Page 21 of Best Laid Plans
“Come home with me.”
Check, please.
10
Brooke
Cole seems like a good guy, not a serial killer, but I still have Carla take a picture of his driver’s license before I leave with him. He watches me with a small smile on his lips when I inspect his ID before handing it back to him. Cole Matthews. And he’s a donor.
We walk to his apartment, which he says is only three blocks away. But three blocks in heels is not easy. First my day starts with a damn fake belly and I can barely maneuver about and now I’m teetering on high heels when Cole grabs my hand to steady me. He doesn’t let go, which is fine and we’re holding hands now. I remember in middle school holding a boy’s hand for the first time at the movies. Both our palms got so sweaty, but you didn’t want to be the person to let go, so you both just sat there in the movie theater with palms dripping, eating popcorn with the other hand. But Cole’s hand isn’t sweaty. It’s warm, and firm, and completely envelopes mine. I’m trying to think of the last time I held a guy’s hand when Cole maneuvers me to the front of a building. I wasn’t sure of our destination so it takes me a moment to recognize where we are.
“You live at The Glass House?” I don’t know if I’m impressed or annoyed. Both, really.
“It’s close to work. And it’s got a great gym,” Cole responds casually.
There’s nothing casual about The Glass House. Especially, the cost of living here.
The Glass House is named aptly for the fact that the upper two-thirds of the building are all windows, with a floor plan designed to give every condo’s living area floor-to-ceiling windows. The lower third is surrounded in red brick, an attempt to blend into the surrounding neighborhood at street level. It’s the tallest building, located just outside of the downtown area, and boasts unobstructed city and mountain views, especially from the higher floors.
I’ve toured a condo here with Sue, taking notes for a potential project, and it was outrageously luxurious. The owner was obnoxious and kept saying the word avant-garde like it made him important. The owner went with another designer. Sue was relieved because he was a whack job, and she was not looking forward to working with him.
I lean backwards, trying to get a view of the upper part of the glass building, but Cole must think I’m teetering again because his hand grips mine tighter. He doesn’t even let my hand go when he reaches in his pocket for his wallet to swipe his key card to enter the building. He holds the door open for me and we enter into the lobby.
White striated tile floors create an aisle straight toward the concierge desk, with plush sitting areas flanked on either side. Rectangular tier light fixtures hang above each sitting area, giving it a modern vibe. In contrast to the light-colored flooring, the walls and ceiling are covered in mahogany wood. The wall behind the concierge desk is white marble stones arranged so it gives a three-dimensional look. When I was here that day with Sue it was bustling with residents coming and going, packages being delivered and tours being conducted. Now, at nearly one o’clock in the morning, it’s deserted, except for the man at the concierge desk. Cole acknowledges him with a wave, then guides us to the elevators, where he scans his key card again and pushes the button for the nineteenth floor. There are twenty-three total.
“So, city view or mountain view?” I inquire.
“Both.” Cole’s blue eyes light with amusement, and I think he’s invented a new smile. Lips only, half amused, half sexy smirk.
I just shake my head because somehow this guy manages to be cocky and humble at the same time.
When the elevator closes, it’s the first time we’ve ever been alone. It’s oddly calming, like the outside world has shut off and it’s just us. That, and Cole is idly tracing slow circles against my palm with his thumb while he casually leans against the elevator wall looking like a sexy television doctor. It’s making me horny and sleepy at the same time. I wonder what other sexual voodoo magic he knows.
The ride is quick, not enough time for me to break the seductive trance his thumb has placed on my body and maul him like I really want to.
Before I know it, we’ve exited the elevator and are standing at Cole’s apartment door. He punches in a code on the keypad and opens the door, then, after turning on a lamp at a console table, he holds the door open for me to enter first. My first order of business is to ditch my heels in the entryway, my arches immediately thank me as they begin melting toward the hardwood floors.
Cole drops his keys and wallet on the console table by the door.
“How long have you lived here?” I inquire as I let myself wander down the hallway toward the living area, curious to see his apartment layout, furniture, and most of all, the view.
“About four years. I bought it after I finished up my residency.”
The apartment has an open floor plan. Its modern, black-cabinet kitchen with white quartz countertops has me nearly salivating as I take a lap around the island. A small dining area still manages to hold a dining table for six and it all opens to a large living space furnished with a leather sofa and concrete coffee table. It’s clean and modern. The ceilings are at least ten foot. It’s impressive and I haven’t even seen the view.
I’m vaguely aware of Cole’s activity in the kitchen behind me when I finally reach my destination.
“Oh, wow.” Just as I expected, Cole’s living room is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows. What I wasn’t expecting was the fact that his apartment is a corner unit, allowing the windows to wrap around to the adjacent wall. The corner view is of downtown Denver, completely lit up. I can see Union Station, with its orange letters lit up above the main terminal, the Spire, its needle alight above the rest of the skyline, and the cash register building, which has to be over a mile away but looks to be within arm’s reach. It’s too dark now, but it’s obvious his apartment faces west and during the day there would be a breathtaking view of the Rocky Mountains. The sunset views would be incredible, too. Too bad I won’t get to see any of them.
“Nice view,” I throw out before moving back toward the kitchen where Cole is filling up a glass with water.
As I approach, Cole’s eyes don’t even glance toward the windows, but instead are performing a slow perusal of my body, until his gaze finally locks with mine.
“I sure think so.”
Cole’s lips shift into that sexy smile of his, and my body immediately responds. My panties are embarrassingly wet now, and I wonder if I’ll be able to remove them before he notices.
I watch him take a drink of water, his eyes never leaving mine as he tips the glass up. The sexy way his throat constricts as he swallows. When he’s done, he extends the glass out to me. Cole’s upper lip is wet now. I want to lick it. Instead, I accept the glass, take a long sip, then set it back on the counter.
