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Cooper stands arms akimbo, propped up on the door to his room, hair still wet from his shower.
That is, I assume he took a shower. Given that all he’s wearing is the thick hotel towel wrapped around his waist, it seems reasonable.
That Cooper Lawson can make me babble inside my own head is infuriating.
“Guess you got here all right,” I say, stupidly.
“Looks like,” he says, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “All right there, Ross?”
Bailey clears her throat. Twice.
“Long time no see,” she says. Cooper grins.
His body is ridiculous. Lean and long, but tightly muscled, one of those smaller guys who can outperform half the meatheads at the gym without breaking a sweat. A drop of water drips from his ear, over the tattoos on his chest before disappearing into the valley of his abs and the silence between the three of us stretches.
And stretches. And stretches some more.
“Um, Coop?”
“Yeah, Ross?”
Bailey clears her throat again, her hand gripping mine harder by the second.
“Where are your clothes?”
Cooper’s smirk dials up to eleven at that, and damn me if that look doesn’t turn me on. Hard.
So hard. Embarrassingly hard. If Bailey moves to the side, there’ll be no hiding it. Then again, I think that’s what this is… no more hiding. Not for any of us.
Hence Cooper in that goddamn towel.
“What do you think, Hicks?” he asks, just standing there, letting us gape at him.
“About what?” My voice is so rough, it’s a wonder the words come out at all.
“About my clothes,” he says.
“You’re not wearing any clothes,” I say automatically. I’ll admit, I haven’t exactly been following the conversation all that well. My eyes drop to his towel, my breath stuck in my throat, waiting for something to happen to it. Like I could magically make it fall with my gaze alone.
This is not like me. Passive is not how I’m wired. At all. That stupid, ridiculous towel has broken my brain.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” says Cooper, rolling his eyes and finally moving into the room. He doesn’t bother to hold the towel’s knot, just strides across the common area like he doesn’t care if it falls. “Tell me something. Did you arrange for us to be roommates?”
“Ty.”
“Ah,” he says. “Then you’re still babysitting me this week.”
“Not so much,” I said. “Ty figured since we’d already been stuck together for so much of the filming that maybe we wouldn’t care about being assigned to the same suite. Not everybody is as gracious about sharing as I am.”
My mind was on Bailey’s room predicament and the bitchy Ms. Tracy Elffers when I said it. Then my brain catches up with my mouth, and my face heats.
“Interesting choice of words,” says Cooper, looking between Bailey and me.
“No shit,” she agrees. “I think Drew was referring to my room assignment.” At Cooper’s frown, Bailey sighs and falls back onto the oversized sofa, tugging me down to sit next to her. “My roommate kicked me out. Said she refused to share. Drew took pity on me and brought me up here.”
“The couch is a pullout,” I say, pointedly not watching Cooper fiddle with the knot in his towel. “I’ll sleep here. You can have my room.”
“Or mine,” says Cooper, the suggestion clear in his voice. I chance a look at his face.
