I ignore his acidic tone. “Are they singing ‘Alive’?”
“Didn’t miss that I see.” Again, I try to ignore how he’s speaking to me, bitter and condescending, but it hurts and confuses me.
“What’s next?” I ask in the lightest way possible. “‘That’s the Way It Is’?”
“Yup. Jaxon’s day to pick music.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I reach for my phone, and he holds it out of my reach, above his head. “When is yours? What do you pick?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, come on.” I go for my phone again.
“I don’t.” He takes a step into my space. “Why are you here?”
Unintentionally, I lean toward him. Is that…why does he…no…that’s weird. My nose must be playing ticks on me. Mind too, overran by the extremely boyish atmosphere.
I take a deep inhale. No…that’s my detergent and lingering hints of cherry body wash.
Cooper’s wearing the sweatshirt I returned weeks ago. The one from the night of our practice kiss, when he picked me up and pulled it from the backseat when I shivered. I washed it, and maybe wore it once or twice, before giving it back to him.
“I need to speak to Coach,” I respond shakily, even more confused and stunned.
“He’s not in here.” Well he was. “Is it about me?”
“Yes. No. Well, sort of.”
“Which is it?”
Chase leans around the corner. “Hey, Sutton, what’s up?” he greets me loud enough that we gain attention. “Female in the house. Cover up!” he hollers.
There is a series of curses behind him. Cooper slips my phone into my leggings pocket, then covers my eyes.
“I’ve seen a penis before, Cooper.”
“Don’t remind me.” Whoever this moody Cooper is, their facade drops, and their response is pained, maybe even jealous.
“Oh, come on. Uncover my eyes.”
“No,” he growls. “We’re turning around and going to Coach’s.”
Somehow, he maneuvers me, keeping one hand suctioned over my eyes and another spinning me around. His body is flush against me.
I try to swallow, but it comes out as a choked cough.
He takes a step closer to me—how is that even possible? When I inhale, his chest moves with me. The hand over my eyes falls, outlining my face.
“Walk,” he commands. His husky voice barely over a whisper, but demanding.
“Why were you sulking in the locker room? Is everything okay?”
Our steps are in sync, and I hate it. I hate that they are so in tune we’ve become one. It’s like my brain is a radio, and after our night together, its frequency is locked on him. I can’t stop thinking about Cooper. I can’t get out of my head the way he called me Sutton baby, dropped in between pants and groans. The feel of his mouth on me is a ghost haunting my skin. Whenever a breeze dances across me, and I have to check that it’s not him.
At night, I find myself wound up with no luck at a release. My body knows—and craves and desires and wants to indulge—and he might know too.
Cooper stops us. A strong hand splays across my hip. The cotton of my sweatshirt slips between his fingers as he bunches it.
He releases me, but his eyes betray him, telling me he doesn’t want to.
