Page 42 of Slick Trip

“Here,” he said, tipping the jar. Too many sprinkles poured out.

“Cooper—”

“Trust the process.”

“I would if you had one.”

I set the sprinkle jar down before he could make things worse.

Jack wheezed. “That cookie needs therapy.”

I looked at it. My careful layer of icing was completely buried under Cooper’s sprinkle mayhem.

“Jon’s cookie looks better than all of yours combined,” Cooper said immediately.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Jack argued.

I glanced at Cooper. He had frosting on his face. A small streak of white along his cheekbone. Without thinking, I picked up a sprinkle and carefully pressed it into the frosting. My thumb brushed his skin. His breathing faltered—and then he went completely still.

“There,” I said, clearing my throat. “Now you’re decorated for Christmas.”

He looked at me like I had just chosen him.

Fuck.

I dropped my hand like I’d been burned. What was I playing at, touching him like that? The last thing he needed was me encouraging his childish crush.

“Thank you, Jon,” Cooper said, and the quiet happiness in his voice gave me a pang of dread.

Jack looked between us, but didn’t say anything.

* * *

Cooper came back to my side, his eyes darting around like everything he saw was of utmost importance. His face was flushed, damp from the cold water. His curls clung slightly to his forehead.

“You’re beautiful,” I heard myself say. Shit.

He stared at me.

“Raisins!” I was relieved to remember our task. “We’re here for the raisins.”

“Yes,” Cooper said, nodding. “Raisins—oh look, candy!” Looking delighted, he pointed at the colorful candy bags.

“You have a bag full of candy in the car.”

He blinked, leaning closer. His lashes were still wet, and his lips were slightly parted. There was something intentional in his innocence, something very Cooper-coded.

“But Jon . . .” His tongue darted out to lick his own lower lip. “I need more.”

Then he just looked at me, daring me to react. With my eyes locked on his, I grabbed a basket. Very slowly, his mouth curved into a knowing smirk.

A heady rush washed over me.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” I said roughly.

His brows lifted in mock innocence. “Doing what?”

“The—” I gestured between us. “This.”