Page 151 of Blush Crush

A broad grin jumps on her lips. “I’d like that.”

As soon as she’s gone, my thoughts return to Cole.

I try to listen to the poet on stage but there’s no use, he may as well be speaking another language.

When Wes tries to draw me into a conversation, my one-word answers get us nowhere so he politely returns to the redhead he showed up with, and the dazzling eyes she has for him tell me she’s a lot more than a student to him.

It makes me grateful nothing ever happened between us. A professor who dates his students probably isn’t all that trustworthy, or interested in commitment.

But then I guess neither was Cole.

My hand mindlessly rubs over my stomach. This news could send him right back into the man he used to be.

Leaving me to raise our baby alone with a heart so broken, it might never recover.

CHAPTER 44

Cole

THIS IS…UNEXPECTED

Something is going on with Ariana.

She sent me a text from Lina’s phone saying she had accidentally broken hers and wouldn’t be available until everything gets transferred onto the new one. Which, sure, people break their phones. But even before that she was suspiciously quiet, and my gut is telling me not to ignore it.

So I told Blake to handle things and took the first flight home. It could be nothing, but I’m not going to sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs hoping it’s not.

Tonight also happens to be when that poetry fucker is doing his thing at Novel. I trust Ariana and she’s stated more than once that she’s not interested in Wes like that anymore. But she was at one time. For all I know he’s stirred something back up and now she’s conflicted, so naturally I’m going to kindly remind her that he’s not shit and no one could love her or fuck her or worship the ground she walks on better than I can. I’m not giving her up without a fight and I’m damn sure not losing her to some pretty boy with a twinkle in his eye for my girl.

I haven’t even gone home yet. Drove straight from the airport, and the first thing I see when I get out of the car is Ariana laughing with her head thrown back and Wes grinning ather like she hung the moon. The lights are dimmed low inside, yet there’s a glow around them like a scene out of a movie, and my stomach drops out from under me.

Maybe this is about Wes. Maybe I really am a fool. A fool in love with a woman who finally figured out she can do better than me.

I stand there like a creep and watch them through the window. They’re not touching or doing anything that crosses a line. He turns his attention back to the stage and she moves to the chalkboard where she writes the weekly specials. I stare a while longer because she’s just so damn beautiful.

Am I overreacting? Probably. Am I behaving irrationally? Most likely. This boyfriend thing is new for me and I feel possessive and protective of her, but I don’t want to suffocate her either.

I should go. She’s clearly fine and I’m jumping to conclusions.

As I’m about to leave, her gaze drifts toward the window. She can’t see me—it’s too dark out here, too bright in there—but for a moment it’s like she senses something. Then her eyes drift up to the night sky and her chest trembles on a slow breath, her gaze turning watery. When someone or something inside catches her attention she blinks it away, puts on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, straightens her shoulders, and walks out of view.

Something is definitely wrong.

My feet start moving before my brain has made a decision.

I barrel through the front door not giving two shits about being quiet.

A few heads turn. Someone near the back shushes the disruption. Ariana looks up from the chalkboard and when her eyes land on me her expression cycles through surprise, confusion, and something that looks a hell of a lot like anger.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers, grabbing my arm and steering me firmly toward the back hallway. “You’re not supposed to be back until Tuesday.”

“I came home early.” I shrug.

“I can see that.” She pushes open the back room door and pulls me through it, letting it swing shut behind us. The muffled sound of a poet at the microphone bleeds through the wall. “Cole, now’s not a good time maybe?—”

Is she seriously trying to kick me out right now? “Something’s going on with you.”

Her mouth hangs open. It looks like an attempt to get some words out but nothing comes.