Page 22 of Restricted List

That’s Cole’s type.

I don’t fit the mold of the women he’s interested in, and that just is what it is. Cole is so damn handsome, and he’s a sweetheart, to boot—he deserves to have whoever he wants.

But the thought of him with someone else hurts. Even if I’m not what he wants, that doesn’t mean I don’t dream of things being different.

I’m going to have to figure out how to let these feelings go without losing my friend in the process.

eight

Cole

Another day, another depravedshower.

I’m going to sprain my hand if I keep jacking off at this rate.

That won’t stop me, though.

Water is pouring down on me as I fist myself, stroking my shaft up and down as I picture Rory, my dream girl, right where I want her—on her knees in front of me as she chokes on my cock.

She’d look so fucking beautiful as she takes me in, brushing me against the back of her throat as she moans around my dick, swallowing every drop of cum I give her.

That fantasy does me in, white heat consuming me as I explode, coming all over my shower floor.

As always, it only takes the edge off my desire for Rory.

My longing for her grows deeper the more time we spend together. We’ve always been friends, but we’ve become even closer this year. We started hanging out together more as we’d talk about Harlow and Knox when their fake relationship started, taking bets on how long until it was real.

Rory won.

I didn’t believe Knox would actually fall in love with my sister, but he sure as fuck did. Excluding myself and maybe Josh, I’ve never seen a man more infatuated with somebody, willing to do anything and everything just to make them smile.

The difference, though, is that they both have their girls. I’m left wanting.

I turn off the water and open my shower door, steam billowing out into the bathroom around me. I grab my towel and dry myself off before getting dressed in a pair of light gray joggers and a black T-shirt.

My hair falls to my shoulders as I run my fingers through it, laying it out just the way I like. I’ve had my hair long since I started in the majors five years ago. At twenty-eight, I should probably look into cutting it and go for a more professional look. I’m at the age now when everyone starts settling down.

But Rory likes it; she’s told me as much, even if she does fuck with me for it. For that reason alone, there won’t be a pair of scissors near my head anytime soon.

Yep, I’m pathetic.

I can’t dwell on that, though, as I hear Harlow knocking at my door.

I love our sibling time on Wednesday mornings, but I’m happier than usual today. I really want to talk to her about everything, even if it gets awkward.

Jogging to my entryway, I take a breath to settle my nerves before letting Harlow inside.

“Hey, Cole!” she exclaims, strutting inside all chipper. Because, of course, she’s chipper. She’s always chipper. But what I don’t want to know is if that attitude has anything to do with theactivitiesshe gets up to with one of my best friends.

“Morning, Lo,” I say, meeting her at my kitchen island, where she’s started unpacking the food she picked up for us from our favorite diner.

Harlow went with her usual—French toast. I switched it up, though. The season’s over, and my mind is a fucking mess—I’m not keeping myself from indulging, which is why I have an order of chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and a large side of bacon.

“So,” she says, sliding up onto a stool as I take the one next to her, two mugs of coffee in hand. “What made you deviate from your usual spinach omelet?”

I have to stifle a moan as I take a bite of my pancakes. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Harlow asks, eyeing me.

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