Page 30 of Bad Reputation

Ryan scowled. “What?”

“Come on, man. It’sme.”

A few seconds passed. Then a few dozen more.

“She doesn’t want to hear that from me,” he finally said.

Cole wasn’t surprised Ryan wouldn’t try to deny it—his feelings for Tasha were sort of undeniable. But Cole was surprised to have a fact so obvious, if silent, be open for discussion at last.

If Cole’s own love life was shoved to the back burner, Tasha’s was frozen. Her few relationships had the cadence of high school love affairs, but Cole supposed that made sense. For all that she might be in her thirties, Tasha had devoted about as much time to herself as a sixteen-year-old.

“Besides,” Ryan said, “during her last riding lesson, she was pissed because I wouldn’t let her canter. I told her she was going to have to use a stunt double for that part.”

“Yeah, she hasn’t heard no a lot. Actually, that’s not true.” Few people’s lives had been as limited as Tasha’s and yet as privileged. She’d grown up in a solid platinum cage, and everyone had wanted to point and laugh. “But she doesn’t like feeling as if anyone is trying to control her, even if your motives are good.”

“I just want her to be safe.”

“I’m not her dad. I can’t give you permission.”

Ryan flicked a quick glance at Cole. “But she cares about your opinion more than she does her father’s.”

“Her dad’s a schmuck.” Tasha’s father had been Beth Russell’s second and briefest marriage. He was a record producer without much talent, except when it came to ignoring his kids—at that, he was basically a prodigy. Beth Russell might be an unpredictable addict, but at least she loved Tasha even if she lacked the emotional range to truly be there for her.

“The thing about Tasha is she’s strong until she’s not,” Cole explained. “And when she needs you to step in, it’s going to happen all at once. She’ll be fine, and then she’ll need a break, and there’s no space in between.”

Ryan had to suspect some of it. There’d been enough stories about Beth Russell’s stints in rehab, and for all the complete crap writtenabout the family, some of them were true. But Tasha was going to have to sort that out for Ryan—Cole wasn’t going to do it.

“You sure do know her well.” Ryan knotted his hands together and turned his scowl on Cole. “The reason why all her relationships fail—it’s not you, is it?”

“It’s never been like that.” That was a game they only played for the press. They’d never tried to deceive people who really knew them. “Her relationships fail because she goes after assholes. She thinks a man wanting to use her is the same as him needing her.”

“I don’t want to use her, and I don’t need her. Iwanther. Just her.” Ryan spoke with such conviction, his words could almost be inside a Valentine’s card.

“Well, she’s not going to know what to do with that.”

“And so we’re back where we started. No, I won’t be saying anything to her.”

The man loved Tasha, and Cole would be willing to bet that she loved him back, but no one would say it.

Words—they were hard.

And fair enough! Cole would much rather spend a few hours fencing than talk about his feelings.

Cole got to his feet and rolled his shoulders. For all that he’d stretched and done cardio this morning, he was still sore. But even feeling every day of his forty-one years, he was still in better shape than Ryan.

When it came to his body, Cole was a master. Give him a grueling exercise plan to follow, or a set of detailed ancient fencing figures to memorize, and he was happy as a clam. Working hard, staying disciplined, putting in the hours: that was the path Cole knew, the place where he felt confident.

But if his mouth was involved, he felt ... stumble-tongued. Incapable. He was grateful to Maggie for the care she was showing him and the rest of the cast, but their sessions left him feeling morenaked than naked. Who knew that talking about your feelings was more exposing than taking off your pants?

Not wanting to argue, Cole hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

He wove through the tangle of studios and rehearsal spaces. Stopping in the breezeway, he dug around in his bag for his phone.

At the door. Where are you?he texted his driver.

Outside, the sky was the color of wet concrete, and gusty winds had the trees undulating like waves. They appeared to be seconds away from a storm.

His phone dinged with a reply from his driver:Two minutes away.

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