43
COOPER
The last fewhours have stretched on interminably, even with Quinn’s company. I’m going to owe her another favor after this, because I had way more fun helping her with the Virgin Quest than she’s having right now.
She’s too polite to say it, but I’m pretty sure she’d rather be doing homework.
Or waxing her legs.
Or pretty much anything else.
I can’t blame her. I’d rather be at study hall screwing around with my roommates. Watching my father socialize with his cronies is nauseating.
How can they not see that he’s a lying, manipulative bastard?
Because they choose not to.
The polls closed an hour ago, and the ballroom has grown increasingly crowded as fundraisers and supporters pour in to watch the final projections. My father is leading Mullaney by a full point, and even though the news stations aren’t likely to call the race until all the ballots are counted, his team is making noise about claiming victory.
Democracy at its finest.
I turn to Quinn, who’s working her way through a plate of hors d'oeuvres. “It shouldn’t be too much longer now.”
“As long as you keep the food coming, I’m good,” she says, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “You need to try this crab and avocado toast. It’s to die for.”
She offers me the appetizer in question, which is a thin piece of toast with avocado spread and spongy chunks of crab sprinkled on top.
I shake my head. “Die being the operative word.”
“Oh, my gosh.” She snatches it back and drops it on her plate. “Are you allergic to seafood?”
“If by allergic, you mean totally repulsed by the texture of it in my mouth, yes.”
She rolls her eyes. “There’s something very wrong with you.”
“Took you long enough to figure it out.”
“Seriously.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Who doesn’t like crab?”
I shrug and take a pull on my beer. People always react this way when they find out I don’t like seafood. Most of the time, I just lie and say I’m allergic to avoid the questions, but I don’t want to lie to Quinn, even over something so trivial.
“So, wait.” She frowns, that adorable wrinkle forming between her brows. “Is this weird texture aversion exclusive to crab or do you like, hate all seafood?”
“That would be option two.”
Her eyes go wide and she plants her hands on her hips. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”
“Or you could look at the bright side,” I say, nodding to her plate. “You never have to worry about me stealing your shrimp cocktail. In fact, I’ll give you mine.”
She cocks her head, pretending to think it over. “You make a good point, but that also means no sushi bars or crab boils or—” She flushes. “Not that we’d be doing those things, anyway.”
I open my mouth to respond when Elliot appears at our table. “We’re going to need you onstage, Cooper. Senator DeLaurentis is going to give an address and we need the whole family present.”
His eyes bore into me, which is his passive aggressive way of letting me know he’s not leaving without me in tow.
I grab Quinn’s hand, which earns me a disapproving look from the chief minion.
“Relax, Elliot. I’m not planning to bring her onstage, but I’m not going to just leave her here alone, either.” I wink at him. “I’m a gentleman.”
