“Hey,” Cooper said, covering his chest protectively.
“And who told you to roll your shirtsleeves back like this?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
We both looked down. You could see everything below the elbow. Specifically, Cooper’s muscled, smooth, tauntingly naked forearms.
I almost lost my train of thought.
Those forearms were going to be a problem.
I pushed on: “And what’s with this outfit? Is thattweed?”
“It’s gabardine.”
“It looks like tweed.”
“I just flew in from London,” Cooper said, like that was an excuse.
“Well, London wants its tweed back.”
“What is your problem?”
“Look around you! This is hardly cruise wear. You’re wearingwoolto the Bahamas?”
“You’re just mad because I look good.”
“Tweed vests are my kryptonite. Did you know that?”
Cooper met my eyes. “Yes.”
“Take it off,” I said.
“No.”
“You can’t just prance around here in that thing.”
Cooper looked me up and down. “If anyone’s prancing, it’s you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means don’t give me shit for looking good when you look like that.”
“I look the same as always,” I declared.
But Cooper made a face likeOh, really?and then dropped his eyes, quite deliberately, to my cantilevered chest.
In defiance, I pushed it out further.
“And don’t get me started on that miniskirt,” Cooper added.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s like they ran out of fabric and had to use a dinner napkin.”
“It’s not even a miniskirt,” I said, resting my case on semantics. “It’s shortsdisguisedas a miniskirt.”
Cooper tapped his chest and then nodded at my skirt. “I’ll take offthiswhen you take offthat.”
