“Is it bruised?” I ask.
“Eh. Had worse. The bigger question is, how much have you been thinking about my ass?”
Totally caught. “It’s hard to miss.”
“Awesome always is.”
“I meant the video coverage is hard to miss.”
“Excuse me, but you’re missing the most important element of this story. Bases were loaded when I took that hit. My butt got an RBI last night. How many other players do you know who can say that?”
There’s a catch in his voice that tells me he’s not as happy about his butt getting credit for a run batted in as he’s pretending to be.
But I’ve slipped on stage enough times—hello, forgot the lyrics tomy debut single that I sing at every concertone night about a year ago—to not ask about it.
Also, not gonna lie.
I was glued to the television when I finally got to watch the recorded game last night, and when he stepped up to bat with the bases loaded, all I could think washit a grand slam, Cooper. Hit a grand slam.
It had to be going through his mind too.
I look up at him and smile. “Do you have any idea how many women have dueted and stitched your TikTok video about it? Like, half the female population of the world. And a solid portion of the male population too.”
“And you know because you can’t get enough of my ass in baseball pants, hm? Told you I have cake.” He wiggles his brow as he pulls the door open, but it’s hard to miss the strain in his expression.
Even in the dim light up here.
My butterflies turn to full-on panic birds. “Cooper, don’t lie. Did you get hurt worse than you’re letting on?” I’ve seen games where players have been pulled for getting hit in the helmet, but I’ve seen way more guys shake it off.
It even looked like Cooper was shaking it off during the game. At least, until he hit the dugout after Brooks’s homerun cleared the bases.
“Hit pretty close to my hip bone, and then the muscle froze up, so they pulled me for X-rays. All fine now. Cross my heart. Hope you’re hungry. I made crackers and dried fruits and a chocolate platter.”
I squint at him. “Is that magic ass bruise-curing food?”
He laughs at that, and I silently high-five myself.
Cooper being a big mischievous dork and causing trouble? That’s a given. Cooper laughing? I’m not sure that I’ve heard his laugh nearly as much as I’ve seen the smile. “Yep. And bonus, they all rarely cause food poisoning and still taste good. Mostly. Are crackers ever delicious on their own, or are they just handy edible spoons for more delicious stuff? Officially regretting the crackers. Who needs crackers when you have chocolate?”
“I like Saltines.”
“Seriously?”
“They remind me of my mom. I don’t know why. But I think of her every time I eat them. And I can pack them away.”
Crackers.
I’m here to jump his bones on the one night that I was able to squeeze in a side trip near Copper Valley while he’s here on a day off between two home series, and we’re talking about bruises on his ass andcrackers.
He gestures me to go ahead of him through the door he’s still holding open, but when I peer inside, I don’t see anything. “Why is your house dark?” I whisper, halfway surprised that my security team isn’t running in to check things out.
“Superstition,” he whispers back.
“Are you afraid tonight won’t go well if we turn the lights on? I can handle seeing your booboo. I might even kiss it if you ask nicely.”
“I might let you.” He pulls the door shut behind us and grabs my hand.
Tingles race up my arm when our palms connect. His fingers are long, wrapping all the way around the top of my hand, and his skin is warm, and I’m already struggling to catch my breath.
