***
The bartender is one of two employees in the establishment. When we sat down in a worn-out booth, she slipped from behind the bar to take our orders.
I’ve been spinning the straw of my Diet Coke since she left. Cooper is silent, drinking his wine.
We luck out, getting the last order of burrata. We also order a sandwich, in which I joke again about his hunger. Cooper pinches my side playfully, but his eyes are roaring louder with hunger than his stomach.
The bartender returns with our sandwich on separate plates. I take the pickles off my half and hand them to him—I’ve never liked them, but he does.
Between bites, we talk. Laughing like we used to do when life felt simpler. Easier. There was a bliss about being ateenager—the world at your fingertips without any idea of the responsibilities and pressures that came with it.
Cooper thumbs at the corner of his mouth. “You have a little something,” he tells me.
I wipe my napkin over my mouth, but it comes back clean.
Cooper shakes his head. “Here.” He leans forward, without a napkin, and brushes his thumb against the corner of my mouth toward the center.
I don’t know what comes over me, but my tongue darts out, licking the pad of his thumb clean. His pupils flare when he applies pressure, pushing on my tongue.
Speakers buzz to life, shaking us out of the moment, when someone puts change into the old jukebox.
Cooper pushes his plate to the center with mine and extends a hand to me.
“Dance with me?”
“You don’t dance.”
“Madeline would disagree. I’ll show you.”
I don’t know what he’s supposed to be showing me. We move uncoordinatedly. For as graceful as we both are on the ice, the same cannot be said about right now. Our hips bump, shoulders collide. I think I step on his feet more than I make contact with the planked floor. Despite it all, we’re laughing. Continuously. Contagiously.
I can’t stop.
My head tips back as I burst out in another fit of laughs.
“I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since—” I attempt to find a time, but I can’t. High school, maybe? Definitely not college.
Cooper finishes my thought, “Me either,” then adds, “MOOSE and our date if anything.”
“That was fake. Practice.” We spin and his hold on me tightens, drawing me closer and closer to his chest. “But tonight?”
“Not practice. I told you, Dave, I want you.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
COOPER
My fingers findthe end of one of her curls framing her face. Running the springy auburn strands between the pads, I let it go. Drag my hand slowly to her cheek. Tilt her face up in my direction.
“Give me one night. Give me till midnight, that you’re mine.”
“Cooper—” Her tone feels like a pot of water on the precipice of boiling.
“One night, Sutton.”
She gulps. Head swaying to the right, trying to pull away from me.
“You called me Sutton.” The blush on her cheeks spreads, down her neck into the top of my sweatshirt. It’s the same color as her hair, this deep red that only happens when I say her name.
