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I frowned at him, and the steady look he shot me had me frowning harder—he had this way of making me feel about twelve sometimes. Not because he made me feel bad about myself, but because he was so mature I couldn’t but feel the reverse.
Still, I had to question his opinion on this. Only in a Disney knock off was Steve Pembrook anyone’s idea of Prince Charming.
“You being serious? Steve could never fit that kind of description. The man’s not only a jerk but he’s stupid too. He’s only here because he’s good enough not to get kicked off the football team. When he’s out of college, he’s screwed.”
Cooper winced. “That’s mean.”
“Mean but true,” I retorted, refusing to feel badly about what I was saying. Clarice was my best friend. We’d been through a lot of tough times together, and the idea of her being married to a moron like Steve didn’t sit well with me.
But what could I tell her? What could I even say?
I’d smiled and clapped at her news, hugged her, but sadness had filled me.
I could never tell her that Steve had come onto me more times than I could count, mostly because I wasn’t sure if she’d believe me.
She’d scoff if I told her the truth, would take his side, and that would ruin our friendship. That was something I couldn’t afford to have happen.
She was vain and superficial in so many ways, but I loved her.
“What is it?” Cooper asked, breaking into my heavy thoughts. His hand came up to stroke the pucker of my brow, and I shivered at the tender touch.
I never understood why he didn’t push me for more. We’d been dating for four months, and he was always happy to make out, and I wasn’t a 100% angel. We groped each other, got hot and heavy. He’d touched me intimately and I him, but we’d never fucked.
I wasn’t ready for that, and I wasn’t sure why, but there was no pressure either so I didn’t fear not putting out, which made me enjoy the way we experimented all the more.
I never doubted, though we hadn’t gone the full way, that Cooper left my bed unsatisfied. He’d told me once that I could do more with my hand than some of his girlfriends had done writhing underneath him.
Yeah, I hadn’t appreciated the image of him with someone else, but I had understood why he’d told me that.
To take the pressure off me.
God, he was perfect. The perfect boyfriend.
Was it any wonder I was falling in love with him?
“Hey, you’ve disappeared on me again.”
We were sitting in my living room, camped out on the sofa. He was tired; I could see it on his face. He worked so hard and studied like a demon. It meant I barely saw him but the time we spent together was all the more precious because of it.
I sighed when he stroked my forehead again. “I just… I don’t like him.”
“Why? Because he’s a jock?” He cocked a brow at me. “I know you have an aversion to jocks. Good job I stopped shooting hoops back in Freshman year, huh?”
My lips twitched and I pushed his arm. “I don’t like how entitled those guys think they are because they’re on a team.”
“Entitled?” His lips twitched. “As in they think they’re God’s gift to women?”
“And some.” I snorted at the understatement inherent in hi
s words.
He narrowed his eyes. “Has Steve come onto you?”
Astonishment had me jolting back. We were seated on the sofa, curled up together. He sat, looking straight ahead, where I was cuddled into his side.
His question, however, had me moving away from him. The act was unconsciously done—the last thing I wanted was distance between him and I, but his accuracy surprised me.
The narrowing of his eyes, those ice blue diamonds for orbs, hardened, and fury lined his face. “He has, hasn’t he?”
