I could scream. “I’m so sick of you Cooper apologists! Like he isn’t in everyone’s face enough!”
“At least no one forgets about him.”
The finality in his tone … the jagged edge to his words …
I look him fully in the eye, and this time, he looks at me.
And.
I.
Want.
To.
Die.
The hot ire in my chest becomes oily and weighted, pulling from my neck and ears and sinking me deep into the ground.
Bright brown eyes pierce me beneath the hat, above the beard, and past the festive face tattoo, which I can now see is fake.
“You’re Cooper Kellogg,” I croak.
He gives me a wry smile. “Finally caught on, did you?”
My pulse thumps so hard in my chest, it saps all the strength from my voice. “You’re wearing a surprisingly effective disguise.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Not that effective.”
“You have a face tattoo,” I say, trying to laugh. “Believe me: it’s that effective.”
He taps it with his finger. “Good to know. I bought a ten pack hoping they’d do the trick. Kind of odd for a dude who ‘has to make sure people are talking about him,’ isn’t it?”
I fiddle with an earring, twisting the diamonds. I know I hate him, and all, and I work in baseball, so this shouldn’t be a big deal, but … he’s still COOPER KELLOGG.
Be cool, Liesel.
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry for what I said?—”
“No you’re not,” he says, though he’s not glaring at me, which is generous of him. “You’re sorry you said the quiet part out loud. People love to hate Cooper Kellogg. But no one cares why he does what he does. No one cares how he feels.”
The oily guilt in my veins spreads into my limbs and cheeks. How often does stuff like this happen to him? He was sitting in an airport, having a casual conversation, and a fan startedbashing him without even realizing he was right there. He did nothing to deserve that. “I’m sorry. This is your life, not just a story on the news. How do you feel?”
“Thanks for asking,” he says. Then he grins, showing his teeth. “Really good. I’m so freaking rich.”
I pop like a Christmas cracker.
“You are unbelievable!” I say, jumping to my feet.
He grins and takes off his hat. “That’s what Sports Center tells me.”
“Holy crap, you’re Cooper Kellogg!” The guy across from us says. And suddenly, everyone is spotting him.
I grab my bag and storm off, unwilling to spend another second around the man.
When I turn back with my most withering glare, he’s surrounded by fans and waving at me.
Oh, and he’s put his carry-on back on my seat.
