The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(30)
She flicked her gaze over to Cole as he shook out the bundle, revealing an oversized knitted cap in stripes of yellow, black and green, with two-foot long fake dreadlocks sewn into the brim. He placed it on his head and made a great show of stroking the dreads into place. She laughed nervously, desperate to mask her discomfort. Now wasn’t the time. Supporting Cole was all that mattered in this moment.
“S’iree,” he said, adding a pair of sunglasses to the mix. “No problem.”
He smiled and strode to the stage in his makeshift Rastafarian gear as the sounds of mellow reggae chords began to play. The crowd cheered as he took the microphone, bobbing his head and swaying back and forth through the intro.
Kylie slipped into Cole’s vacated seat and put her hands on Eloise’s shoulders. “You gonna be alright? Relax, boss lady, and you’ll live through this!” she laughed. “Even if he sucks, at least he looks good.”
Of course, Kylie had no idea of the real reason behind El’s obvious distress. She managed a pained expression and let out a groan just as Cole started to sing.
“Noooo woman, no cry,” he crooned, and the audience roared in delight. After a few choruses, Cole began to ad-lib his own lyrics to the Bob Marley classic, things like “I remember when we sat…in da penalty box on Broadstreet…observin’ da hy-po-crite re-fer-ees…”
Eloise laughed and cried at the same time, her stomach knotting with anxiety. She sat with her back turned to the bar, not daring to acknowledge the man who’d hurt her so deeply all those years ago. Wounds she’d once thought she’d never recover from until Cole. And now? Now, she didn’t know because slivers of doubt had crawled back inside her brain and remained wedged there.
So instead of having the nervous breakdown she so richly deserved, she watched Cole strut and sway on stage, thinking that his version of the number actually made more sense than the original she’d watched on YouTube. Despite his amazing rendition, she still thought reggae sucked. She cheered for him as he concluded the song, or maybe because he concluded the song, and he took a bow, tossing his fake dreads over his shoulders.
Kylie made room for him as he returned to his seat. Eloise gave him a big kiss in front of everyone. “Let’s get outta here, you big Rastafarian wannabe,” she said, feeling an overwhelming need to escape the room.
“No problem,” he said, maintaining his mock accent. “Love is da most important ‘ting, mama.” He doffed his costume and put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in for another kiss before moving them toward the exit.
Kylie tugged at Eloise’s sleeve. “I have something to tell you,” she said, a troubled look on her face.
Eloise held up her thumb and pinky to her jaw as she moved away. “I gotta go. I’ll call you.”
Chapter Eleven
The interior of the Lincoln Town Car felt warm and cozy as Cole and Eloise hopped in outside Blues & Brews. She’d barely slid onto the plush seat before Cole slid his massive hands alongside her cheeks and pulled her forward for a sweet kiss. Eloise warred with herself. On one hand, Coles soft, full lips sent sensations tumbling through her she’d never felt before. On the other, remnants of useless memories of Trevor plagued her, keeping her from being fully present.
Her mind raced, unwanted flashes of Trevor exploding like land mines in her brain. They made her feel used. Dirty. They tainted the beauty of Cole’s feather light caress on her face. She wanted it to be so good between them, yet couldn’t let go of the memories that haunted the moment with a vicious reverent of the past.
But something else tugged at her heart strings. Something more. Like if she made love to Cole, all of the sins of the past would somehow wash away. He could be her own personal holy water. Baptized at the altar of the Beantown Bard and born again.
Eloise found she wanted nothing more than to forgive herself. And forget.
It was time.
“Where to?” asked the driver, clearing his throat to get Cole’s attention.
Reluctantly, Cole disentangled his lips from hers only to hold her in the magnetic gaze of his luscious blue eyes. “Your place?” he asked. “Shredder will likely stumble home in a few hours. Who wants a drunk goalie mumbling about the crease?”
“Yes, take me home please,” she said, giving the address to the driver. Cole hit the button to slide the privacy screen in place.
“I want you,” he said, nuzzling her neck, his right hand moving to clasp her waist. Eloise breathed rapidly, her heart thudding. His mouth worked its way up her throat and to her earlobe, sucking on it briefly before his tongue ventured into the shell of her ear, licking and exploring.
“Stop,” she said, giggling. Grateful that everything he did felt right. Things were playful between them, and it seemed to be just what she needed. “That tickles.”
“Perhaps I should tickle you somewhere else then,” he whispered, his voice dropping. Low and urgent. The first sign of deadly seriousness she’d sensed in him since they’d entered the vehicle.
God, would he not wait until they got to her condo? Would he be so bold as to try and take her right here in the limo with the driver only feet away? Eloise had never been one for public displays. Her conservative nature simply didn’t allow it. But every nerve ending in her body screamed out for his touch with wanton abandon. The tousled bristles of his hair rubbed her chin as his mouth moved across her collarbone. He pushed the neck of her sweater open and her bra cup aside. His warm lips found her nipple as it popped free of her black lace bra, hardening in arousal like a diamond bit.