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“A string of jackasses is nothing but bad luck,” I tell her. “And maybe some questionable judgment.” I smile, letting her know it’s a tease, not a criticism.
It makes Bailey laugh, though she still sounds on the verge of tears.
“Guess I should’ve stuck with you, huh?” she says, nudging me with her elbow.
“You said it, not me.” That’s exactly what I’m getting at.
Bailey turns her hand under mine, lacing our fingers together and squeezing.
“I wish I had.” She looks up at me through her lashes, a blush staining her cheeks. Bailey leans in closer, whispering again. “I can’t tell you how many times I wished for that.”
Need surges in my veins. I bring our linked fingers to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. Bailey’s breath hitches. I can feel her hands tremble in mine.
“Cooper?”
I don’t want to lose this, not again. Fate dropped Bailey in my lap for the second time. I’m not letting her get away again.
10
Bailey
“Bailey, look at me,” says Cooper. His fingers tighten around mine. It takes me a minute to get there but I finally meet his gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You had a run of bad luck with some assholes who couldn’t appreciate you. It happens to people all the time.”
I close my eyes, basking in his conviction even if I can’t believe his words. I know it’s my own fault.
“There’s not a man in town—hell, probably not a man alive—who wouldn’t beg on his knees for the chance to be with you.”
“Cooper, stop.”
“I will not stop,” he says, bringing his face close to mine. His breath is warm against my cheek. He waits until I look at him again before he speaks. “You’re smart, generous, kind. You make the best chocolate butter cookies I’ve ever had in my life.”
I laugh, remembering the cookie experiment I’d made for his birthday a few weeks after we’d met.
“I can’t believe you remember those.”
“Remember them? They changed my life.” His eyes glitter in the dim light of the bar. It’s slightly more crowded now, the noise of the other patrons drowning out the sound of my heart pounding in my own ears.
I take a deep breath and pull my hand from Cooper’s, laying it on his leg and squeezing gently.
“Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
Cooper swears under his breath. “You don’t have to thank me. For God’s sake. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Without warning, Cooper shifts his hip a couple of inches to the left and where my hand had been patting his muscular thigh, it now covers the swollen head of his erection.
Oh, God.
“You fuck me up, Ross,” mutters Cooper, leaning closer to whisper in my ear. “Sweet Christ, you fuck me up. You always did.”
My fingers squeeze without any conscious direction on my part and Cooper sucks in a breath.
“Coop, we can’t,” I stammer.
“Can’t what?” he asks, rocking his hips under my hand, forcing the friction he wants. My breath catches in my throat.
“Those people—”
“Are all busy getting their drink on,” he murmurs. Above the table he looks like any other attentive lover, flirty and close. The heavy wooden table hides my hand, his movements, and the thrill of getting away with this makes me hotter than hell.
