To prevent Cooper from getting into trouble for talking to me at work, if any other employees were around, I’d pretend I was there buying something and had casually bumped into a friend from school. His coworkers wouldn’t think it was strange if I stopped to say hello to someone I knew.
I walked into the store and grabbed one of the first things I saw: a bag of powdered donut holes. It seemed like a believable thing I’d need to buy to bring to a school party or something.
The place was a typical drugstore. Lots of aisles, fluorescent lighting, and ads with happy, smiling people selling products. The store wasn’t that big, so finding Cooper didn’t take long. He stood in the medical equipment aisle, putting packages of tape on the shelf.
When he spotted me, his eyes widened. “Madeline.” His expression wasn’t one of regret, just surprise. That was a good sign at least. “What brings you here?”
He had to ask?
“I needed donuts.” I held up the bag as proof. “And we should talk.”
His gaze was on mine, steady, waiting, and somehow, that made it harder to meet his eyes. I swallowed uncomfortably. “What did you tell the guys on your team?” I cleared my throat and added, “After I left,” as though he required that clarification. Stupid nerves. My palms had gone sweaty.
I momentarily shut my eyes and tried to channel a character who would handle the situation better than I was, someone worldly and confident who didn’t care about their reputation.Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, would do. I squared my shoulders. “We need to get our stories straight.”
Cooper casually stacked some tape onto the shelf. “I told the guys I was helping you practice for a drama part. You needed work on a kissing scene and asked me to coach you because I’ve had more experience than you.”
“Did they believe that?”
He hesitated and scratched at a spot behind his ear. “Judging from the amount of grief they gave me, probably not.”
What kind of grief? Grief for cheating on Dahlia or grief for kissing me—someone who wasn’t in the same popularity echelon as him? I wasn’t about to ask that question. He wouldn’t have admitted it if the second reason was the truth.
“Well,” I said, “they’ll have questions about that story when they see the play and realize Dolly doesn’t kiss anyone in it.”
He turned to a box of antibacterial cream and started shelving those. “You’re allowed to improvise, aren’t you? Just give your own interpretation of Dolly. She’s lonely and drunk.”
“That would be one way to ensure I never got another lead in a school play.”
He had the nerve to smile. “Everything has a silver lining. I’m still hoping Claire will get a good part one day.”
I put my hand to my temple, trying to process it all. “So the situation is your friends won’t believe you, and I’ve become your guilty little secret, your side chick. Have you talked to Dahlia yet? You might want to check if you still have a homecoming date.”
I expected to see some emotion on his face, some shadow of anger or unhappiness. Instead, only a flicker of annoyance crossed his expression. “Yeah. She knows we’re fake dating. She isn’t happy about it, but we’re still going to the dance.”
I couldn’t blame him for telling her the truth and was only surprised that she believed it. “Glad that worked out for you. But since everyone else thinks I’m your side chick, I’ll have trouble finding a date now.”
He shrugged, a little too pleased with my predicament. “You don’t have to go. There are worse things in the world.”
“You want to drive to my house, take pictures with me for our parents, then drop me off someplace, alone in my heels, formal dress, and corsage, while you go off dancing with Dahlia?”
“I hear some good movies are playing.”
No, that wasn’t how I would spend the evening—hidden away somewhere, feeling left out and sorry for myself. I was going to go to homecoming, have fun, and dance better than Dahlia. I folded my arms. “If you’re going, so am I.”
“Remember, you can’t sit with another guy at the game.”
“I won’t. I’ll go with a football player.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow, and his words took on a bit of a challenging tone. “Do you have your eye on someone specific on the team? Who? I’ll see if I can put in a good word for you.”
“I’m not sure you know him.”
“I’m pretty sure I know all the guys on the team.”
“You’re forgetting that two teams play the homecoming game.”
He turned toward me, the things on the shelf momentarilyforgotten. “You want to take someone from the opposing team to our homecoming dance?”
