“What are you doing?”
“Changing,” he says casually.
“After me?”
“Sure. I don’t care.”
“Then why are you in here?”
“I’m not going to leave you in a strange place by yourself.” He drops the duffle on the sink, unzipping it. Tossing me a pair of his sweats and a sweatshirt.
He turns around, letting me change. I shiver when my checkered maxi skirt pools on the floor, skin lightly damp. I tug the graphic T-shirt I was wearing and sports bra over my head in one sweep. Only in my underwear, I bend down to pull on his sweats. His sweatshirt floods me—size, warmth, smell, emotions a part of me screams we shouldn’t be okay with.
When I spin back around, I realize he was facing the mirror. My reflection is unobstructed. Arms crossed over his chest, tongue pushing into his bottom lip, he’s pretending to stare up at the ceiling.
Our positions flip, backs to each other. I take paper towels to squeeze the water out of my curls, finger-combing it afterward. In the mirror, I catch a glimpse of Cooper, it’s only fair.
He’s unbuttoning the collared shirt he wore. One button at a time, slowly. My eyes linger on the sculpted muscles, narrowing into a trim waist. I’m disappointed when he puts on a shirt.
Cooper turns around. The corners of my mouth tug up sloppily. My cheeks are hot. He steps up behind me, an arm reaching around me to brush a strand of hair off my forehead. I watch him intently through the mirror as he pulls off a green hair tie from his wrist. Running his hands through my hair, he pulls it off the nape of my neck, splitting it into three strands. Meticulously, he braids it down my back before tying it off with my hair tie.
“Thank you,” I say, it comes out as a whisper.
The energy in the room is pulsing.
Whatever has been passing between us is back.
He turns me around, hands on my waist.
My butt is pressed into the sink—which is surprisingly clean. The whole bathroom is. His legs straddle mine. Arms bracketing me in, but it’s his stare that has me anchored. Has me one second from leaning forward and kissing him.
The crush I had on him at eleven, and again at fifteen is resurging. Stronger, and with a vengeance as if it never left.
His stomach growls.
I shake my head. “Always hungry.”
“Growing boy.”
“I don’t know if your body could handle any more growing or muscles.”
Cooper’s eyes have the tiniest reaction. His throat bobs slowly around a swallow, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his mouth moistening his bottom lip. “Liked what you saw?”
“I could ask the same.”
“I always like what I see.” A hand reaches for my braid, and he tugs on it, tipping my chin. “Gonna answer me, Dave?”
Our mouths are close.
My eyes drag from his lips and into his brown gaze, and back again.
“No.” Yes.
He smirks and releases a throaty laugh that scratches my insides like a match. “Liar. Such a shame. I’m awfully hungry, baby. And not for food.”
“Good thing the special of the day is apricot whipped burrata.”
“Good thing.” Cooper’s voice sends a shiver down my spine. “We’d better go order before they run out.”
