Is he giving me space because I told him this was a one-time thing?
Does he want space becausehewanted this to be a one-time thing?
Is this about his superstition, and he’s afraid he’s still broken?
Was thisallabout his superstition and I was the idiot who thought it might be about more?
Was I too needy and too wishy-washy and a disappointment in bed?
Oh, god.
Am I bad in bed?
“Did I do something wrong?” I blurt.
“What?” His brows shoot up to his hairline. “You—no.No. You’re like—you’re perfect. I just—I didn’t know—Jesus. Do you know I don’t stutter in front of anyone but you? It’s like you make my brain short-circuit because you’re so fucking amazing and I feel like a gnat next to you. Like a giant, dorky, athletic, fabulous, top-of-the-gnat-chain gnat, but still a gnat.”
I don’t need a mirror to know my hair is doing some crazypants stuff right now. I haven’t washed my makeup off, and it’s undoubtedly smeared with a lot of it left behind in his sheets. And I’m wearing an old Fireballs jersey that I found in his closet, along with a pair of his boxers that I dug out of his dresser that are too tight on my hips, because my hips are definitely a size bigger than Cooper’s.
Even with his six-two stature and that lovely ass.
“If either of us is a gnat right now—”
He makes a noise accompanied by a red-hot glare. “If you call yourself a gnat, I’m calling your aunt myself to tell her how much she fucked up by not telling you how amazing you are.”
I blink.
“And I don’t mean your paycheck or your fan base, Waverly. I meanyou. You and your big heart and your belief in people and your loyalty and fearlessness.You.”
“You wouldn’t really call her, would you?”
“Say you’re not a gnat.”
I cross my arms.
His gaze dips to my chest, then to my bare legs. His Adam’s apple bobs, and he lifts his gaze to mine again. “Say it.”
His voice is husky, and I feel it in the pull between my legs.
“I will when you do too,” I reply.
“You first.”
“Together.”
He plops a fist down on his open palm. “Rock-paper-scissors. Whoever loses has to say it first.”
My lips twitch. “Are you going to best-three-out-of-five me when I beat you the first two games?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
He taps his fist on his palm.
I let a full smile slip out as I do the same.
“Rock-paper-scissors,” he chants, and then we both throw down.
