Page 12 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

That’s just rude.

“I won’t ask you again, Lola. Get up.”

My body tenses at the sound of Cole’s voice.

Of all the people to bail me out of jail, it had to be him. Of course, it did. Because apparently, the universe loves irony, and kicking me while I’m down is its favorite pastime. I did also use my phone call to ask him for help, didn’t I? Ugh, what in the world was I thinking?

“What in the fresh hell are you doing here?” I demand, pushing myself up to a sitting position and glaring at him. Even in the dim light of the holding cell, he looks infuriatingly perfect—his hair artfully tousled, his jaw freshly shaved, and that stupid smirk playing on his lips like he’s won some grand prize.

Newsflash, Lawson: you haven’t.

I can feel his annoyance rolling off him in waves. I’m sure he’d rather be anywhere but here. That makes two of us.

“I’m taking you home,” he says, his voice flat, clipped, the same way it always is when he’s trying to control his temper.

“Like hell you are,” I retort, pushing myself to my feet, my head spinning slightly from the sudden movement. I’d rather spend another night in this concrete box than be beholden to Cole freakin’ Lawson.

“Lola,” he warns, taking a step closer. His presence suddenly fills the small space, making me acutely aware of the stale air, the grime clinging to my skin, and the way my heart is hammering against my ribs like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. “I don’t have time for your theatrics today.”

Theatrics? This isn’t theatrics. This is my life. A chaotic, messy, spectacularly disastrous life.

“Go back to your fancy cars and your supermodel girlfriends,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to shield myself from his infuriating presence. “I’m sure they’re missing you.”

“They can wait,” he says, his gaze holding mine, a flicker of something I can’t decipher in those stormy whiskey-colored eyes. “You, however, don’t have that option.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Don’t start with me. I might not have a shank on me, but I’m sure Bad Betty won’t mind if I borrow hers.”

“Aww, are you threatening me?” His voice is soft now, dangerously so, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

“Because I’m not like your boyfriend. I won’t give you the satisfaction of running.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I retort, hating the way my voice wobbles, betraying the fear and humiliation churning in my gut. “But you’re right. It was satisfying to see that pussy run scared.”

His lips twitch, a ghost of a smile threatening to break through his carefully controlled façade. Damn him. He always did find my brand of crazy… amusing. Seems he still does.

“Of course, it was,” he agrees, his voice dry. “I’d expect nothing less from you. Now, can we go, or would you like to stay in this cell?”

I hesitate, pride warring with the exhaustion that’s settled deep in my bones. The only reason I’m still in here is because Brian got a call, and instead of letting me out, he thought it would do me good to sit a little longer until he got back—both keeping me out of trouble and giving me time to think about what I’d done, which resulted in my desperate phone call to the devil standing in front of me.

“Fine,” I mutter, my defiance crumbling like a stale cookie. “But just so you know, I’m totally fine sitting here longer. Bad Betty is great company.”

He glances back at Bad Betty, who is now passed out on the bench. “She seems delightful.”

He makes this swirling motion with his finger for Jerry to unlock the door like he’s the one in charge here. “At least Chad was man enough not to press charges,” he mumbles as Jerry fumbles with the keys.

“I wouldn’t have cared if he did.” It would have been worth it.

Cole’s sleek vintage Mustang purrs like a contented cat as we pull up outside my brother’s apartment building. The sight of the rundown complex, with its peeling paint and overflowingdumpsters, is a stark contrast to the world of luxury Cole lives in these days. I can practically feel the disapproval radiating off him in waves.

“I see Brian got a nice raise since becoming sheriff.”

I roll my eyes. “We can’t all live like royalty, King Dipshit.” Opening the car door, I grab my purse from the floorboard and give him the finger. “Don’t act like you’re better than us. I’ve seen you pee sitting down.”

His mouth falls open. “It was leg day! It hurt to move.”

I shrug. “Uh-huh. Sure, it was.”

See if the little shit makes fun of my brother’s apartment again. Just because he makes millions now, doesn’t mean he didn’t come from humble beginnings just like the rest of us. We did grow up together, after all.

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