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Cooper nods.
“How is it that you are this tall and yet you suck so bad at volleyball?” I grin as he gives me the finger.
“Maybe if my partner wasn’t hobbit-sized and could actually block,” he retorts, but he’s smiling.
I pull into the parking lot of the local Publix and we climb out, making our way inside. He grabs a basket because we only need to get a few things. I can’t help ogling those delicious arm muscles again. They’re teasing me this time, just peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt. As we add things to the basket and it gets heavier, his muscles strain more, and I’m sort of tempted to put extra things in just to watch them at work. Hisphone rings as we’re gathering what we need, and I can tell his mind immediately goes into panic mode as he pulls it out of his pocket, resting the basket on his forearm.
“Hello?” he says. “Oh, yeah, of course. You’re sure you’re okay? Okay. Love you, too.”
“Everything all right?” I ask once he hangs up. His breathing is a little heavy and his cheeks are flushed. I can tell he’s trying to calm himself down.
“Yeah. Sorry.” He looks sheepish, but I don’t know what he’s sorry for.
“What’s up?”
“It was my mom. She just wanted to ask if we could pick up some wine for tonight. I just, of course, assumed the worst. She’s fine, though. Really.”
“Are you?” I ask, noticing the tremor in his hands. I reach over and take the basket from him and he clenches his fist, letting out a deep breath. I find myself putting my hand on his back and rubbing circles on it, even though there’s no one around to put a show on for and I don’t need to convince anyone of anything. I just can’t stand to see him so upset.
“Yeah, I will be.” He gives me a soft smile.
“Come on. We’re almost finished. You’ll feel better once we’re back home.”
COOPER
“Okay, first things first,” Wesley says when we’ve gotten back to the beach house and I’ve checked on my mom. She’s lying down again, but told Greg and Christine that she’d like us to wake her for dinner. They are sitting outside with Derick and Macy, sipping on lemonade and ice tea while they visit. The sound oftheir laughter carries through the sliding glass door and warms my insides. “Preheat the oven.”
“To what?”
“375.”
I suck at cooking, but I can at least do that. I turn the oven on.
“Okay, do you think you can handle cutting up the biscuits?” Wesley asks, taking them out of the grocery bag.
“Guess we’ll find out.” I’ve never been much of a cook. My mom was always a great cook and she tried to teach me, but it just didn’t take. I find it stressful, and honestly, overwhelming. It’s difficult to keep track of everything and even when I try to follow a recipe, I find myself reading each step multiple times, and I still miss something, or get it wrong. And then there’s all the words that I have to look up because I don’t know what they mean. The kitchen is honestly my least favorite place to be, but it’s always seemed to be where Wesley comes alive. I envy that about him. I wish I enjoyed cooking because I feel like it would make life simpler, and even happier sometimes. I’ve been living off of frozen meals and take out, which means Mom has, too, and it’s not ideal. Having dinner with his family the other night was amazing. I can’t remember the last time food tasted so good. And while I don’t mind helping out in the kitchen, I’m terrified of messing up.
“Okay, I’ll do the onion,” Wesley says, and gets to work, washing his hands and pulling out a cutting board and knife.
I start smiling a moment later when I hear Wesley humming,“Better When I’m Dancin”, by Meghan Trainor. I smile even more when he starts swaying his hips to the music, and bopping his head. I hiss a second later when a stinging, sharp pain shoots through my hand.
“Shit,” I say, dropping my knife, and cupping my hand as blood drips down my palm.
“Fuck, Cooper,” Wesley says, looking over at me and realizing that I’m injured. I’m utterly embarrassed, but he just grabs my wrist and hauls me over to the sink, turning on the water. “What happened?” He looks up at me as he holds my hand under the cool stream.
“Just got distracted.” I bite my lip as Wesley grabs a clean washcloth and holds it against the cut, putting pressure on it.
“By what?” He glances up at me, then brings his attention back to my hand.
I swallow.You,I want to say.Your stinking adorable ass, and the way it moves when you dance. Your fiery spirit. Your heart. The way you let yourself go. Your stubbornness.I want to say all of that. But I can’t. I want to tell him how much I still care for him. How I’ll always care for him. The effect he still has on me, even after all these years. How unbearably beautiful he is. How hard it is to look at him and not kiss him breathless. How the kiss we shared earlier that day had been the best thing that had happened to me in a long time, as short as it was, even if it hadn’t meant a thing to him. I want to tell him how much I miss just talking and laughing with him; how desperately I wish we could go back and relive those days as teenagers, when we were so young and in love, so sure of what we wanted and how the world was going to work out. But none of that matters. Wesley doesn’t want me anymore. He hasn’t wanted me for a long time. This isn’t real. I have to remember that.
“Just stuff,” I shrug.
“Stuff,” Wesley scoffs, his tone clipped. “That’s not vague at all.”
“It’s none of your business,” I snap. Shit, I don’t mean to be a dick, but the thought of having all of these feelings for Wes again is driving me crazy, especially when I know they can’t go anywhere, and that he wants nothing to do with me; that everysingle touch, every look, every word of endearment from him is a lie.
“Okay, fine,” he says. Then he lets out a sigh. “Look, keep applying pressure and I’ll be right back. He hurries off and returns a moment later. He pats my hand dry, applies some antibiotic ointment, and then a bandaid.
