Me: Okay, hang on.
Me: Garryowen: An up and under kick. A high short punt onto or behind the defending team.
Cooke: Excellent, young pupil. We have a game against Ireland next week that should be on American telly. Probably on in the morning there. You going to watch your boyfriend play?
Me: Of course, I always watch Ian play.
Cooke. Love…
Me: Just kidding. I wouldn’t miss watching you for anything. You’re the best 10 in the world.
How am I going to watch a rugby game in the morning? What if it’s on a school day? I guess I’ll have to figure it out.
Cooke: Aye. That’s better. Let Bull know, will ye?
Me:Yes, I’ll send him a message.
It takes him over an hour to respond.
Cooke:I miss you.
Oh hell. Here come the waterworks.
Me:Me too. So much.
Cooke:Aye, love.
The next day, I’m awoken in theveryearly morning by the familiar chime from my FaceChat app. I’ve resisted calling him because I know he’s busy getting ready for his matches, but damn, it’s been a struggle. I quickly roll off my mattress onto the floor. No worries, it’s only a six-inch fall since my bed frame wasaccidentallytossed out with the rest of the basement stuff. I’m not worried. This mattress is fine for now.
The second he comes into the frame on my computer screen, I feel my heart flutter in my chest. Cooke looks good.Verygood.
“Why are you wearing a tuxedo?” He’s taken off the tie, but he’s still got on the black jacket and dress shirt. It looks as though he’s gotten a haircut since his Iowa visit. His hair is almost shaved on the sides, the top styled perfectly. It’s shiny like it’s got product in it. Plus he’s got a short beard now.
“Had to go to a fancy-dress ball tonight. I’m just leaving now.” I can see a large stone building behind him and a long set of stairs.Is that a castle?
Wow, it’s late there. “Fancy dress?” I love the sound of that. “Does that mean the ladies wore pretty ballgowns?”
“Aye.”
“I bet that was fun.”
“Fun? I—”
Just then, a voice sounds from somewhere on his end of the line. “Cooke?” the voice says. I’d love to tell you it was a guy’s voice, but I can’t. “Cooke?” the voice says again.
I stare at the screen as Cooke starts to gnaw at his lower lip.
“Cooke, darling.” The voice is getting louder.
“Quinn, I—”
And there she is. A stunning woman with long brown hair is walking down the steps behind him. A woman who would look perfect next to Cooke. Her bloodred dress sparkles as she moves, and a high slit in the skirt exposes one insanely long leg. When she gets to him, she wraps her arm around his neck and kisses his cheek. “There you are. You ready?”
I’m speechless. So many things are swirling in my head. For example, why did he call me if he’s out with someone else? Did he do that on purpose? To let me down easy? I swallow hard as I stare at the screen. Sadly, Cooke isn’t saying anything either.
“What’s got you so intrigued on the phone, love?” she asks, attempting to peer at the screen. She’s leaning over so far that I can practically see down the deep V of her dress.
I’m tempted to say hello, because why not. Cooke beats me to it. “No one, Sarina. Just my mate.”
