Chapter Fifteen
Just as I’m about to finish a paper for my art history class, my computer begins to buzz. I check the time and see it’s nearly nine. Tapping the icon, I wait a second or two for Cooke’s face to appear and feel a smile spread across mine. When he smiles back, I take a second to see where he is. He must be using his phone, because all I can see is his head and part of his upper body, but nothing in the background. He’s dressed in what looks like a zip-up sweatshirt with his team logo on the upper left side.
“Hey, Cooke.”
His voice is quiet, a whisper. “Allo, love.” He sounds tired.
“It’s been a while.” I do my best to speak softly too. It seems like the thing to do.
“Sorry. Been a mite busy. We’re leaving Japan. We’ll be home by tomorrow.”
“Oh, you’re leaving Japan right now?”
“Aye.”
He does sound tired. I watch as his image moves around, almost bouncing. “Are you in a vehicle?”
“On the team bus. Heading to the airport.”
“Oh, I see.” I’m not sure what to say. I could ask him about his other match, but I already know they won because I checked the web for the score.
“Where are you? It’s rather dingy-looking.”
He’s right. My room is dingy. Probably due to the fact that I’ve only got one tiny window that’s covered by a dark curtain. “In my bedroom.”
He gives me a funny look.
“I call it my subterranean slumber chamber. Spiders included.”
I watch as he throws his head back and a laugh escapes his lips. It doesn’t end right away either. “E-Excuse me?” he chokes. “Subterranean what?”
“Slumber chamber. The basement. I live in the basement. Everyone else lives above ground.”
“Oh, poor dove.”
“It’s not bad if you don’t mind moist conditions and spiders. Lots and lots of spiders.”
I watch him visibly shiver. “Arachnids are bloody disgusting.”
“That they are, my man. Worse than snakes.”
“Bloody hell, woman. Snakes? You live with snakes?”
“No.” I giggle. “Just spiders. Well, I’m pretty sure there’s another type of nocturnal lurker too, but I’m afraid to know what it is.”
“Poor lass.”
Just then, someone else moves onto his screen. I stare at a bearded man with a white-blond mohawk.
“What’s so funny, Cooker?” the hairy man asks.
Cooke’s smile is gone. “Feck off, Ollie.” Ollie does as he’s instructed and disappears from my view. I’m about to say something else when Cooke asks, “Who’s Dan?”
“Huh?”Dan?“Dan?”
“The bloke you mentioned in your text. The one who watched rugby with you?”
“Oh.” I giggle again. “Just some guy at the bar. We all went to watch your game at a pub, and the Iowa State rugby team was there. I sat next to him at the bar.” Since my seat was taken at the table by she-who-shall-not-be-named. “But I don’t know him.”
