Page 57 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

I glance around the room, a surge of pride warming my chest. The pink isn’t as obnoxious as I’d hoped—I mean, feared. It’s warm and vibrant, like a sunrise over the racetrack. “It’s… pink,” I reply, biting my lip to hold back a grin. “You might even like it.”

“I doubt it,” he chuckles, and the sound does very inappropriate things to my insides. “But I’m willing to be surprised. Listen, the meeting’s running late. I probably won’t be back until dinner. You okay holding down the fort?”

Am I okay? I’m painting your guest room the color of my heart, you adorable idiot.“I’m fine,” I say instead, because apparently, I still have some semblance of self-control. “Just finishing up this paint job, then I’m going to head over to the track. Figure out what kind of hell Tane’s planning to unleash on us next weekend.”

“Good thinking,” he says, and is it my imagination, or does he sound impressed? “Hey, Lola…”

“Yeah?” I breathe, my heart doing that flippy thing again.

“Thanks. For everything.”

The words, spoken with such sincerity, catch me off guard. They hang in the air between us, a fragile thread connecting our cautious hearts. Yes, we’re in love, but this is still fresh and fragile.

“It’s my pleasure, Cole,” I manage to get out, my voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” I reply, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

I hang up and stare at the phone in my hand, a goofy grin spreading across my face.

As I add the final strokes to my pink paradise, my mind wanders back to high school. Back to when Cole and I were just two kids with big dreams and even bigger crushes on each other. Goodness, we were so young, so naïve.

I remember the party. The music. The way Cole had looked at me, his eyes dark with a desire that mirrored my own. I was so excited to take our friendship to the next level. The feel of his lips on mine, a stolen kiss that promised a future we’d never have.

And then, the rejection. The cold, calculated way he’d pulled away, his eyes shuttered, his voice distant.

“I can’t do this, Lola. It’s not the right time. Not the right place.”

For years, those words haunted me. They followed me like a shadow, whispering doubts in my ear every time I dared to hope for something more.

But now I know the truth. And it makes my blood boil hotter than Eleanor’s engine.

Chad. Freaking Chad. That smug, manipulative bastard. He’d blackmailed Cole into leaving me. Threatened to reveal some dark secret from Cole’s past if he didn’t cut ties with me. Unbeknownst to me, we’ve been dealing with this meddling asshole for six years.

The paintbrush trembles in my hand as a fresh wave of anger washes over me. Chad didn’t just mess with Cole. He messed with us. With what could have been. With what still might be.

“Lola the Narc.”The nickname sticks in my throat, a bitter reminder of the whispers and accusations that followed. All because Chad couldn’t stand the thought of Cole being happy. Of us being happy.

I slam the paint roller against the tray, splattering pink droplets across the pristine white carpet. Oops. Sorry, not sorry, Cole. Consider it my artistic signature.

Dammit, I hate Chad. Hate him with the fire of a thousand suns. Hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my life. If I saw him right now, I’d probably introduce his face to my fist. Or maybe his dick to my knee. Repeatedly.

But as I look around the room at the warm pink walls that seem to glow with possibility, I feel something else bubbling up beneath the anger. Hope. Because despite Chad’s best efforts, despite the years of hurt and misunderstanding, Cole and I found our way back to each other.

Sure, it started as a fake relationship. A business arrangement. But now it feels like we’re getting a second chance at the love story we were denied all those years ago.

And this time, I’m not letting anyone—especially not Chadwick freaking Tane IV—stand in our way.

I step back, admiring my handiwork. The room looks amazing, if I do say so myself. It’s warm and inviting. A perfect blend of Cole’s sleek style and my vibrant chaos.

Just like us.

As I clean up, humming along to the radio, I can’t help but smile. Chad may have won the battle in high school, but the war is far from over. And this time, I’m fighting for keeps.

Watch out, Chad. Lola the Narc is back. And she’s painting the town pink.

I’m just about to pat myself on the back for a job well done when my phone buzzes. Probably Cole again. I grin, reaching for it with paint-smudged fingers.

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