“You said she’s an artist.” I like that he remembered. “What kind of art?”
“Meave will work with any kind of medium she can get her hands on, but her favorite is painting and pottery.” I could gush forever about Meave. “She got really into functional pottery during her last year at SCAD. Made Elliot and I a complete dining set, serving platters, and even a butter shaped—” I am gushing. And rambling. Like he cares. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.” I grab for the closest curl to play with.
“Don’t be. It’s cute. Do you have any pictures of her art?”
A million. I slip my phone out of my bag. Opening the album I have them saved into, turning the phone for both of us to see. He listens the entire time I gab about each one, zooming in on details, asking questions periodically.
“She always wanted to be an artist,” I answer his latest question, tucking my phone away.
“What about you? Always knew you wanted to be a sports psychologist.”
“No.” I shake my head, nose scrunches up. “Injury.”
Zach nods with what I’m assuming is understanding, but I can tell he wants to know more. And I bet he would have asked,or waited till I shared, if it weren’t for the waiter stopping by to take our orders.
I debate texting Cooper when Zach excuses himself to the bathroom. Let him know that if this date were graded, I’d at least be trending toward a B plus. The girl I was only a month ago is nowhere to be found. The one stumbling over her tongue, and feet, isn’t the one sitting across from Zach.
Relaxing into the chair, we maintain a casual conversation. Easily. He explains the various pitches, demonstrating how he holds the baseball with a balled-up napkin and when to use each.
I attempt and fake pitch him a two-seam. His head falls back with a contagious laugh.
“My hand-eye coordination is rusty,” I joke, relinquishing a laugh myself.
“Maybe next date I can teach you.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. Maybe I should bump that grade up to an A.
There’s a loud raucous that tears my attention away from Zach. Across the restaurant, in the bar area, far more casual than where we are sitting, I spy Chase, Dawson, and Jaxon. The latter is picking up a tipped-over stool. There are four water cups, four beers, and four plates, but only three of them.
Dawson catches me staring at them and waves hesitantly. Chase follows suit. Cautious as if he doesn’t want to get caught. I wave back, the motion contained.
“Point me in the direction of the bathroom,” I ask Zach, and he points to the left. I scoot back and excuse myself. “I’ll be right back.”
I did have to go to the bathroom, but I also needed a minute to get my confusion out. Did Cooper send them here to spy on me? Are they supposed to report back? Give him new ammo to use against me?
Post splashing water, and recomposing myself, I push open the door to the bathroom and almost hit Chase in the face.
“Hey, Sutton.” His tone doesn’t match his apprehensive body language.
“Um, hi. Didn’t know you were coming here tonight.”
“Surprisingly, they have the best wings on campus. Beats The Tipsy Bear every time.”
“I’ll have to try them sometime.” Chase starts to walk away. I elongate a step and clasp his shoulder. “Everything okay back at the table?”
“Yeah.” The word is clipped.
“Oooo-kay.”
“How’s the date going?”
“You can tell your friend it’s amazing. Asked me on a second date already.” The attitude I reserve for Cooper is very rarely dished out to anyone else. I’ll apologize to Chase later. I brush past him, shoulder knocking, not waiting for a response.
EIGHTEEN
COOPER
Elliot
