Page 65 of Entangled

Ever since the ice cube incident, Coop had been leaving little poems for me to find every day. A note under my bottle of tequila, a torn page from his journal laid out on the passenger seat of the car. They’ve ranged from painfully personal to humorlessly inane to ridiculously sexy, and I’ve been hoarding them all. Tucking each of them away with care in the hidden zipper compartment of my suitcase. I snatch the poem off the top of my camera and open it greedily.

She’s like the cat, she prefers things in her own time.

My lips quirk up into a silly grin at the poem, eyes tracing the elegant lines of his script. His words chip away at the hard shell of me a little more each day, and for every poem he asks a question in return, ranging from my favorite color to food to season. Orange, Indian, and summer. Always summer. All of his questions up to this point have been light and easy, but I know the day is coming soon, where he’s going to push for more. It was what he did and yet… I didn’t fight it like I used to because so far, he was everything I had expected him to be and more than I could have ever foreseen. And fuck me but I was falling for him hard.

And if I was in the mood to be brutally honest with myself, which typically only happened around seven a.m. when I woke up in his arms and watched the way his brow was drawn tight with tension even in his sleep, I had a painful suspicion I had already fallen. That the mark he had left on me was already too deep to ever be rid of even if I were to cut ties with him today. It was two weeks past what was supposed to be a few weeks in Cahuita and neither one of us had broached the topic of moving on. Me, content to live in the blissful, unacknowledged oblivion and him knowing… well, that maybe I am like a cat.

Carefully folding up the poem, I set it on the nightstand and grab my camera, turning back in time to see Coop pocketing his phone and blowing out a deep breath. Lifting the camera, I adjust the settings, bringing his magnificent body into focus, his profile just visible against the sun and snap the picture. The moment too precious to let pass without capturing it. The click of the shutter sounds loudly and he whips his head around, lips ghosting up when he spots me.

“Sneaking pictures, Princess?”

“Maybe.” I set the camera down on the nightstand as he walks over and lies down beside me in bed, both of us turning on our sides to face each other. “Probably going to sell that one to some housewife back home for a few grand.”

“Brat.” He props his head up in his hand, night-forest eyes dancing with humor.

“Yeah, but you–” love me. “Would get a commission out of it too. Don’t worry.” Fuck. I cover up the witty retort and clear my throat. It was something I would have shot back at Stef or the guys without thought. A natural reaction that makes my stomach flip. His humorous eyes scan my face suspiciously as if he’s about to call me on my bullshit and I change the topic.

“Who was on the phone?”

The humor leaves his gaze in an instant. “My mother.”

“Not a good call?” I reach up, running my thumb along his brow to relieve the tension there.

“It was fine. Just checking on my sister because she hasn’t picked up lately.”

“And how is your sister?”

“Good. On some trip with her friends apparently.”

“Why so tense then?” I venture, curious about his family dynamics. About him.

“My mother and I…” He sighs, eyes flitting away from mine. “Have a complicated relationship, you could say.”

“Not a good mother?”

“She would say yes, in a lot of ways she would be right.” His eyes find mine again, a deep kind of sadness radiating from their depths. “But me and her… there’s a lot between us and some things can never be overcome.”

“I’m sorry.” I tell him softly, wrapping my arms around him and tucking myself into his body.

“Don’t be.” His hard words come out on a soft scoff as he begins to trace patterns on my back, lulling me back into a sleepy state.

“I did get another call this morning.”

“Hmm?”

“From work. I need to go meet a coworker of mine in San Jose today to pass on some information about a project he’s taking on.”

I snuggle in deeper to his warmth and hitch my leg over his hip as if I can keep him from moving. “Email?”

His chest vibrates under my head with a deep chuckle. “Very hackable.”

“Can’t you just tell him over the phone?” I yawn dramatically for emphasis.

“Phones aren’t always the most secure, not even burners like mine.”

Well that answers the question of his antiquated phone choice.

“He’s also just being an ass because this was supposed to be my project.”

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