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And fuck anyone else who tries to tell me I’m wrong.
Anyone who saysthey can’t find what they want in Target is blind or lying. Emerson and I managed to fill two entire carts, and we probably could have kept going if we had a little more time and room in the car to get it all home. Unfortunately, it’s basically where your sense of time and your original to-do list go to die.
I’m not even sure how many hours later it is before we get home. Our blankets and sheets have been washed and should be done drying soon. I set my bathroom up first because I was in desperate need of a shower. If the guys weren’t coming back for dinner, I’d have taken a long bath in the claw-foot tub calling my name, but I’d have never been dressed in time for dinner if I’d given in. I’ve missed soaking in a bath since I moved to San Diego. Obviously, that’s not something I got to enjoy while I was living in the dorms. But here, my bedroom has its own en suite bathroom with a black-and-white subway-tiled standing shower and a white clawfoot tub.
Knowing that and with that tub in mind, I went a little goofy at Target, and I now have three oversized apothecary jars filled with bath salts, bath bombs, and bubble bath sitting pretty on the counter next to my favorite island mango candle.
All I need is a book, and it’s my own version of self-care.
I can’t wait to soak in that tub for hours, lost in a book.
But tonight isn’t going to be that night.
Instead, I showered quickly and ran a towel and a wide-tooth comb through my hair, then stared at my lingerie drawer. A sense of pride washes over me as I look at the beautiful pieces Chloe and I’ve created. After a minute, I decide on a tiny, silk black-and-white thong and a white silk push-up bra with contrasting black lace cupping the top of my breasts. No one will see my lingerie, but having them on is like wearing a shield. I feel stronger and more confident knowing they’re there.
As I turn and look at myself in the full-length mirror, I can’t help but wonder what Cooper would think if he saw me in this. I shake off the goosebumps that break out across my skin at that thought and throw on a pair of hip-hugging black leggings and a cropped, ribbed, charcoal-gray tank. It’s casual but cute, and after a night spent packing up my room and very little sleep, it’s as good as it’s going to get. A swipe of mascara and some Chap Stick, and I’m good to go, just in time to hear the doorbell ring.
“CC, can you get the door?” Emerson hollers from her room. “I’m naked, and I think it’s the pizza.”
What would she have done if it wasn’t the pizza guy at the door? Answered it naked? If she knew it was Linc, she absolutely would have. Without question.
Em has no shame.
She’s one of the most confident women I know.
I’m trying to be more like her.
However, Linc won’t be alone tonight. And whoa momma—does the idea of Cooper Sinclair seeing my roommate naked make my stomach churn.
I skip down the steps and hurry to the front of the house, but when I peek through the peephole of the arched wooden door, it looks like I already missed the pizza man. I open the door and step to the side.
“Hey, guys.”
Cooper stands on the other side of the door in a plain gray tee with NAVY written across the front in black font. His black Philly Kings ball cap sits backwards on his head as he steps through and offers a wide smile.
“Pizza guy showed up at the same time we did.” He lifts the boxes a little higher with a shrug, then looks back at the guys while they share a secretive laugh. “I think we might have scared him.” He drops a quick kiss on the top of my head as he passes by with four pizza boxes in his hands, headed toward the kitchen.
In the span of six days, we’ve become people who touch... who linger.
And I’m all for it. But I’m also a woman who knows how she feels and has felt this way for years.
The question is, do I try to talk to him about it before he leaves for his training?
My gut says yes, a resounding yes. But I’m not sure my nerves will allow it.
Linc follows Coop in, holding two takeout bags and leading the way for Axel and Trick, who both carry beer.
“Thanks, guys.” I shut the door and lock it before joining them in the kitchen.
Cooper’s eyes warm my skin as they linger on the bare stretch of my stomach exposed between my leggings and my tank.
I fight the urge to cover up and hope I’m not turning ten shades of red. Damn fair skin. Every time I get the least bit embarrassed or excited, not to mention drunk, I turn into the living embodiment of a tomato.
Hoping no one will notice my reaction, I busy myself finding the paper plates and napkins we bought earlier. When I open one of the upper cabinets, the plates sit on the top shelf. Emerson has no concept of what short people can and can’t reach. But before I can stretch up on the tips of my toes to grab them, Coop moves behind me, crowding me but not touching me. Close enough that his warmth engulfs me when he grabs the plates above my head with ease.
His lips brush over the skin of my ear, and a shiver rips down my spine when he whispers, “I should buy you a step-stool as a housewarming present.”
I spin slowly around, and he takes a small step back without looking away. “Maybe I like having you around.”
