If it’s a subtleI saw you sleeping and could’ve done anything to you in your sleepthreat, I don’t take the bait. Waverly wanted me there last night. Therefore I stayed.
Instead, I nod to her. “I was considering a career in the CIA, but I flunked out of try-outs for accidentally spilling the beans about the UFOs while I was being monitored in my sleep. Or so I assume. Wicked awesome dream that night about chilling with the aliens. We made soup and they told me the secrets of the universe. Stupid dream brain didn’t let me remember them when I woke up though. Makes sense I was talking about them too. Only thing besides underwater basket weaving that I’ve ever failed at in my life. Did you know you don’t have to put on SCUBA gear and find a lake to do underwater basket weaving? Mind. Blown.”
She gives me a furry eyeball, which sounds weird but isn’t. She has the thickest red eyelashes, and you add in the bloodshot eyes, and they legit look like red furry beasts. “So it’s not only in your sleep. You basically never shut up.”
“Shh. Don’t tell anyone.” I grin.
She doesn’t.
Waverly would’ve.
We’re talking, Cooper. Just. Talking.
We’ll see, Waverly Sweet.
We will see.
Should I have left her to be ill in private? Fuck, no.
Have I been there through food poisoning and too much partying and the random actual stomach bugs for my teammates? Damn right. Of course I can handle it.
Do I feel like a useless slug for going to get Kiva to help?
Yep.
When you’re watching the world’s biggest pop star get violently ill, yes. Yes, it’s necessary to notify her team. And it pisses me off to admit I’ll never be enough on my own, even if she’s willing to give me another date.
Yes,date.
I want to date Waverly Sweet.
I, Cooper Rock, baseball god, favorite son, king of the one-night stand and secret killer latte maker, hereby vow to be the kind of man who deserves Waverly Sweet.
Starting right now, I’m cleaning up my reputation. Not only clean it up, but be squeaky clean. I want to be the kind of guy she can trust. I want to be the kind of guy she can go out with in public. The kind of guy she can date without seeing rumors that I’m dating other people behind her back. The kind of guy she turns to first when she wants to talk, when she needs a shoulder, or when she’s ready to unwind and blow off steam.
And for the record—sex isn’t the only trick in my bag.
I knowtonsof ways to blow off steam, and I intend to use every last one of them and dream up a few more until that always-wary, always-exhausted look fades from her eyes.
Once Kiva opens the staff elevator on the bottom floor, I sneak out of the hotel unnoticed and walk the three blocks to the hotel where the team’s staying. Still have time to get a couple more hours of shut-eye, which I need if I’m gonna pull off the game of my career.
Good luck with that, my junk mutters to me.
Shut up. I’ll give you a few yanks in the shower and then we’re gonna play the fuck out of this game today, I mutter back.
Silently.
For real.
I can be quiet when I want to be.
And I have plenty of secrets.
Okay, fine. I have like three. And no, I’m not telling you what they are.
Not yet.
I duck into my hotel’s back entrance and hit the stairwell, head down, shoulders slouched, and make it all the way to my room without passing another person. Takes me two swipes of my card to get into my room, and the second the door shuts behind me, I’m stripping out of my shirt.
