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“Dude,” his buddy lifted his hands in a what-the-hell-ever manner. “Have you even ridden in a Hemi Cuda. I’m telling you, they are badass. Best muscle car ever.”
Coop shook his head. His father was a Ford man, and he was a Ford man. Nothing could sway him from The Boss. He opened his mouth to argue his position when he barely heard a voice call his name over the hubbub of a lively Keith Urban song.
“Coop! Hey, Coop!”
Frowning, he cocked his ear until it came again. After he pushed his shaggy blond bangs out of his eyes and squinted through the beam of car headlights and people, he found the source.
Emma Leigh Rawlings grinned and waved as she lifted her longneck bottle above her head and turned sideways in order to squeeze through a gap in the horde to reach him.
“Coop!” she yelled again once she was a foot away. She swayed and grasped his arm, steadying herself. Though she did nothing to soften her tone, he still had trouble hearing her over the roar of music and conversation as she added on a shout, “Wild party, huh?”
He filched her beer and tipped it up for a hearty slug. “Kinda boring.” With a teasing grin, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Hey,” Emma muttered, scowling and stealing her bottle back, though in doing so, she sloshed foam over the top, making it gush over her fingers and dribble down her arm. “Go find your own. I had to pay Bose three bucks for this shit.” Contorting her slender limb, she attempted to lick the dribbles off her elbow, no doubt hoping to taste every penny’s worth.
Cooper crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. Rawlings was the richest kid at the party, and yet she was such a miser, she didn’t want to waste one drop. “Hendricks is selling cans of Coors for a dollar over by his tailgate.”
Emma gasped, lifting her face from her arm. “No freaking way. Seriously?”
Laughing over the outrage on her expression, Cooper nodded.
“Bose Eden!” She shouted, already whirling away and dismissing Cooper. “You dirty rotten bastard. I want a refund.”
Chuckling to himself as she disappeared between a crack in the crowd, Cooper glanced around for the guy he’d been talking cars with before Rawlings had approached. But he was long gone.
Cooper couldn’t remember a gathering this out-of-control before. But the weather had been so nice these last few days; everyone must’ve loathed saying goodbye to it as much as he did. The good youth of Tommy Creek decided their last hurrah before the summer break ended and school began needed to be a dandy.
And what a dandy it was.
A pair of unruly boys jostled Cooper, beginning a playful wrestling match, each fighting for possession of a package of fireworks.
“Hey, watch out, guys.” Coop snagged the bottle rockets from them, dangling the bundle out of their reach. “You could poke someone’s eye out with these things.” Not to mention all the havoc they would cause if they actually lit the fuses.
“Coop! Coop man, give ‘em here.” The two clamored toward him, their arms outstretched. “Pass ‘em to me.”
Cooper shook his head and tossed the bottle rockets off to someone else who decided this was an entertaining game and threw the fireworks on to another. The two morons scurried after their prizes, disappearing into the throng, and Coop turned away to seek his own one-dollar draft.
Though unseasonably cool for this time of year, summer was still summer. The night remained tepid and muggy, making sweat plaster his snug shirt to his skin. After purchasing his Coors, he lifted his forearm to wipe moisture from his brow. Being in such close proximity to so many people only made the heat more unbearable than it already was. Craving some fresher air, he waded through the press of warm bodies until he reached the edge of the party. There, he wandered on for a ways before he found a thick cluster of trees that was yet unoccupied.
Letting out a contented sigh, he leaned against the trunk of an aging Chinkapin Oak and closed his eyes, soaking in the delightful solitude. Muffled by the timbers, the activity over at the tank sounded subdued and less vigorous.
This right here was nice. Peaceful. Relaxing.
He reached for the tab of his can, but before he could hear that satisfying hiss, a muffled moan interrupted his moment.
Eyes popping open, he pushed away from the tree.
Someone was in pain.
Not one to ignore a soul in need, he glanced to the right, then the left, before he found a stooped over figure, clutching its stomach.
Hurrying forward, he squinted in an effort to see who occupied the dark nest of trees with him. Long hair, slight frame, though curved enough to provide an undeniably feminine outline, her silhouette made a distinct, familiar impression as he rushed to her side.
“Rawlings?” He grabbed her arm to balance her when she swayed, unable to trust his eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”
He couldn’t believe Emma Leigh had stumbled out here, sick to her stomach. First of all, he’d just seen her, and yeah, she’d been imbibing, but she hadn’t been that far gone. Secondly, he’d played one too many drinking games with her in the past to think alcohol would ever make her this ill. She could out-drink him to the point where he’d puke up a lung before she even looked affected. The girl could seriously hold her liquor.
“Em?” He tightened his fingers around her elbow as she continued to clutch her abdomen and bend over as if prepared to heave the contents of her stomach all over the summer foliage.
