I grab two menus from a small corner table near me. I take one and hand him the other.
“Could you ask them to send up an ice pack, too? For my arm,” he adds.
“Of course,” I say, feeling a small flash of worry, because I cannot be responsible for breaking Cooper Kellogg. “Is it … are you feeling okay?”
“It still gets sore and stiff, but I’m strict with my rehab protocol and my doctor’s happy with the improvement.” His brow wrinkles for just a moment as he looks at his elbow, and the unmistakable flash of worry makes me look at my menu.
When I call in our order, Cooper goes into the kitchen for water. I’m just hanging up the hotel phone when his phone vibrates where he left it on the table. I glance at it without thinking.
“Your mom is FaceTiming,” I call. “Want me to bring you the phone?”
Coop comes into the room with a half-filled glass and I slide the phone across the table to him. He takes a deep, almost steadying breath, and then he puts on a show-stopping grin and answers the call. “Hey, Mom!”
He walks into one of the other rooms and closes the door. I can’t catch what either of them say, but I do pick up on their animated tones. A few minutes into their conversation, though, he must be standing next to the door, because I hear him say, “No, I have to be in Chicago for a charity event at the end of the week, so I won’t be able to make it home until the twenty-third.”
“Oh, shoot. I was hoping we could get more time with you!” his mom cries.
“I know. Me, too.”
“I wish I could come to you.” The catch in her voice makes tears spring to my eyes, which is silly. Their schedules don’t match up and he’ll get to see her in a week. Why am I emotional about that?
“It’s okay, Mom!” Cooper reassures her. “It’s okay. I’ll be back home in no time. I promise. We’ll have all the time in the world to catch up before I get back to work in January.”
“Okay, sweet boy. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Give Dad a hug for me.”
When he comes back a few minutes later, he looks different. Not upset or worried, necessarily, but his usual cocksure expression is gone.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Of course. Why?”
“No reason. I was just checking.”
“I have a headache,” he says. He pulls out the chair next to me and sits with a little more distance than he had at first. “I’ve actually had it since yesterday in the airport when a super-fandecided to air all of her grievances with me to my face,” he says, but he’s smiling.
“Whatever. That was the best moment of your life. Didn’t you say your greatest fear was being forgotten?”
“No, I definitely didn’t say that,” he says.
“You implied it.”
“You inferred it.”
“You know the difference between implied and inferred?” I ask.
“I’m an athlete, not an idiot.”
“Same difference.”
He chuckles, and I bite back a smile.
“You know,” he says, “if we’re going to work together, we should probably act friendly tomorrow in front of Kathy and Marty.”
“I agree,” I say, relieved that we’re finally making headway. “No one needs to know that you secretly despise me.”
“Or that you openly want me,” Cooper says.
