“Yeah, it’s my favorite so far that I’ve done. It’s why I showed it to you.”
“Oh, so you’re not trying to impress me with your ability to accurately—according to you—draw my breasts?”
“Nah, if I wanted to impress you, I would have made them much bigger.”
I chuckle and push his phone back to him. “You’re good, Cooper, and you know I wouldn’t just say that.”
“Yeah, I know. And thank you.” He stuffs his phone back in his pocket.
“So . . . are you going to send me that drawing?” I ask.
“What would you do with it?”
“Well, first I would print it, then I would have you sign it, then I would frame it, and then I would hang it right over there.” I point to a blank spot on my wall. “It would be perfect there, don’t you think?”
“You’re not hanging it in here. It’s not that good.”
“Oh, it’s good. I should have it printed on my cake boxes. How cute would that be. But we would have to reduce the boob size.”
“The boobs are accurate.”
I stand up straight and grip my boobs, staring down at them. “They’re a decent size, but they are not accurately portrayed in that picture.”
“I’ve held your boobs before and I’ve seen them naked—trust me, the drawing’s accurate.”
“Oooh, look at you, bringing up the past.” My tone is light, but the mention of that night sparks a deluge of emotions: embarrassment, passion, excitement. I lean against the counter again, this time a little closer to him. “Does that mean you’re finally relaxing around me?”
“When have I not relaxed around you?”
“Every time you’ve been here. Your shoulders are up around your ears, and you have a constant crease between your eyes. It’s obvious you think about what happened between us but don’t ever want to dive into it . . .”
He turns completely toward me now. “Yeah, because I fucked my ex-wife’s best friend . . . thanks to two meddling parents and beer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
COOPER
Nora was right: I didn’t have to come here. I could have just called to change the order.
I could have probably even texted her to change it back, since we’ve been casually texting.
But I didn’t want to do either of those things.
I wanted to talk to her in person.
I wanted to see her.
I wanted to hear her infectious laugh and have her tease me, just like she’s doing now.
It’s why I walked through the rain to her cake shop, and it’s why I showed her my drawing—because I have this need to be near her, and it’s stronger than ever.
Her finger reaches out and casually strokes the back of my hand. The small touch has an enormous impact. The last time I was touched like that, yeah . . . I was with her, and even though it was one night, it has stuck with me for a long time.
Now she’s looking at me with wide, laughter-filled eyes. “Are you saying your parents are the reason you came back to my apartment that night?” she asks.
“Is it completely humiliating to say they were my wingmen? They were offering me beer and shots. They were the ones who turned on my favorite song. They were the ones who encouraged me to ask you to dance.”
“Stop, really?” she chuckles. “Please delight me more with that story.” She props her chin on her hand and flutters her lashes at me.
I’d rather not. It’s humiliating enough to think about how I’d sunk to rock bottom and agreed to go out with my parents because they said I needed to get back into the game.
“Not something you should hear—you know, since I’m trying to save face around you.”
“You’re trying to save face? Why would that be?” she asks, her finger moving up to my wrist now. I attempt to hold back my gulp.
One little touch.
That’s all it takes.
I’m fucking buzzing to do more with this girl. To take her back to my place, talk to her until the early-morning hours.
“You know, because I walked out of your apartment without a phone call or text back.”
“And . . . if you ever want a chance with me again, you need to save face. Is that what you’re saying?”
“You think I want another chance with you?” I ask, attempting to not show all my cards at once.
“Why else would you be here?”
“The smell of the shop?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, you want another wild night with me. I can see it in your eyes.” She sits up and takes off her apron. “Too bad for you, though, Cooper. I’m not offering single nights anymore.”
She hangs up her apron and goes to the back of the shop, then grabs her phone and coat and brings them to the front. She sets her phone on the counter while she puts her coat on.
“Leaving?” I ask.
“Yup, I feel like taking my chances in the storm.”
“Am I really such bad company?”
She puts her phone in her coat pocket and rounds the counter. “No, you’re coming with me.”
Am I?
She tugs on my hand, making me stand.
Guess I am. And to be honest, I’m fucking ecstatic about it.
“You think you can just force me to go with you?”
“Yup.” She smiles and hands me my soaking wet coat. I put it on, and we step out of her shop. She locks up and pulls her hood over her head. “I’m two blocks away, in case you forgot. Care to walk in the rain with me?”
“Walk or run?”
Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles.
Giving me a nervous look, she says, “Run.” And then she takes off, still holding my hand, leading the way.
Together, we beat through the rain, our shoes soaking up every last drop, our laughter drowned out by the pounding of the sky above. Two blocks isn’t far, but when you’re trying to part the rain like it’s a curtain, it feels like forever. We finally reach a glass-front apartment building and stumble into the vestibule between doors while she searches for her apartment key. Water rolls off us in droves, soaking the entryway rugs and dripping puddles on the tiled floors beneath us.
Finally locating her key, she lets us in and leads me to the elevator.
“Look familiar?” she asks as we step inside.
“Not really. The intricacies of your apartment building aren’t really what I remember from that night.”
“And what do you specifically remember, Cooper?”
Your purple lingerie.
The way your head fell back when I kissed your neck.
The sounds of your moans when I entered you . . .
“The dust on your mantel.”
Her eyes widen, and she pushes at my shoulder. “There was no dust.”
I shrug and stick my hands in my soggy pockets. “We’ll just have to see about that.”
“What are you? The clean police?”
“No, but I do hold people to certain standards. You’re lucky I didn’t leave when I saw how much dust had accumulated on your mantel.”
“Stop it.” She shoves me again, but this time I grab her and pull her into my chest, where her hands land.
Her eyes smile up at me. “If you think you’re going over to my mantel when we get to my apartment, you’re completely and utterly wrong.”