Covering my own ears, I start to laugh. I think I know why this is such a big deal. If you can endure the bell enough for a kiss, you deserve to be a true Iowa Stater. Cooke bends and kisses me so fast, I nearly miss it. The next thing I know, I’m being dragged away from the bonging, and then we’re running to the car. “Get in,” Cooke yells.
I quickly open my door and jump in, slamming the door as I go. “Oh my God.” I’m still laughing as Cooke slams his too.
“I may never hear again. I’ll need to see an audiologist when I get home.”
I wish I could tell you Cooke was laughing. He wasn’t. On the contrary, he looks very angry.
“Cooke, I had no idea.”
He takes a minute and does some deep breathing before he answers. “I could tell. You were just as shocked as I was, Quinn.”
My voice sounds small, weak, as I say, “I’m really sorry.”
He finally smiles. It’s a small one, but that’s something. “No need to be sorry, Quinn.”
He’s saying all the right things, but I can’t help but worry. We’re quiet on the ride back to the hotel. Maybe it’s because our ears are still ringing.
I hope that’s the reason.
* * *
The quiet continues allthe way up to the room. Once inside, Cooke offers me the first shot at the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth and hair, then I change into his jersey. I’m out in less than half the time as the night before. When I step out, Cooke’s sitting on his bed, typing something on his phone. Afraid to disturb him, I clear my throat. “I’m done.”
He stands up then, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “I’m going to hop into the shower, love. Out in a jiff.”
I swear he hasn’t looked me in the eye since the Campanile. I must have really screwed up. In my defense, though, I had no idea we were even going there. I do my absolute best to gird my emotions by sliding into bed, the same side as last night. At first, I lie facing the bathroom door, but ogling him the second he walks out of the bathroom is kind of creepy. Then I roll onto my back, but I’m not a back sleeper, so it feels uncomfortable. I finally decide on facing the opposite direction of the bathroom, which doesn’t work either because it’s like I’m giving him my back. When none of the others work, I push myself up to sit with my back against the headboard. I can look wherever I want this way.
“Damn,” I mumble. I wish I had my phone. I could pretend I’m doing something like checking messages or reading. I scan the room for my purse, but it’s not in the bedroom. “I left it on the table.”
“What did you leave on the table?”
“Oh.”Shit.“My phone.”
“Shall I fetch it?”
It’s then that I finally look up. And I gasp. I’m speechless because Cooke’s out of the shower, water droplets still clinging to his beautiful chest and arms. But that’s not the part that leaves me mute. It’s the little white towel he has wrapped around his waist. The wet and almost transparent white towel.
“Quinn?”
“Huh?” I realize I’m staring then. “What?”
Cooke walks over to me slowly. “Are you ogling me?”
“Yes. I’m definitely ogling you.” As a matter of fact, I used that exact word in my head a minute ago. “You’re beautiful.”
“Love,” he whispers. Sitting next to me on the bed, he places his palm on my cheek. “Are you okay after the bells? I feel bloody awful I took you there.”
“No.” I’m so surprised at his words. “I’m sorry. I had no idea they did that.”
“I was attempting to be romantic and I failed. Epically.”
“No, Cooke. I loved it.” I stare into his pretty gold-green eyes. “I really loved it.”
With his hand now on the back of my neck, Cooke scoots closer—close enough to kiss me. It’s soft and tentative at first, but it quickly escalates to something frantic and hot. My god, this it hot. Doing my best to get closer to him, I kick away the sheet and blanket from my legs, and I’m up on my knees and wrapped around him in moments. I push his shoulders back until he’s lying down, I lean down, kissing him back just as frantically.
He’s leaving. Tomorrow.
Lying at his side, I lift my leg to wrap around his hip and skim it across the towel. He’s hard. I pull away from his kiss so I can breathe. When he places his hands on my ass, I feel him urging me closer until my center is directly over his hardness. I whimper because, my God, it feels good. When he shifts and does it again, I gasp. “Don’t stop doing that.”
