Page 5 of The Most Perfect Wrong

A smile tugs at his lips. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Cooper.”

Finally meet me. Ahh—so he’s been checking me out too.“Nice to meet you, too.” He lets go of my hand, and suddenly, I’m a mess of nerves.Calm down, he’s just a guy. I’ve done this a hundred times—it’s just… been a while.

Before I know it, my mouth betrays me. “I wasn’t named after Bradley Cooper, by the way. I was born before he was famous.”

What am I doing?

“My parents love his movies, but yeah… not named after him. I get that a lot…” I say as I clear my throat. “That, and people are always surprised I’m a girl, when they meet me.”

Oh my God. Stop talking.

“Not in person,” I quickly add. “Only when they know my name first, and then meet me. They always think I’m going to be a dude.”

Yep, still going, sinking the ship faster than it can flood.

“My sister has the same problem.”

He doesn’t care about your sister or your goddamn name.

“Her name is Casey.” I nod, as if that will fix this. “Casey and Cooper Bradley—two sisters who look like brothers on paper.”

Holy Jesus fuck.

I reach for my margarita like it’s a lifejacket on this sinking ship, sucking down half the glass in one desperate gulp. All the while, he’s watching me unravel like some girl who’s never spoken… to anyone.Great. Just great.

He chuckles, takes a sip of his beer, and licks his lips. “Well, I’m not named after anyone famous, either.” His eyes lock onto mine, amusement dancing in them, like he’s trying not to laugh at how nervous I am. They’re a beautiful light green, and the mix of humor and intensity in his gaze sends a flutter straight to my stomach. “You know,” he says, leaning in a bit, a teasing smile playing at his lips, “I didn’t expect someone as gorgeous as you to be so…”—he pauses, searching for the right word—”nervous.” His smile widens. “But it’s nice. Most people try so hard to act cool, but you’re just… you know, you.”

I laugh. “Oh, so you don’t think I’m cool?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, my nerves settling slightly.

He laughs. “No, that’s not what I mean. You’re definitely cool. It’s just…” He pauses, his expression softening, like he’s realizing something. He grips the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “God, I’m sorry. I suck at this. I’m rusty as hell. Please don’t take offense at my terrible attempt to flirt with you.”

“Oh, that was flirting?” I ask, teasing. I’m actually stunned.He’s flirting with me? Did he just hear everything I said?Nosane person could witness that disaster and stick around for more. So his only goal here must be to get laid. And I amnotgoing home with a rando from the bar, no matter how hot he is.

“Like I said… out of practice.”

“Did you just get out of a relationship or something?” I secretly hope I’m not the only one here in uncharted waters.

“Something like that,” he says, his eyes drifting down my body a little too obviously. “You know, I half-expected you to tell me to go to hell when I came over here. You’re way better looking than I am.”

All I can do is laugh. This guy’s clearly never looked in the mirror because he’s a ten out of ten. “Is it too late to tell you to go to hell?” I ask, jokingly.

He grins. “Never. Is that what you want?”

I contemplate, looking him over.My God, he is so hot.And I know what’s under that shirt. His body… I stop myself.We are NOT sleeping with this guy.

I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so…” There’s a beat of silence as we assess each other. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t jumped ship yet. That introduction of mine wasbru-tal.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know if it was worse than what I just said.”

I stare at him until we’re both laughing. “Wow, Ryan. You’re bad at flirtingandlying.”

“Hey, I thought it was cute. Just shows you’re human, and there’s nothing sexier than that.”

“Well, if you thought that was sexy, let’s just hope you’re not around long enough to see me bake. You’ll be on your knees proposing, turned on from all myhumanness.”

His smile reaches his eyes, and it’s pathetic how fast my heart is beating. The way he looks at me feels different from the usual way men gawk at me—almost like he actually sees me.Like he genuinely wants to talk to me. Or maybe it’s because I’m just desperate to feel wanted right now. Even if it’s temporary.

My sister’s words echo in my head: “You should fuck him, get back at Brad.” Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like such a terrible idea. An image of Brad with some other woman, one I’ve built up in my mind to look like a twenty-seven-year-old Gisele Bündchen, flashes before me. They’re all over each other, lips locked, clothes hitting the floor, Brad whispering in her ear about how sexy she is. My fists clench at the thought.Ugh. Fuck him.Maybe he needs to feel what it’s like. I shift in my chair.Why the hell not?And let’s face it—there areworseguys I could use to get back at him.

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