Cooper has never shied away from his body. Why would he? He puts in work for it. But while most of the players dress in, well, normal clothes, Cooper tends to be a little more fun with his wardrobe. Which doesn’t surprisemein the slightest. He’s always been that way.
But as I look him up and down, part of me wishes that his shorts were a little shorter. That his slightly cropped t-shirt was slightlymorecropped, showing off a little more of his lower abs.
I catch sight of the bottom of a thigh tattoo, and I think I’m starting to salivate.
God, you’re pathetic,I think to myself. Always have and always will be, it seems.
“I wanted to come help you pack. I heard the news just a bit ago.”
I toss a couple more things into my suitcase, and when I don’t reply to him, he makes his way to my bedroom door.
His head nearly hits the doorframe. I wish it would.
“I also just wanted to—” he stops, his eyessuddenly wide, his mouth ajar.
I roll my eyes. “Wanted to what, Cooper? Come over here and annoy the livi?—”
He lets out the biggest sneeze I’ve ever heard. Honestly? It sounds like it hurt. A lot.
And another one.
And another.
And that’s when he lays eyes on Fluffernutter.
“You got a freaking cat?” he asks through reddening eyes.
I toss more underwear into my luggage with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought you didn’t like them.”
“No,” I correct him. “I didn’t like them because you couldn’t be around them. There’s a huge difference.”
Cooper’s breathing fills my room as he watches my cat with an intensity I’ve never even seen before.
I decide to rip the Band-Aid off before he does.
“And I hope you know?—”
“I’ll get the shot,” he says through coughs.
My mouth hangs open, mid-sentence. “What?”
“I’ll get the allergy shot. I know you’re bringing,” he squints at Fluffernutter, who rolls over on his back, letting out a soft mew. “the cat,” he says.
I want to be angry. I want to be the one to tell him that no, Iwillbe bringing my cat to his place, despite his allergies and protests. I want to have something to hang over his head. To make him suffer, and to enjoy watching it.
But if I really sit with myself and think about it, I don’t want any of that. I don’t think I want any of this at all.
I don’t want him to suffer. But I do want my cat. So I accept his answer without a word.
“Fluffernutter,” I inform him. “That’s his name.”
“Because he looks like marshmallow fluff,” Cooper smiles.
It’s not a question.
It’s not an inquiry.
