“I think I have twenty before someone realizes I’m not just in the bathroom,” I tell him.
“You feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Normal nerves before doing the late-night circuit, but nothing a little Tums can’t handle.”
“Ever think about skipping it all?”
“Oh my gosh, no. My fans would be super disappointed. And missing something I’ve committed to—no. That’s a recipe for Tums not being strong enough.”
“Yeah, but you get to have a life too.”
“Where were you yesterday morning? What’s that? Doing a photo shoot for an energy drink endorsement before dashing off to volunteer at a pet shelter and then almost being late for practice? Hi, pot. It’s me, kettle.”
“That’s different. I’m an endless font of energy still in my prime. You’re…well, Waverly, I hate to tell you this, but you’re a very old twenty-seven. You might as well betwenty-eight.”
The teasing note in his voice makes it impossible to suppress a smile, even though he’s right. Pop stars age faster. I swear we do. “You are such a goof.”
“Guilty.” He laughs. “And you’re not old. You’re perfect.”
“No, I’m old. I feel about eighty-six today.”
“At worst, you look twenty-four.”
“At worst, I look like someone who needs to stop with the glitter body suits and booty shorts on stage.”
He makes a noise.
“What?” I ask.
“Whatis that you can wear whatever the fuck you want to wear no matter how old you are. My grandmother showed up to the Pirate Festival in Shipwreck a couple weeks back dressed as Catwoman. In leather and everything.”
“How does that relate to pirates?”
“Pop’s parrot pissed her off, so she decided to go parrot-hunting as Catwoman. At least, I think that’s what my sister said. She was laughing so hard, even Max couldn’t understand her, and he’s supposed to understand everything, including what she’s thinking when she doesn’t even know she’s thinking it. I told him he was getting marked down on his grade for being a good boyfriend for the day, and then—well, then he helped boobytrap my house and crash it while I was in the middle of bombing a date with this woman I keep thinking about.”
Hashtag rolls his eyes and lets out a loud, bored yawn.
“Was that your cat?” Cooper asks.
I laugh as I stroke my pet. “He has incredibly high standards and is not yet impressed.”
“I have an incredibly big ego and an endless font of motivation to get what I want. Watch out, Hashtag. You’re gonna love me as much as everyone else does one of these days soon. And not just here or there. I meanall the time.”
If anyone else in my life said that, I’d call them an egotistical ass.
But Cooper’s self-deprecating delivery makes me laugh.
Also?
He’s earned his ego. How many people work their ass off for the worst team in baseball foryearswithout losing both the will to perform and the belief that the impossible could happen?
And then be there when the impossibledoeshappen? To be a major part of making the impossible happen?
He can boast as much as he wants.
But the thing I like most about Cooper?
You watch any one of his interviews, and he gives all the credit to other people.Eh, my glove was in the right place at the right time. It was really the pitcher setting me up and the batter playing right into his hands. That catch in the fourth inning? That was all Diego’s throw. Kid never misses. Don’t challenge D’s arm, you know? My two home runs? Yeah, the wind was with us today, and you know, all of us have those games where we find our stride. Brooks did it yesterday. Frankie last week. Just my turn, I guess.
