Coop chuckles. “Do you really think they’d make me wait in line?”
I roll my eyes. He’s right, but that doesn’t make it any less obnoxious. “You’re an ass.”
“Says the girl who showed up tonight just to cockblock me.”
“That’s not the only reason I came.” I flash him a saccharine smile.
“Don’t remind me.” He plants his giant palms on my shoulders and spins me around so my back is to him. “Come on, Mowery. You owe me.”
“Don’t call me Mowery,” I protest, allowing him to steer me through the crowd toward the back corner of the living room.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
I stifle a groan and bite back a snarky reply. Cooper’s annoying pet names are the least of my worries because there’s a raucous crowd around the beer pong table, whooping and hollering.
The better to laugh when you make a fool of yourself.
Maybe I can just make a run for it.
Cooper wouldn’t actually chase me down, right?
He nudges me to the front of the crowd, giving me a front row view as one of the frat bros sinks a shot, forcing the other team to drink.
This is a bad freaking idea.
I’m mentally tallying all the ways this could go wrong, preparing my argument, when Coop drapes an arm over my shoulders and bellows, “We’ve got next game!”
Warmth spreads through my body at his touch, and I want to lose myself in the moment. To bask in the feel of his arm wrapped protectively around me. But I don’t have that luxury because the table’s nearly clear.
“Are you sure you don’t want to find another partner?” I have to shout to be heard over the music. There’s a speaker on the other side of the table, making normal conversation damn near impossible. “I’m shit at beer pong.”
Understatement.
Coop smirks and squeezes my shoulder. “How bad can you be? All you have to do is throw the ball into the cup. Piece of cake.”
So much for remembering everything.
Panic takes root in my stomach and my palms begin to sweat. The memory of the last game I played runs through my brain like a highlight reel.
“I’m a walking disaster, Cooper. I don’t have an athletic bone in my body!”
The music fades as I impart that last gem—because of course it does—and several heads turn my way. The girl to my left snickers, but I ignore her, shifting to face Coop.
His arm slips from my shoulders, but I don’t let myself dwell on the loss of contact.
“You should find another partner. One of the guys from the team. Or the frat.”
Or literally anyone who isn’t me.
Coop studies me, full lips pressed flat as if he’s considering.
He’s about to cave—I’m sure of it—when Noah appears at his side, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“You should listen to her.” He slaps Coop on the back and adds, “Partnering with Quinntastrophe can only end one way.”
An emotion I can’t identify flashes across Cooper’s face, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by his usual cocky grin. “And what way is that?”
“Disaster.”
