Page 20 of Well, Actually
“Get off me,” I grumble as the cold morning air slaps my cheeks. I push away from his chest, then wobble on my heels for a moment when he drops me like a hot coal.
Commotion surrounds us—a sleek Audi’s nose is crunched into the SUV’s bumper, the owner and our driver only a few centimeters apart as they yell at each other in the street. Cooper and I watch in silence for a few moments, and I keep looking around, waiting for a bona fide grown-up to step in and handle the mess. It’s with a sinking heart that I realize that won’t be happening.
Someone threatens to call the cops and another person calls them a pussy-ass tattletale. I glance at Cooper, wondering if he’ll insert himself and get this sorted, but he looks at his watch, his face falling.
“We’ve gotta go,” he says, straightening up and grabbing my elbow. He tugs me down the sidewalk like a man possessed.
“We can’t just… leave? Can we?” I pull out of his grasp, looking back at the mess over my shoulder.
“Believe it or not, this is my first hired-car car-crash,” Cooper says, mouth pressed into a frown. “They have my info. My credit card. I’m sure I’ll be the one charged for the damages when it’s all said and done, but we have a date we have to get to.”
He takes my hand and starts marching us down the block again.
“Um, excuse me, what are you doing?” I dig in my heels, wrenching so hard on the hand he’s holding that his arm jerks in its socket.
“I’m walking us to the date,” he says, rounding on me, his eyes frantically sweeping up and down the street.
“Where is it?”
“I can’t tell you. That will ruin the surprise.”
I fix him with a pointed look, jaw set in defiance. “We’ve had enough surprises in the twenty minutes we’ve spent together. And hi, hello.” I wave down at my knife-blade heels. “I’m not walking anywhere far in these.”
“Eva, we have a reservation we have to get to.”
“Cooper, I don’t really care,” I reply, dropping my voice in an imitation of his. “Three blocks and I’ll feel my pulse in thetip of every toe. It’s also highly likely that I’m concussed from the literal car crash you caused and I think you damaged my windpipe with that stray cork.”
“I don’t think you’d be talking back this much if your windpipe was damaged.”
“Let me toss a quick blow at your throat and we’ll see how you manage.”
“I don’t have time to fight with you, we have a timetable to stick to!” he says, his voice pitching up.
“Oh, buddy! Big feelings!” I match his volume, planting my feet more firmly on the pavement.
“You’re so patronizing.” He tugs at my hand again like an impatient toddler.
“Glad you’re keeping up, kiddo. You weren’t lying about being perceptive earlier.” I fix him with a dark look. “But the point still stands, I’m not walking an undefined distance at the snap of your fingers.”
His jaw works as he stares at me, and I cross my arms over my chest, lifting my chin. With a resigned shake of his head, he mumbles “Fuck this” as he steps toward the curb. He raises his hand, hailing a taxi. A few zoom past, and I feel a petty thrill that he’s having to work for it.
Finally, one pulls up, and Cooper quickly opens the door.
“Your chariot, princess,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Thanks, baby girl.” I lightly smack his cheek as I duck into the back seat. I hear his lengthy sigh before he stoops down to follow me. I don’t immediately move over for him, but the look Cooper pins me with has me scooting to the side to make room.
“Where to, boss?” the taxi driver asks.
I stare at Cooper, a smile of victory on my lips. His glare could cut diamonds as he says, “The Met.”
“You got it.” The driver turns on his blinker and pulls out.
“The Met isn’t open this early,” I argue, a tiny hiccup of excitement releasing in my chest. I smother it down. I love the Met. I love art, period. But I also know it doesn’t open until ten in the morning.
“Shut up, Eva.”
Cooper collapses against the seat, his glasses sliding up toward his hairline as he digs the heels of his hands against his eyes. My lips part, but, to my horror, I obey the command.
