Page 52 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

It’s been a while for me. Between Elodie, work, moving, and trying to come to terms with what happened to my marriage, I haven’t exactly had time. Outside of that wild weekend in Vegas shortly after my wife left me—a weekend that I only vaguely remember thanks to copious amounts of alcohol— there’s been nothing. No one.

I haven’t even thought about anyone. Until Skylar.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, the need to see her, to confirm she's real and not just some vivid figment of my imagination, overwhelming. She's probably asleep, untouched by the storm, cocooned in her new room while I'm wide awake, restless with thoughts of her.

But there’s no denying it now—Skylar has invaded my space, my head, my goddamn dreams. It's madness, but it's there, a pull as undeniable as gravity.

"Get a grip, Cohen," I mutter to myself, but the empty room offers no reply, just the echo of my own words. Rising from the bed, I decide it's futile to try and sleep. With each flash of lightning, with each tremor of thunder, there's an image of her, hauntingly vivid, seared into the darkness behind my eyes.

The storm won't let me rest. But neither will Skylar Deveraux.

The kitchen tiles are cold against my bare feet as I pad through the darkness, guided by occasional flickers of lightning illuminating the space. It's eerie, this silence between the booms of thunder, like the world is holding its breath. I reach for a glass, the clink of it hitting the marble countertop louder than I anticipated it would be in the stillness.

"Damn," I whisper to myself, hoping the sound hasn't traveled far. I fill the glass with water from the fridge, the gentle whir of the appliance a comforting background noise.

As I lean back against the counter, a soft rustle echoes from outside. The covered patio. I freeze, listening intently. There it is again—a subtle shuffle of movement that can't be the wind. Curiosity piqued and water forgotten, I edge toward the sliding door, pressing my face against the cool glass to peer into the shadows.

Lightning flashes, stark and revealing. Skylar is out there, her figure just a silhouette against the tempestuous backdrop. She's huddled on a wicker chair, knees drawn up to her chest, looking every bit the enigma she is.

Sliding the door open, I step onto the patio, the rain-scented air fresh against my skin. "Can't sleep?" My voice breaks the quiet, and she jumps, her head snapping in my direction, hazel eyes wide in surprise.

"Jesus, Cohen!" Her hand flies to her chest, and there's a hint of irritation in her tone. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry." I offer a sheepish grin, watching as she relaxes back into her chair. "The storm's pretty wild tonight, huh?"

Skylar nods, tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. "Yeah, it's like the sky's throwing a tantrum. Impressive, though." Her gaze follows the jagged branches of lightning across the sky, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Ever think that maybe it's just trying to get someone's attention?" I muse aloud, taking a seat beside her. Thestorm seems to echo my inner turmoil—chaotic, unpredictable, electric.

"Who's attention? God's?" She chuckles, her quick wit surfacing even now, in the middle of the night under a raging sky.

"Maybe yours," I shoot back, meeting her eyes. There's a spark there, a challenge, and it sends a thrill through me.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teases, her laughter mingling with the distant rumble of thunder.

"Yeah?" I lean in closer, drawn to the warmth of her despite the chill in the air. "Even during a late-night rendezvous with Mother Nature?"

"Especially then." Skylar's smile falters a little, her gaze flitting away from mine. Her walls are up again, that icy, unapproachable aura slipping back into place. But for a moment, just a fleeting moment, I saw something else there.

We sit in companionable silence, the storm our soundtrack, as we exchange anecdotes about the most ridiculous things we've ever been afraid of. Her stories are laced with sarcasm, but the laughter that spills from her is genuine, and its music to my ears.

"Snakes," she admits after a particularly loud clap of thunder. "I know it's cliché, but they really give me the creeps."

"Reasonable fear," I agree, nodding solemnly before breaking into a grin. "Mine's clowns. Can't stand them."

"Clowns?" Skylar raises an eyebrow, her hazel eyes dancing with amusement. "Now that's an image—big, tough Cohen Rhodes brought down by a red nose and oversized shoes."

"Hey, those shoes could be hiding anything," I protest, but I'm smiling too, caught up in the ridiculousness of it all.

The patter of rain against the patio roof syncs with the thudding of my heart—a rhythm of restlessness that refuses to subside. Hell, it’s only gotten worse now that I can see herinstead of just daydream about her. I take a deep breath, feeling the humid air fill my lungs, tasting the storm on my tongue.

"So," I begin, tentatively breaking the lull in conversation. "You mentioned you haven't been serious with anyone since...since Theo." I watch her body language, trying to read the story her tense shoulders are whispering. “What happened between you two?”

She sighs, the sound mingling with the distant roll of thunder. "We were kids, you know? High school sweethearts, but more. Or, at least, that's what I thought we were." A bitter smile flickers across her lips, and then it's gone, like it was never there. "But our families had other plans. His parents shipped him off to some fancy boarding school across the country to keep him away from me. Just like that..." She snaps her fingers, the sharp sound punctuating her point. "I didn't hear from him again until a few weeks ago, when he showed up out of nowhere."

I let the weight of her words settle between us, feeling the remnants of her heartache as if they're my own. It's a familiar sting, one that echoes inside me, too.

"Your turn." Skylar turns to face me now, her hazel eyes probing. "What's your story? Who left their mark on Cohen Rhodes?"

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