Page 46 of Flirty Thirty

His eyes close almost instantaneously with the drapes when I pull them shut, casting the room in darkness. I grin at his deep breathing moving his chiseled chest up and down, his lips parted and his face half into the pillow. There is a foreign emotion nibbling at my heart, making it twitter beneath my fingers as I press them to my chest in a sore attempt to calm the chaotic beating. I’m attracted to Cooper. I think he is amazingly sexy and I am aroused by his wit, his honesty, his touch, his eyes, his hair, his smile. I’m familiar with those responses. I can put words to them, know how to react when they make an appearance. But this one… I’m at a complete loss. I want to sink into his mind and feast on all of his thoughts. I want to be close to him when physically close isn’t close enough.

I try to shake myself out of these thoughts, rip my eyes away from his sleeping form on the couch, and focus on the things that I know I want. One person for the rest of my life is a terrifying thought. Pregnancy, children, making choices that affect so many other people and not just myself… I’m not used to that. I’d bet I’m no good at it either. But for the first time ever, I can envision that kind of life with Cooper, and it doesn’t entirely make me want to run away.

After creeping from the room, I head back outside for some fresh air, and hopefully some fresh perspective.

***

The sun is hitting the point in the afternoon when it colors the entire house orange. My cats have finally braved exploring the rest of the place and have spread themselves to their absolute tallest across the sitting room floor. The daylight shines across Tom, making his coat look like he dove into a tube of lubricant. Kat is flat on her back, paws in the air, soaking up the rays. I close the book I’d been trying to get lost in and frown at them both.

“Traitors,” I mutter under my breath. They were my excuse when it was time to go back home. Cooper has been hinting in his sleepy daze that he wishes I would stay longer than two weeks. Tom and Kat were supposed to continue their grumpiness so I don’t weaken if and when Cooper asks me in all seriousness.

Speaking of, a low groan rumbles from the couch, and the owner of that panty-dropping sound slowly shifts onto his back. His arm lifts to his jaw, his fingers running across trimmed scruff.

“How big was it?” he asks, eyes opening to my questioning brow. “The truck that hit me.”

I let out a small laugh. “It was more like a drill.”

“Or a jackhammer.” He lets go of his jaw and eases himself to a sitting position. “Would you do me a favor and grab me some Tylenol? It’s in the bathroom cabinet.”

I nod and pad my way across the open floor plan to the guest bathroom under the vast staircase. After tipping three pills into my palm, I tilt a crystal glass under the faucet and bring him both. The lift of his brow at the water and the flash of gratitude in his eyes bubbles my stomach with a sense of usefulness I haven’t quite felt before. I haven’t experienced being in a responsible roll where I actively and willingly take care of someone other than myself and my cats. I kinda like it.

“Thanks,” he says then pops the pills and takes a generous gulp of water. I offer to put the glass back, but he sets it on the table behind the couch. He gestures for me to join him, and I slump down, instantly warming from our touch combined with the sun streaming through the crack in the drapes.

His eyes roam over me, and because my mind is still tumbling with thoughts I don’t want to have, I stay quiet. He drops his hand over mine and mindlessly plays with the bracelet dangling from my wrist.

“Another favor?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“Forgive me for whatever I said while under the influence?”

I laugh. “You said nothing incriminating.”

“Then why the long face?”

“Tired.” It’s sort of the truth. “Thinking too much maybe.”

“About…?”

Us. The word is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t find the courage to say it. Voicing it only makes it so much more real.

My gaze drifts over our legs touching in so many places, our bodies so comfortably pressed together. It almost seems unreal. So unreal that I can hardly believe it will last, even if I wanted it to.

His quiet laugh breaks me out of my head, and I meet his eyes as he says, “Yeah… you definitely are.”

“Huh?”

“Thinking too much.”

I push him lightly in the arm, and he winces, but not from my touch. His hand is back on his jaw. Grateful for the temporary distraction, I take the opportunity to wildly change the subject.

“You know what you need?”

“Blow job.”

I roll my eyes at his very male response, giving him the benefit of the doubt; he’s probably still coming out of the gas. “No.” I wave my arm out at my fur babies. “A cat.”

“That is the last thing I need.”

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