“Please help me today. I’ll owe you. Anything you want.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“You might. One day.”
He smirks. “What do you think I might ever possibly need from you?”
I shrug. “A cup of sugar? Some candles if there’s a blackout?” I look around his living room. “You don’t seem to have any candles. I have loads of them.”
“I don’t take sugar, because I’m not twelve years old, and London hasn’t had a blackout in twenty years.”
Good lord, he is horrible. The worst. Is his rudeness towards me personal, or is he like this with everyone? No. That can’t be it. If he was this dreadful all the time, he wouldn’t have so many women hanging about. I huff loudly. “Fine. Thanks for nothing, Cooper. Don’t you dare come knocking on my door when your washing machine breaks and you need somewhere to wash your intimates.”
Why did I say intimates? Why am I saying anything? Thereare many reasons I keep myself to myself, and this verbal malfunction has got to be in the top five of them.
“An excruciating prospect, but somehow I think I’ll manage.” His phone buzzes with a text, and he pulls it out of his pocket, reading the screen. His other hand points at the door. We’re clearly done here.
“You’re the most obnoxious man I’ve ever encountered,” I hiss, irritation and frustration sending a lump right to my throat.
What the hell am I supposed to do next?
I spin around and march towards the door, hoping to myself that one day Cooper has a terrible urge for a hot cup of tea at daft o’clock and simply must borrow some milk, at which point I will say no. Or even better, fill a cup with gone-off milk and give him that. I have a little chuckle at the thought. I’m about to slam the door behind me when Cooper calls my name.
“Delphie, wait…”
I turn to face him, give him my best withering glare. “What?”
“There, uh, is actually something you can do for me.” He peers at his phone and frowns.
“What is it?”
Cooper closes his eyes for a brief moment. “I…Would you take a photo with me?”
I screw up my face. “You want to take my picture?”
“Um, yes. A…a selfie.”
The wordselfiesounds odd coming out of his mouth, and I would bet everything I own—which admittedly is not much—that this is the first time he’s said it. His ears turn slightly pink.
“Why do you want a selfie?” I narrow my eyes. “Is this some kind of trick?” I get a vision of him pasting my face onto aphoto of a naked body and posting it all across the internet just to be an arsehole.
“It’s not for anything nefarious, I promise. It’ll be quick. Do you want my help or not?”
I do want his help. I need his help. “Fine. I am a bit sweaty, though.”
“What, you want to freshen up or something?”
“Um. Okay? I mean, I can do?”
“The bathroom is that way.” He thumbs behind him to a door that’s ajar.
Slightly befuddled, I shuffle into Cooper’s bathroom, which is as bare as his living room is busy. There’s no way I’m using his bar of soap, because god knows what he has washed with it. Instead I run some cool water into my cupped hands and splash it onto my face. I open the cupboard beneath the sink to see a set of fresh towels in an elegant charcoal colour, a small cream box with Real Feel Condoms printed on the side in a chic serif font, and an unopened bottle of Kiehl’s hand wash.
I grab a towel, pat my face dry, and head back out.
I point at my clean cheeks. “Sweat eliminated.”
Cooper doesn’t reply, just positions himself beside me so that we’re shoulder to shoulder. I shuffle uncomfortably.
