“I know. And you should have seen the way he acted around Coop. He was like the Joker, or something. It was so humiliating.”
It’s late, but my body was starting to adjust to Arizona’s earlier time zone, so I can’t sleep. And because Jules doesn’twork tomorrow, we’re halfway through watching theTwelve Dates of Christmaswhile we talk.
I don’t love Christmas movies anymore, but this is one my mom and I watched together a lot. And the fact that I’m mostly talking to Juliet rather than watching makes it slightly more tolerable.
“How did you leave things with Coop?” I show her the texts, and I watch her grin grow and grow some more. Then I pull up a picture I sneakily took of him yesterday with his ridiculous face tattoo.
“What is going on here?” she asks. “Is that a Yeti tattoo?”
“Yes,” I giggle, taking back my phone. “He’s so much goofier than I expected, but he can also be surprisingly level-headed.”
“Lee, what are you gonna do? You like Coop.”
I rest my head on the couch and yawn. “I’m not allowed to like Coop.”
“You’re allowed to like whomever you want to like.”
“Fine, I’m not allowed todatehim. And honestly, I don’t even know if I want to date him. He’s still Cooper Kellogg, the guy who’s dated half of the female A-list celebrity population. He’s still an arrogant hotshot.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.”
“I don’t have to tell myself anything!” I protest. “Why should I go down a road I already know is a dead end?”
“Because it might actually be a cul-de-sac. And everyone knows those are prime real estate.”
Coop and I text so much at work the next day, we may as well share an office. I only see him once in a hallway with Doug, and we share a friendly smile.
“Hi Doug,” I say. “Hi Coop.”
Doug smiles and looks at Coop, who keeps his expression neutral.
“Hey, Liesel,” is all he says. But when we pass, he makes sure his pinky grazes mine, and I feel the tingles for the rest of the day.
This goes on for the next two weeks.
TWO.
WEEKS.
Every day is a study in comportment, discretion, and restraint.
Especially restraint.
Doug can’t know we’re talking. He can’t see us together.
Fortunately, he also can’t read our texts or hear more than half of a phone call either of us takes.
Coop calls me alot.
“Hello?” I answer while I’m running numbers on potential high school draft picks.
“Well hello, Ms. Fischer. You look beautiful today.”
I glance around to make sure no one’s walking by my door. “Can I help you with something?”
“Sugar Plum, you could help me with a lot.”
“Why are you like this?” I ask, smiling and wrapping the phone cord around my finger like a girl in an Eighties movie.
