Page 104 of Revelry

“No.” he says firmly, as he grasps my hand and leads me through the front door. I barely have time to snatch up my keys and my ID before we’re out the apartment.

Okay, so maybe my birthday didn’t suck after all. Tim took me to The Smoking Panda, which had the most amazing pot stickers, and the cocktails even had fairy floss. His friends had shown up sometime near nine, and by then I was well and truly shitfaced.

My pity fuck, Braden, is cute, a pasty Irish lad with cropped blond hair and an accent so thick I had trouble understanding whether he was asking for a shag or … no, I’m pretty sure he was just asking for a shag, now that I think on it. And for all of ten seconds I might have entertained the idea, before my heart squeezed painfully at the thought of another man moving inside me.

I don’t know whether Tim had told him about me, or whether he’d just opened Google a time or two and knew my story, because these days it was as if that were all it took to bring up those horrible pictures and that video. I could do without the pictures, but I still watched that video on the daily, because it let me know it’d been real—or at least, part of it had been real.

Regardless, Braden was a gentleman. Sure, he flirted, and as the night wore on he’d moved closer to me, so close I could feel the warmth of his thigh against mine through the fabric of our clothes. And when Tim and I had said we were leaving, Braden leaned in, his hand at my waist, lips at my ear, and asked if he could see me again.

I thought about that, what it would be like to date one man while my heart belonged to another, but in the end, I shook my head and told him the truth: that I was in love with someone else and I didn’t see those feelings disappearing anytime soon.

Tim and I left the bar, and grabbed a bottle of Bundy Rum and a six-pack of beer and headed back to my apartment, because it was closest, and my feet hurt, and he was my friend, who loved me despite what a pathetic slob I was.

“Here, hold this,” I say thrusting the bottle of rum that we’d been swigging from toward him while I slide my key in the lock. The door swings open, and I come face to face with a dream. A real-life walking, talking, sexy-as-all-fuck fantasy.My fantasy.

“Tim,” I whisper in an aside, “Have I finally gone completely fucking nuts, or is Cooper Ryan standing in my apartment?”

Tim stumbles in behind me, accidently pushing me forward. I totter on my stupid heels and slam into Cooper. “Oh shit, that’s not good.”

The door closes behind Tim with a loudthunk. It echoes the sound of my heart, heavy and thumping against my ribcage. Coop waits until I’ve found my feet again, before he lets me go. I step back, as if the touch of his skin burns mine.

“I didn’t realise you’d have company,” he says, his voice cold.And god, how I’ve missed that voice—well, not that voice exactly, but a much less pissed off version.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to give you your birthday present.” He glances behind me at Tim, his eyes glazing over with anger. “Seems I’m not the only one wanting to give you something today. I’m sorry I showed up unannounced.”

I frown, wondering what he means by that, when I see a fluffy ginger head pop out from around the couch. “Is that my grandmother’s cat?” “Yeah. I had the woman at the shelter look after her until we got back. I know you hate cats, but I thought this one meant something special to you.”

“Hey, I’m Tim,” Tim says, stepping forward and thrusting his free hand out in front of Cooper.

“Coop.” He shakes, though he doesn’t look as if he wants to.

“I know who you are. I’m a big fan,” Tim says, and I frown, because he sounds like a fucking fangirl.

Since when?I mouth to Tim, and he has the decency to look embarrassed about it. He’s not Team Coop. He hates Team Coop. He hates Team Rock Star because they turned me into a pathetic, snivelling shell of a woman who doesn’t shower for days and who eats Peppermint Patties off the floor.

“So, Jones, I’m just … gonna go,” Tim says.

“You don’t have to leave,” Coop says, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I have a plane to catch anyway.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask, and my throat is tight, my voice thick with emotion.

“Got that European tour, remember?”

“Right,” I say, stunned, because Coop is standing in my apartment. On my birthday. He tracked down my grandmother’s cat and had someone take care of her, and he showed up here unannounced, and he smells so damn good … and he’s leaving.

Tim kisses the top of my head, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jones. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, but I can’t take my eyes off of Coop for fear that he might vanish, as though he were never here. The door snicks softly closed behind Tim and I exhale loudly. I don’t know how to process this, and the buzz I had going before from those cocktails is almost gone.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your plans.”

“There wasn’t really much of a plan, come home, get drunker and … How did you get in here? How do you know where I live?”

“Vanessa gave me your forwarding address, and your property manager let me in.”

The cat jumps up on my bed and begins kneading my duvet with its paws. “I can’t have a cat in this building, Cooper.”

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