Page 33 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

He looks up from the bar as we walk in, eyes flicking over us. There’s a pause—like he’s weighing whether or not to care—then he nods once and turns back to his drink.

He doesn’t stand when Aidan approaches. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say a word until someone forces one out of him.

“Did you drive here?” Aidan asks, like he’s catching him in something.

“Yeah.”

“Where’s your car?”

“In the lot.”

Aidan shakes his head, clearly annoyed but trying to keep it under wraps. “You know this place has valet.”

“I don’t need valet.”

I catch the look my mom gives Aidan—tight-lipped and sharp. For once, I’m with her. He’s not even pretending to be civil.

We sit, and conversation starts to drip like a leaky faucet. Aidan launches into his upcoming book tour, full of vague references to keynote speeches and “high-level conversations.” My mom hangs on every word like he’s reading poetry. Cole stays quiet, flipping his water glass in slow, steady circles.

I watch the condensation bead on his fingers, trailing down his knuckles, collecting at his wrist.

Under the table, his knee brushes mine.

I stay still.

A minute later, it happens again—slower this time. His leg shifts against mine and doesn’t pull back. Just rests there, solid and warm. Intentional.

He’s not playing. He’s letting me feel him. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Aidan leans across his plate, oblivious. “The CEO of Gryphon Media’s supposed to be at the party next month,” he says to Cole. “Might not hurt to show your face. Make some real connections.”

Cole doesn’t look up. “I have connections.”

“Professional ones.”

“I have those too.”

“I’m talking about the kind that actually help your future. You don’t want to be inking girls’ lower backs at thirty-five.”

A flicker of something cold flashes in Cole’s eyes, but he doesn’t take the bait.

The server appears just in time, saving us all. I order the salmon. My mom gets a salad she’ll barely touch. Aidan picks something with saffron, probably to prove he knows what saffron is. Cole doesn’t even look at the menu. “Burger, medium rare,” he tells the waiter without hesitation.

While they talk about wedding venues and backyard renovations—as if their relationship actually has a future, I tune it all out and watch Cole instead.

He eats with one hand. The other never stops moving—spinning his glass, tapping the table, brushing condensation from the base of the cup. His foot taps once under the table, then stills.

Then his fingers graze my thigh. Just the edge of them. Just long enough to make me suck in a breath I hope no one hears.

He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t smirk. Just goes on sipping his drink like nothing happened.

His leg is still pressed against mine.

This time, I press back—just a little. A test. A yes.

That’s when he looks up.

His gaze finds mine across the flickering candlelight. His eyes are unreadable, but his focus is absolute.

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