“Right.” And those aren’t cheap either. “So, my helmet was toast?”
“Oh yeah.”
I look at the cash. “Scooters don’t cost five thousand dollars,” I say, sounding unconvinced.
“Some do. It’s good you have the money to get what you want. If you have money left over, you can use it for real insurance.”
I snort, then laugh. “I had real insurance. Liability is real.”
“You’ll want full coverage this time, Quinn.”
“Yeah. I know.” I’ll get it.
After Cooke has gone through the documents, we pack everything back into the envelope and wave goodbye to Gage. “He’s so nice,” I say as we leave.
“Quinn,” Cooke growls. “Please stop.”
“What?” I giggle. “He is.” I’m sort of hoping I get another passionate kiss against the car. Before I can get there, Gage calls my name from the front door of the police station. I look at Cooke and hold one finger up to let him know to wait. I walk quickly over to Gage, who’s holding the door open with his body.
“Yeah?” I smile brightly.
He looks down at me. No smile on his handsome face, he asks softly, “Are you happy, Quinn?”
Why do I get the sense that his question holds more meaning than it seems? “I am. Very.”
Gage nods, then pats my shoulder. “Good. You deserve to be happy, Quinn.”
“Thanks.” I smile again. “So do you, Gage.”
“I know. I hope to be. Someday.”
Oh, geesh. Why does that sound so sad? Not knowing what to say next, I turn and wave. “Talk to you later, Gage.” I can’t say goodbye. It’s not in my DNA.
“Sure,” he says with a small smile.
When I get to his sleek sports car, Cooke’s standing on the passenger side, holding the door for me. He doesn’t kiss me, but his expression tells me he wants to know what that was all about.
“We’re all set,” I chirp.
While I was hoping to get that passionate kiss at the door, I’m glad he waits until we’re in the car this time. When he pulls me in, he kisses me like I’m water and he’s been in the desert for days.
“Wow,” I say, sitting back in my seat. I had been nearly over the center console in my attempt to get closer.
“‘Wow’ is a good word for it.” Cooke smiles. “Now, off to rugby,” he says as he starts the car. “Do you know where they practice?”
“Uh… no.” I pull out my phone. “I’ll send a text to Dan and ask.” In seconds, I get his response. “Southwest Athletic Complex.” I know where that is. “It’s about a block from Cy’s. Turn right here.” I point in the direction I want him to go.
In no time, we’re pulling up to a large grassy area filled with the same big guys Cooke met last night. The second we stop, all eyes turn to the fancy car. Bull’s the first one to head our way, followed by the rest of the guys. “Cooke!” he shouts. When he reaches us, he’s panting. “Mr. Thompson. Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” Cooke reaches behind his seat and pulls out what looks like tennis shoes. “I brought my trainers if you want me out on the pitch with you.”
“Hell yeah.” Bull is outwardly giddy. I want to laugh, but I’d better not ruin his moment with Cooke.
I find a spot to sit off to the side near a small group of bystanders. I make eye contact with an older man, who gives me a smile. I smile back. With the same smile still on my lips, I look at a young woman, about my age or maybe a little older, but her face isn’t as friendly. Choosing to ignore her, I turn back to the action on the pitch.
After an hour, I have two things: a much better understanding of the game of rugby and a sore ass. Sitting on the ground for most of it hasn’t been fun. Even though I haven’t watched the team play before, I can tell Cooke’s advice is really helping them. The coach has been right in the mix as well, listening to Cooke as he shares some of his expertise. At one point, I watch as Cooke and two other guys move to the far end of the field. From the numbers on their tees, I see the number 10. That means they play the fly-half position, the same as Cooke. He spends a good twenty minutes with just them, and I can see from my grassy spot that they’re eating it up.
When it’s time to go, Cooke slaps the 10s on the back and shakes hands with the rest of the guys. Well, everyone but Bull. Nope. Bull gets a hug. A big slappy man-hug. I swear the big guy has tears in his eyes.
