He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap.
“Not as beautiful as you, especially when you’re wearing my clothes.” He wags his brows.
My phone buzzes on the bed beside us. I glance down at the screen to see a text come through from Atlee.
Atlee: Lunch today? Or are you and my brother too busy being in love?
I laugh under my breath.
“What?” Cooper asks.
I turn the phone around to show him.
“Your sister.”
He groans. “Already? It’s not even ten.”
I shrug. “She wants to grab lunch.”
He shakes his head, taking another drink of his coffee. “Well, good luck with that. You can count me out.”
I tell him about the call with my mom while we finish our coffee. About how she never touched the money, and about the account she opened for me. He listens intently, nodding every now and then like he’s letting me work through it as I say it all out loud.
He sits on the bathroom counter while I do my hair and makes comments about how I shouldn’t bother with makeup as I put on some light foundation and mascara.
By the time we’re both dressed, it feels like something has settled between us, but rather all the jagged pieces are finally falling into place.
I swing by my place to change into a different set of clothes before I head to meet Atlee, promising Cooper I’ll text him afterward to meet me back there. We decided I’ll be staying at the hockey house with him for now.
My lease isn’t up until the spring. At least I know I have some money in savings now that I can put toward rent until the end of the semester.
Atlee glances up when I slide into the seat across from her. The smile on her face is one that says she knows something I don’t.
“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on her.
“Oh, nothing.” She drags it out. “Just wondering how long you were gonna make him suffer.”
“Excuse me?” I laugh.
She smirks. “You didn’t think I wasn’t harassing my brother the second you moved out, did you?”
I blink at her.
“He told me you two finally got your act together,” she continues. “And made it official.”
I cross my arms, trying not to smile. “Oh, so I haveyouto thank for that?”
She lifts her glass in a lazy little toast. “You’re welcome.”
We order and make small talk for a few minutes. I can feel her watching me, though, like she’s waiting for the right moment to say something.
“Hey,” she says after a second. “You doing okay? Since that article about you being Coach’s daughter went out?”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
She studies me for a beat, like she’s deciding whether to push it, then lets it go.
“Okay,” she says. “Good.”
