“Whatever.” I kicked my shoes off with my feet. “Goodnight, Cooper,” I said, echoing his final words to me in the airport.
“I’m picking you up in fifteen minutes.”
“Wait—what?” I demanded, bolting up into a sitting position. Suddenly, my heart was pounding wildly and my mouth went dry. I raked my hand through my dark brown hair. “No. I mean, for what?”
“You’ve got to eat, Wills—nobody wants to pay to watch a sickly-looking surfer. And besides, it’s my job to look after you.”
“Don’t you think you’re taking what Dickson’s paying you to do a little too far?”
“Nothing to do with Dickson.”
“What happened to your rule about clients?” I pointed out, my voice coming out in gasps. “You change your mind?”
He paused for a moment, and I heard a door slam shut. The engine to his car revved up, a Bruno Mars song about getting locked out of paradise blasting my eardrums. I flinched but then he cut the sound so that I could hear him laughing quietly.
“Getting dinner with you isn’t breaking my rule . . . as long as we both know when to quit,” he said.
Hugging my free arm around my lower stomach in an attempt to still the butterflies that were beating their wings violently inside of me, I flicked my tongue over dry lips. “Haven’t you heard? I don’t know when to quit.”
Which was probably why I was having a hard time resisting the urge to flirt with Cooper.
He was silent again. I listened to his breathing, and what sounded like wind sifting through a cracked window, as I raveled my hands into the fabric of my tank top. Even though I didn’t want to have dinner with him, I wanted him to talk. I needed words and noise.
Cooper sighed. “So I lied.”
“About your rules?”
“No, about the fifteen minute thing. I’m pulling into your driveway.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“Nope . . . I’m the one who suggested the place to your parents. My friend Paige’s parents’ own it.” As if to prove his point, I saw headlights flash multiple times through the wooden blinds.
Fucking stalker.
Anger compelled me up, and off the couch. I reached the front door just as he was lifting his hand to knock. There were tiny grains of sand stuck to the tip of his straight nose and his hair was wet, disheveled. I wanted to tangle my hands into it and pull him inside and—
Thinking like that is what started all your problems three years ago, a nasty voice in the back of my head snarled.
“You’re my coach,” I said in a warning tone that was directed more at me than him. “And we’ve already established you have rules. I’m not going out to dinner with you.” I disregarded the pangs of hunger in the pit of my stomach. There was plenty of food in the refrigerator that I could eat.
“Point taken. I just—ah, f**k it.” And then, he pulled me to him, roughly, pressing me up against the door frame, and pinning my hands above my head so that the uneven wood scratched the tips of my fingers. His lips were soft and tasted like salt, and I moaned against them as his tongue spread mine apart. When somebody passing by honked their horn and yelled out “Take that shit indoors!” our bodies moved inside in unison, slamming the door shut with our sides.
“Wanted to test a theory,” he growled, putting my back up against the door. He raced his hands up my body, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched, until he reached the sides of my face.
What the hell kind of theory was he testing?
“I’m not screwing you,” I groaned. Then, he kissed me again, this time harder. He sucked my lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently until my breath came out in short, choppy pants, until I was about five seconds from coming undone. Shakily, I reached up and ran my hands through his damp golden hair, and yanked his head back until my gaze was level with his blue eyes. “I’m not going to f**k you,” I repeated, my voice stern.
“I don’t have any intention of trying, Wills. I just needed to get this out of my head before tomorrow.”
My breath caught on an exhale, and I just looked at him for a long moment. I’d wanted the exact same thing and now that I had it, it was going to be a pain in the ass to let go. He went in for another kiss, but I tightened my clench on his hair. He winced but grinned.
“And now that you’ve done what you came here for . . .?” I demanded.
Since obviously it wasn’t only because he wanted to make sure I ate dinner.
He rubbed his thumb across my lips before reluctantly backing away from me. He sat on the arm of the burgundy recliner a few feet from the door, gazing at me intensely, and pushed his hand through his wavy hair.
“Well?” I asked, as I adjusted my tank top. It had ridden up to my belly button and I pulled it down, stretching it over the waistband of my shorts.
“You taste like bubble gum,” he whispered, and I slumped backward. Bubble gum and salt, I thought. What a screwed up combination. He stood and slowly came back to me. I clenched my fists by my side so I wouldn’t reach out to him.
I absolutely cannot get involved with this guy.
He placed a soft kiss at my temple, trailing it across my high cheekbone. I would have called the gesture demure—if he hadn’t captured my lips with his one final time, kissing me almost desperately.
But God, Surfer Boy has a mouth on him.
I was the one who pulled away, gasping for air as I shoved him from my body. I kept my gaze directed at the floor when I opened the door for him. I pointed outside. “I think you’ve gotten it out of your head. Goodnight, Cooper,” I said.