“We’re working out our differences,” Cooper said without a hint of irony.
“I can see it’s going well.” She giggled again. Easy enough for her to do. She wasn’t hanging upside down from Mr. Muscles. I was getting a stomachache from his rock-hard shoulder.
Chanda gave us a last questioning look and chimed, “See you around.” As she walked away, she added, “If I ever need something painted, I’m not asking for your help.”
That was probably for the best.
I glanced at Chanda again. She had her phone out and pointed at us. Figured. “She’s taking our picture,” I told Cooper.
He turned to see, which swung me in the opposite direction. “Hey,” he called to her. “You better not post that anywhere.”
“Send me a copy,” I yelled. “I want proof that I’m being abducted!”
Cooper swung back around the other way, making my head spin. “Don’t tell people I’m abducting you. It sounds wrong.”
“You literally threw me over your shoulder like a caveman and are hauling me across the school grounds. I don’t have to tell anybody anything. They’ll draw their own conclusions.”
Apparently, he didn’t want people to misinterpret the situation and think any flirting was happening. He slid me off his shoulder and set me on the ground. “Ok, I accept your quickand inevitable defeat. Be fast at the store. I need to go to work after this.”
I took stock of myself. Blue paint smeared the front of my shirt as well as the top of my jeans. Ditto for my hands and the sides of my arms, where I had struggled to push away from Cooper during our hug. The back of my jeans were mostly clean. If I put a few of the rags on my car’s seat, it wouldn’t get ruined. But I needed to wash off my hands and hair first.
I headed to the sidewalk where my water bottle sat.
“The parking lot is in the other direction,” he said.
“Paint is impossible to get out once it dries.” I wiped my hands on a rag and poured water on the blue section of my hair to rinse it.
He picked up the white paint can and carried it to the sidewalk where we’d left off. Then he folded his arms, waiting for me to finish. “Did I mention I’ll have to drive to my house and change clothes before I go to work?”
“I need to take care of my hair first. I paid good money for these highlights.”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you did.”
He made everything sound like an insult. It almost kept me from telling him about the stripe of blue paint in his hair. Let him learn the hard way. A haircut wouldn’t kill him. He’d look good clean-cut for a change.
I patted my head, checking for other paint spots. “Did I get it all?”
He sighed and walked over to me. I thought he would just scan the top of my head. He was tall enough to see it. Instead, he ran his fingers through my hair, searching, I supposed, for bits of blue hiding in the tangles.
Well, I hadn’t been specific about how I wanted him to check.
I stood frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the feel of his hands running through my hair. Most girls at school would pay good money for this.
Why couldn’t Chanda have taken a picture ofthismoment?
“You’re clear,” he said and stepped away.
After he’d been so attentive with his hair-checking, I couldn’t in good conscience not fix his. I moved closer. “Stand still for a minute.”
I reached up, water bottle in hand, to rinse out the blue streak. He grabbed hold of my wrist, halting the bottle midair. “Don’t even think about dumping water on my head.” His insulting tone was back again.
“Can I think about it if you have blue paint in your hair?”
“No,” he said, and then, “Wait, do I?”
“Hmm. This is one of those pivotal decision moments, isn’t it? Do you trust that your nemesis is telling the truth and has your best interest at heart, or will you refuse to believe her and possibly have to cut your hair? Half the girls at school are fans of your curls, by the way. It’s a tough call.”
He didn’t let go of my wrist but his grip loosened. “You’re not my nemesis. Calling you my nemesis would imply that you have some power over me, and you don’t. You couldn’t.”
