Page 68 of Cocky Choices: Zoe Cocker

“You should,” Wyatt grins, strutting over to me. “And Tom here could be on some magazine covers. I mean… not like this. Look at you two, touching hands through the glass.”

My heart skips an embarrassed beat, and I meet Tom’s eyes. Neither of us drops our hands, and I so wish he could roll down the window. From the ride-alongside I’ve done with my brother, I know the backseat doesn’t have that power.

“Stop it, Wyatt,” I whisper in sorrow.

But he makes it worse. “I don’t know why you and Tom didn’t ever give it a go. Now that’s a match I could picture!”

I drop my hand and use it to cover Wyatt’s mouth. “What is wrong with you!”

His eyes flicker and go instantly serious like he just found the puzzle piece he’d been looking for.

THIRTY

Tom

Ipace the confines of my cell, cold metal bars nothing compared to the cage I feel inside of my heart, now that I know Zoe is going through with this marriage.

The events of the day replay in my mind — the sight of Caleb, Zoe's fucking fiancé, talking to her intimately yet so condescendingly, the surge of jealousy that consumed me when he almost kissed her, and the reckless decision to confront him.

That I do not regret.

Her chasing down my cage, thendefendingCaleb to her brother. For the right reasons, I believe. I agreed with what she said, and admired her for sticking to her promise. She’s got a strong moral compass — just one of the things I admire about Zoe Cocker.

It’s not like he tried to hide his past from her. Had he done that, it’d be a different story. But she wasn’t shocked or embarrassed by Wyatt informing her about Caleb’s broken history. She didn’t flinch about it having gone public, his reputation dragged down by the media. Nope. She even stood straighter as she defended Caleb. I could see her intention to stand by his side grow stronger, not weaker.

It wasn’t hard, after that, for Wyatt to talk his cop friends into letting her leave and continue delivering her flowers, free and clear, no ticket. I saw it in their eyes — she charmed them.

They witnessed our connection, too. Even told me in confidence on the way here, they wished they could’ve freed me, too. Then Peters said if I used their confession, of wanting to let me go, against them in court, they’d deny having said it. I don’t blame them for protecting their careers. They’re just doing their jobs. I did appreciate their honesty though.

Zoe.

Why didn’t I take a chance and ask her out months ago? I’m kicking myself, and my sister said the same thing when I called and told her where I am. Elena laughed and said I’m a criminal for love. She stopped laughing when I told her that because it’s Friday, I have to wait here until court opens on Monday. Then a judge sets a trial date and decides what to do with me until then.

So now, here I am, trapped behind these bars, my future uncertain.

The sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor, and I turn to see Caleb himself approaching my cell. I tense, bracing myself for another confrontation, but the expression on his face is not one of anger, but of concern.

"Tom," he says, voice low. "I need to talk to you."

“How’d you get in here?” I swallow hard, my heart pounding. "What do you want, Caleb?"

He hesitates, and meets my gaze. "I want to understand. I want to know how you feel about Zoe."

The mention of her name from his lips sends a jolt of anger through me, and I find myself unable to speak for a moment. How can I possibly put into words the depth of my feelings for her? The way everything about Zoe sets my soul on fire?

"I care for her. More than you can possibly know."

Caleb nods slowly, expression unreadable. Cold. “I thought as much. I've seen the way you look at her, the way you are with her. I..." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "I need to know, Tom. Do you love her?"

The question hangs in the air.

Do I love her?

Of course I do, with every cell of my being. But how can I admit that to the man she's chosen to spend the rest of her life with?

I start, my voice shaking, “Yes. I love her.”

Caleb's eyes widen and, for a moment, I think he might lash out at me. I’m ready for it. If these bars weren’t here, I’d happily fight him. Not that it would do much against the situation, but at least I’d get some of this anger out.

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