Page 27 of Cohen's Control

A singular room. For four years.

That likely means he hasn’t brought many—or any—women back to his room and for some strange reason, that information trickles through me, warm and heady, like the first sip of bourbon.

Hecouldlive with a bunch of equally handsome bachelors but he doesn’t and something about that hits different. His priorities are so different.

“I don’t know why I like that, but I do,” I tell him, my admission a little quiet, feeling private for some reason. I don’t have a right to like or dislike anything about the choices he’s made, and I’m ready to amend my statement and possibly walk it back out of embarrassment but I can’t, because he speaks. His response is quiet, too.

“I’m glad you like it.” The littlest bit of pink circles his cheeks, and he looks from the inside of his empty cup back to me. “Scarlett, why don’t you get the restraining order?”

I blink at him, knowing this information came from Aug. I can’t imagine Aug telling anyone things about someone that he knows in confidence, but then again, it’s not exactly a well-kept secret that Pete is a piece of shit, and that my phone has been ringing off the hook for weeks. It’s not rocket science putting those together.

“You sound like my therapist. She keeps telling me to do that, too. But trust me, it would only make things worse.” I circle the top of my empty cup with one finger tip, steadying my breathing. I can’t get worked up anytime someone mentions Pete. He’s in the industry, I have to move forward. And Dr. Evans told me to make a friend and Cohen is the only one at Crave who has shown below surface level interest in being my friend. “I appreciate your concern, though, I really do.”

His brows pull together and my thighs clench. “I don’t want you to hurt.”

Notget hurt, nothurting, but a broadto hurt, as if the idea of me being in any kind of pain at all troubles him.

“I’ll be okay. He’ll stop calling. And he doesn’t know where I live now and I think we both know he’d never get into Crave so… it’s okay.”

Cohen doesn’t look convinced, but he nods to my response anyway.

“In the meantime,” I say, switching gears. “My therapist tells me I need a friend. I think she eventually wants me to trauma dump on said friend. She says sometimes getting things off your chest to a friend is better than therapy.”

“Do you think that’s true?” he asks, sounding like a therapist himself. I smile and wag a finger at him as I call him out.

“You sound like a shrink.” The smile that sweeps his face positively hardens my nipples, so I fiddle with the pastry box in front of me so he doesn’t notice. “And I don’t know. It was hard for me to have friends before. Pete always had an issue with them. He scared them off, and I let him. It’ll take some getting used to, having a person I can trust. Trust is kind of like a winning lotto ticket, a unicorn, or a perfectly cooked burger. I’ve heard about it but never experienced it for myself. But I need to have a friend I can trust. I think she’s right, I think it would really help.”

“I’ll be your friend,” he says, collecting our empty cups. He takes the napkin I was using and tosses everything in the trash before sitting back down. “And I’d like to get to know you better.” He smirks a little, and it’s so sexy, it stirs me up as he leans over the table just slightly. “And I can cook a perfect burger.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear with a laugh. “Good to know about the burger and… I’d like to get to know you better, too.” And the truth is, Idowant to get to know him better. And that’s what friends do, anyway, they get to know each other.

“Let me give you my phone number, and then you’ll have it in case you need help.”

My lips twitch. “Okay, but I won’t need it for that. Trust me, Pete is… he’s a real piece of shit, if I’m being frank with mynewfriend,” I smile, “but he doesn’t have a pair of balls big enough to find me.” I pinch a piece of blueberry muffin off and eat it. “Also, he’s lazy.”

Cohen’s phone sounds and I quickly do the thing that everyone does when they’re with someone new and their phone rings. I try to busy myself to allow him time and privacy to take his call.

But he silences it and smiles. “That’s just the alarm for us to get back before the gates close.” He takes the pink box then pulls out my chair. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I rise and dust crumbs from my lap, raising a palm over my shoulder to say thank you and goodbye to the barista. Once on the sidewalk and headed toward Crave, I ask, “You’re not leaving, too?”

His strides are long, like his legs. I watch his worn boots eat up the sidewalk as we head back. And even though I’ve said Pete’s name too many times in the last thirty minutes, I’m not depressed. I’m not drained or weary.

I’m… enjoying myself.

“No, I’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

“Do you always work late?” I ask, because now that I think about it, Cohen is always there when I leave. Even on some of the late shoots.

He nods. “Yes.”

Then we’re back at Crave, and I’m almost annoyed the distance is so close. I wanted to know more about my new friend.

“Thank you for the coffee and the pastries,” I tell him as he pulls open the car door and places the pink box on the passenger floorboard. He circles the back and opens my door, too. “Thank you for that, too.”

He smiles. It’s only the second real smile of his I’ve ever seen. I want more. He’s gorgeous.

“Can I take you to coffee again?”

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