Page 23 of Flirty Thirty

Warmth spreads over my cheeks. “Sorry,” I say, genuinely this time. “I don’t want to crush you.”

His brows pull in. “You’re not.”

“I can see it on your face, liar.” I laugh. “This is really not comfortable for you.”

His eyes soften before they move past me and to the ceiling. “Maya… you’re straddling me on a bed, and I’m in pajama bottoms. Trust me, the problem is that I’mtoocomfortable.”

The realization hits, and a bubble of laughter rises up inside me. I let it out and wiggle on top of him, laughing when I find that he’s very much telling the truth.

He reaches above his head for another pillow, and I whack him with mine before he can get a shot in. Robbie lets us toss around, the flashes of the camera going off only barely registering in my brain. If I had to take a guess, I’d bet that I’ll never be asked to play stand-in again.

***

“How much do I owe you?” I ask Cooper, waving the 5x7 print at him as we head back to his truck. When Robbie went through the test film, I saw one shot that I just had to own. The rest were okay, too, but I doubt I’ll be seeing my face in any bedding ad.

Cooper grins and plucks it from my fingers, sliding it nicely into a protective sheet. “Consider it payment for the session.”

I chuckle. “Yes, that sounds fair for theincrediblejob I did.”

He shakes his head, letting his eyes drift over the photo. “Why this one?” he asks before handing it over.

“You kidding? Check out my ass. I can’t believe it isn’t photo-shopped.”

“Let the record show that I have permission from this moment forward to check out Maya Baker’s ass.” He sets his hands on my hips, sends a flock of fluttering wings through my chest, and spins me around to get a better look at the real thing. I should tell him the real reason I want the photo—his smile is absolutely killer in it.

I playfully tap at his hands to get him to let me go, but his fingers weave with mine, and I can feel his chest inch closer to my back. It makes it difficult to walk, but I don’t mind it one bit.

“Can I boldly assume this is going well?” he asks, holding up our joined hands.

“You can,” I tell him, “but if you don’t feed me soon, I will reconsider.”

He momentarily turns off all brain activity as he presses his lips softly against the nape of my neck. I have to find the air around us as the world tilts on its axis, my feet tingle in my flip-flops, and my tongue is in danger of putting a voice to my unholy thoughts.

The sudden brightness of the truck’s headlights as Cooper disarms it shines some sense into me.

“You okay with pizza?” he asks, putting some mind-clearing space between our bodies to open the door for me. My gaze floats up to his happy and hopeful eyes.

Damn it… that look is the kicker, isn’t it? It’s the face of someone who hopes this is going somewhere beyond a few fun dates (and hopefully a few frisky nights.) A giant cloud settles over my head, threatening to pour hateful insults all over me—phrases and names that would describe me if I wasn’t completely frank about my intentions right now.

“I won’t fall in love with you.”

The tilting world drops to its knees, swaying Cooper on the spot. For once, I’m throwinghimfor a loop.

His strong hand flexes on the door handle, the tendons rising under his skin all the way up his forearm. His brow wrinkles in slight amusement, and he lets out a small laugh along with his words. “I’m not as quick with the wit as you are, so you’ll have to forgive this.” He circles a finger at his adorably stunned expression, making what I have to say that much harder.

“You’ve been very clear on your intentions,” I explain, toying with the edge of the photo in my hands. “I’m making sure you’re clear on mine.”

He presses his lips together, and even that creases the lines in his cheek that completely drive me to the brink of insanity.

“That’s fair.” He settles against the truck door, letting me have the floor. Now that I have it, I have to gather my thoughts so they come out the right way. I’ve never had this conversation—never a need for it—so I don’t know where to start.

“I don’t want marriage,” I say, opting to just go for it. “I don’t want kids. I don’t want that life you described, the lifeyouwant.”

He stands in thoughtful patience, taking in every word that falls from my lips as if they were something precious. It throws me off a bit, and I find my mind fumbling around for explanations.

“Life isreallygood right now. I’ve got my own place, I live for myself, I have freedom and possibilities… I enjoy the fun parts of relationships.” I wave a finger between us. “These parts. First dates, first touches, first kisses. After a while they become stale and unfeeling. I don’t want to venture into that territory… So while this is going well, and I too find youinsanelyattractive, this won’t be going anywhere.”

The storm cloud over my head starts to clear, creating an overcast forecast. I feel better, but I also feel a sense of loss at the same time. If only we were looking for the same things, whether it’s both of us wanting something serious or both of us wanting something fun, then I wouldn’t have felt this obligation to bring this up and put such a sour taste on an otherwise perfect evening.

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