my couch.

“You know, I’m not a child. Nash didn’t have to tattle tale on me.”

“He’s just looking out for you is all, CeCe,” Cole retorts.

Sure.

Cole scrubs his face with his hand. “He said he had to cut you all off last night.”

“Nash Carter isn’t exactly a saint. I had like, five glasses. It’s the sugar that makes me feel bad. I can’t help it if he makes the sweetest sangria in three counties.”

“Sure… must have been the sugar,” Cole chuckles.

“Whatever, Nash judging me about having a good time is like the pot calling the kettle black.”

“He wasn’t judging you. He was worried about you. He didn’t know you and Andrew broke up. He wanted me to know so I could make sure you were okay this morning. He’s changed, CeCe. You’d be surprised.”

I snort back my laughter and mouth “okay” to him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” I toss my hair into a ponytail.

“I’m going to the big house for breakfast so I can withstand your yelling. I’ll be back before you’re done with that shelf.” I rub my head.

“Need something to soak up all that alcohol?” Cole smirks at me, showing me his dimples and contagious smile.

“Shut up, it was one night.”

“Let’s hope so, the last thing I need is Gemma saying my little sister beat her ass at our next mediation.

“Sorry. She just said some things, I’m not gonna let her talk about you like that.”

“What did she say?” His curiosity is piqued now.

“That you were good for a piece of ass, but that all you cared about was Mabel and would never be able to truly make a woman happy.”

His eyebrows relax at my words and his wide, dimpled grin forms as he speaks.

“If that’s all she’s got, I’m okay with it. I got the prize, I’ve got Mabes.” He walks over and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“No more bar fights, got it?”

I nod like a child.

“Okay, I promise. And Ginger says hi.” I grin.

“Fucking Ginger. You ever notice the only time you get in shit, you’re with her? Maybe go out with someone different and take it easy on Sangria Sunday, yeah?”

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll forget about the time you came home in your boxers and bare feet after Jason Handler’s wedding,” I joke.

“That was ten years ago, let me live it down.” I hear him call as I breeze through the cabin door.

The big house is fairly quiet when I enter, I can faintly hear a John Prine song coming from the kitchen. It’s there that I find my mother with yoga pants on and her hair in a long blonde ponytail, similar to mine.

“Morning, Mama Jo,” I croak.

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