Sort of.
Me: Thanks for dumbing it down for me. ;)
Cooke:Cheeky lass.
I shouldn’t like that last text. Not at all. But I do.
* * *
Day four:
Cooke:Who is the best fly-half in the entire world?
Me:Um… you?
Cooke:Quinn Maxwell, you’re bloody perfect, you are.
Me:So, all I need to do is stroke your ego and I’m “bloody perfect”?
Cooke: That about sums it up, yeah. Stroking is always encouraged.
Me:Ugh. No you didn’t.
Cooke:My apologies. That was ungentlemanly.
Me:Apology accepted.
Cooke:;)
* * *
Day five came and went.So did days six, seven, and eight. It bugged me just a little, because I was getting used to waking up to a text every morning. No matter, I’ve got other things to fill the void. After all, Cooke isn’t real. Well, okay, he’s a real person, but he lives in another country, he’s a professional athlete, and he’s gorgeous. It was just a matter of time before he grew tired of the stupid girl from Iowa. In the meantime, I’ve been keeping myself busy with school and my roommates. We’ve gone for a walk every morning so far. Most everyone makes it, but there have been mornings that one or two couldn’t drag themselves out of bed due to hangovers or, erm, company of the manly variety.
No one is very talkative at six in the morning, but by the end of the walk, there’s a lot of chatter. And laughter. The girls make me crack up. They’re all so different, but every one of them has a great sense of humor. We bumped into Jack again one day this week. There’s still no date set for the barbeque. No biggie. I haven’t been thinking about that at all. I swear.
Day nine brought about a text from Cooke. I was happily surprised.
Cooke: Tokyo. Ever been?
Me: To Tokyo? As in Japan?
Cooke: Aye.
Me: No. I’ve barely seen the States.
When he doesn’t respond, I send another text.
Me: Are you in Tokyo?
If so, it’d make sense why he hasn’t been texting.
Cooke: Aye, it’s our World Cup. You should watch. We play your USA team tomorrow.
The US has a rugby team?I’m not going to ask that question. I’m pretty sure he already thinks I’ve got something wrong with my brain.
Me: I’ll see if it’s televised here.
Cooke: Or online.
