Page 7 of The War Revision
I hold the shoebox more firmly against my chest and follow the others inside. Russel is intently staring at me while greeting the Schlanders. I feign nonchalance and smile at him, then turn to look around. This apartment mirrors mine with the exception of the balcony. Cole doesn’t have one.
Kaiden 1. Devil 0.
There’re more people than I expected since Cole is an egotistical stuck-up. Most of them live in the building, and I find myself waving and exchanging smiles. But there’s also Sandra, who owns the café a couple of blocks from here, and Francis and Carla—they both work at the bagel shop around the corner. Didn’t take Cole for the friendly type. Or is he an asshole only with me?
The apartment vibe surprises me as well. His white kitchen looks fresh and airy, the yellow walls brighten the living room, and the large deep blue carpet covers almost the entire floor. The shabby chic decor is charming, giving a sense of homey atmosphere, so very far away from the glam, luxurious one I anticipated. I mean, I’ve never seen the guy wearing casual clothes. He’s always walking in stuffy tailored suits and scratch-free Italian leather shoes. I cannot picture him choosing the vintage, light green coffee table or the pastel pink, lived-in love seat. And the flowery footrest?
My arch-enemy has watercolor still lifes on the wall. I mean, what the actual fuck? And why do I feel so worked up? The place looks nice, that’s why. Homey. I like it. And I can’t like it. Because he’s a prick who needs to pay.
I have an epic prank to pull off, and an evil smirk to work on in response to the pointed, slightly annoyed look Cole will surely aim at me. His control is inhuman, but being the Devil, it does make sense. Still, I want to find his trigger button, the one that turns him apeshit. Only then will I have my sweet, sweet revenge. Because he crossed the fucking line when he stole this apartment from me.
I tap my fingers near the small holes on top of the shoebox and a scratching noise answers back. I’m almost sorry to part from my ladies, but alas, it has to be done.
I reach the buffet table frowning at the cocktail shrimp in the bowl. Cole hates shellfish—the smell, the consistency. I found out about it a few months ago. And every day for a week, I sent to his office a delicious dish offresh fruits of the sea—clams, mussels, prawns. Even a live crab. I still remember laughing my ass off at the sight of him running after a fugitive Mr. Krabs in the building hallway.
I look up and suddenly my gaze is caught by a muscular ass covered in worn blue jeans. The guy turns to the side and damn, the front is just as good as his booty. He’s packing a tree trunk in those jeans. I might be tempted to put a ring on it—the cock kind. I check my mouth for drool, while my eyes travel up, enjoying the tight white button-down showing a trim waist and wide shoulders. I focus on his face and do a double-take.
It’s Cole.
The guy I’ve been ogling is Satan in the flesh, standing near the kitchen counter, talking to some woman I don’t know. His hair is pulled back tonight, putting on display his high cheekbones and sharp jaw. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in jeans. He has rolled the shirt’s sleeves up, and I can see the blond hair peppering his forearms, gleaming under the artificial light. His slate blue eyes find mine and the smug smirk on his lips is instantaneous—like he knows what I’ve been thinking. What I shouldn’t have been thinking. Because hell no. He’s so off-limits he might as well live on another planet.
“You…came,” Mel’s confused voice distracts me from my stupid thoughts.
“I said I would.”
His tone turns suspicious. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.” I stuff my mouth with some of the mini appetizers displayed on the round table. They are delicious of course.
“I was once invited to an anti-LGBTQ+ meeting, didn’t mean I went.”
“They invited you? Was it a visually impaired anti-LGBTQ meeting?” I snort while purposefully gazing at his golden hair band, pink shorts, and light green t-shirt featuring a dog on his back asking to be stroked.
“What?” He sounds offended. “I could be a straight guy…who’s into colors.”
We look at each other for half a second and then both burst out laughing at the same time.
“What are you two witches cackling about?” Jordzilla is here.
My smile falls. “Traitor!” I threw his way, while grabbing a paper cup filled with beer—IPA, so good. After gulping it down, I leave the empty cup on the table and go for another one.
“Kai, Ash works for Cole and…”
I cut my brother off, “I expected this from Mel.” I hiss his way then turn to Jordie again. “Not you, my flesh and blood. How did you find a free slot in your crazy-busy wedding planning schedule?”
“This is Cole’s housewarming party. He’s a friend. Of course we are here, dumbass.” I’m only half-hearing his excuses.
I grab my heart—I’m still holding the beer cup and shoebox so I push the latter against my chest, dramatically swaying backward. “The Devil tempted you and you, JordzillaJudasDonnelly, gave into it. I’m so very disappointed.”
Jordie’s hazel eyes glower at me. Nothing visibly marks us as brothers. Maybe because we have different fathers—whoever they are. I’m brawny and tall, while he’s lean and average height. His red hair looks brighter than usual tonight, short and wavy, in opposition to my straight strands.
“You’re here, as well, aren’t you?” Ash steps up, wrapping an arm around my brother’s waist and pushing him against his front. God, all my coupled friends are so touchy-feely.
At least in that position, Jordie is hiding Ash’s clothes which are hideous—per usual. The glaring color of the neon green cargo pants is still quite visible, unfortunately. And I’m temporarily blinded.
“I have FOMO,” I blurt out, trying not to break under all the attention—while attempting to regain my sight.
“Is it a new sexually transmitted disease? Because I wouldn’t be surprised you got it,” Mel teases me.
