Pocketful of Sand(14)

Cole stops a few feet away, his blue gaze flickering to Jason. He nods again. “Jason.”

The room is filled with tension. Cole’s expression is much as it always is–curiously blank. Except for the frowns he gives me sometimes, this is the face he wears most often. But it’s not his expression that brings tension to the room. It’s the way he stands in front of Jason, like he’s waiting for him to move, that gives me the sense that, despite the fact that they work together, there is no love lost between these two.

Emmy, as if she can sense the sliceable strain in the air, crawls into my lap and pops her thumb in her mouth. Cole catches the movement in his periphery and glances over at her. His rigid expression softens and his lips curl up. Just at the corners. It’s not a smile, but it must be enough for Emmy, who is peeking up at him from where she’s resting her head against my chest. I see her tiny hand rise and her fingers fold one, twice, three times in a wave.

He glances back up at Jason. No words are exchanged, but Jason shifts to the left, moving out of Cole’s way. Cole straddles a stool two down from the ones Emmy and I are sitting on. He picks up a menu as if to say that whatever else might be going on, whatever undercurrents are drowning the rest of us, are of no consequence to him.

Jason walks off without a word and Jordan makes her way around to drool over Cole, a bee drawn to his unusual brand of honey. She stares at him unabashedly, leaning one hand and one curvy hip on the bar. All she lacks is a wad of bubblegum to pop. “What can I get for you, handsome?”

Cole doesn’t even look up. “I think they were here first. Take their order, but put it on my bill.”

“That’s not necessary,” I say.

Cole shifts his beautiful blue gaze over to me, pinning me with his stare. He doesn’t speak right away. Just melts me with those eyes. “I know. But since you didn’t get your muffins…”

“But that wasn’t your fault.”

He shrugs, his eyes dropping to Emmy. He winks at her before returning his attention to his menu. I look down to find her grinning behind her thumb. What is it about him that fascinates her? I can see it on her face as plainly as I can feel it on mine.

Maybe it’s a genetic weakness that I’ve passed on to her. Like Cole-holism or Cole addiction. He seems to draw her as inevitably as he draws me.

“That’s good enough for me, girls,” Jordan chimes in. “Never argue with a gorgeous man who wants to buy you things.” She beams a bright smile at Cole, who seems not to even notice as he continues studying the menu.

I end up ordering Emmy a grilled cheese and tater tots, not sure that she’ll even eat now, and I get myself a chicken sandwich. Jordan assures me that it’s to die for and the only thing that could make it better is a bloody mary.

“I’d better not, but thanks,” I reply mildly.

“What can I get for you, Cole? Anything you see making you hungry?” she asks, unflappable in her pursuit of his attention. I’m a little embarrassed for her. I’m thankful for her sake that she seems too intoxicated to really care if she’s making a fool of herself.

“Double cheeseburger combo. To go,” he says, putting the menu back in its place and standing. “I’ll be right back.”

He walks off, heading toward the universal sign for the men’s room. Jordan and I watch him go.

“Damn that man! He’s so good at resisting my charms. I do everything but throw it up on the table for him, but…nothing. Nada.” Her sigh is exaggerated. “I’ll wear him down eventually. He’s my Mount Everest.”

“How’s that?”

“He’s the one thing I’m determined to climb on top of if it kills me.”

She winks at me and then turns to yell at whomever does the cooking, someone named Raul if I understood her correctly. Then she sashays away, whistling and swinging her hips as she picks up her covered drink cup from behind the counter. I know she’s drained it dry when I hear the straw start sucking air. I can only imagine what was in it.

She carries away the cup, disappearing into the back, probably to refill it from her own stash. While she’s gone, Cole returns from the restroom.

He slides back onto his stool and, when he speaks, it’s without even looking at me. “I heard what Jason said.”

His voice is a quiet rumble that brings chills to my arms. I don’t think it would matter what he said, or where he or when he said it. I think I’d always react to that damn voice of his.