18. Cooper
18
Cooper
“ C
an you come in here?” Leah says through the door.
“In there ? The bathroom? With you?” I peek back at the man in line behind me and give him a small smile.
“Yes, in here with me!” Leah’s growl is anxious. The man behind me sighs. Yep—sorry, sir, you don’t get to use the restroom until we’ve docked. Which at this point could be next year.
I clear my throat. “Okay. Sure. Coming in!” I raise my voice with that last part, just in case she’s kidding. Just in case I somehow heard all that wrong. But then the lock mechanism sounds on the other side of the door. She’s switched it over for me. She’s serious.
And yet—I am not prepared for the scene inside. I blink, run a hand over the scruff on my chin, and stare. “Huh, what’s up in here?”
Leah stands at the sink washing her hands, her dress pulled up and gathered all at her waistline. She’s in red shorts the same color as her dress, and yet I feel a twinge of improperness by being in here.
“ What’s up is that men are disgusting. Do you ever wash your hands?”
I peer behind me to the door, waiting for a hidden camera to pop out of nowhere. Because I am being punked, I’m on camera, and the world is watching, waiting for my wrong answer.
“Me? Do I?” I swallow, my eyes searching her face.
“YOU. Men.” Her nose wrinkles and her lip curls with the word.
“Yes. I wash my hands.” There’s something about the way she’s scrubbing her fingers with that dress hiked up that has me defensive—and, of course, looking for hidden cameras.
“There’s no hand dryer in this room. There aren’t any paper towels! If men are washing their hands, then how are they drying them?”
“Oh.” My brows lift. “Well, when I was in here before, there was just a roll of brown paper on the back of the toilet.” I peek into the trash, seeing the empty roll along with torn towels inside. “Yep, it’s gone. But rest assured, men here are washing their hands. I washed my hands earlier. And sanitized.” My lips twitch, a little more at ease as I study her from her head, to her gathered dress at her hips, to her toes.
“Stop looking at me,” she says, holding her wet hands out in front of her. “I need your help.”
“So, you called me in here to help you while I don’t look at you.”
“Yes,” she says, and I smother an oncoming chuckle.
It feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like I am so tempted to laugh right now.
I shrug. I don’t know what is happening right now but I’m game. “Okay, what can I do? ”
She holds her hands out wide, not letting any droplets of water hit her dress.
“I need you to pull my dress down. And close your eyes!” Her brows knit. “And don’t touch me.”
I scan over her body. I take in every single curve, every inch of beautiful bare skin. Leah is tan and fit, with shapely curved hips and a fairly alluring bottom—but is definitely going to be a problem. She’s a beautiful woman. And it’s not that I haven’t noticed before, but in this dress, and with this very specific request, those curves and bare skin are on stage, the star of this show.
“Stop looking!” she barks.
A low chuckle escapes me. “I’m sorry. I’m not exactly sure what you want me to do.”
She sucks in a breath, her jaw tight. “Close your eyes. And tug my dress down.”
“Without touching you,” I add.
“Right.” She nods.
“You can’t do it yourself?”
Leah groans. “My hands are wet. And—” Her nostrils flare and her wild curls whip around her shoulders. “I’m not sure I can do it on my own.”
“Huh. How did you get into…” I narrow my gaze, still breaking the rules by looking at her. “ That ?”
Air blows from her pinched lips, fluttering one of her curls upward. “Andrea helped me. And it was by the grace of the Almighty that I got it up in time to pee.”
I hold back my grin and rub my hands together. “Okay, where do we start?”
Leah grinds her teeth. It’s a testament to how much she needs help that I’m in here right now. “One hand here,” she says, directing without touching the left side of her body. “Find the end,” she says.
I crouch down, getting eye level with Leah’s abdomen. My cheeks warm and sweat pools at the nape of my neck. I find the end of her dress and hold on. My hand brushes at the spandex material at her hip, and she smacks my shoulder with her wet fingers.
“Hey! No touching.”
My breath comes out with a laugh, only making her glare down at me. “I’m sorry. There are a lot of rules to this job, and it’s difficult.”
“Shh,” she hisses, ignoring my protests. “Now your right hand on the other side. Find the end of the dress.”
“Are you going to yell at me again?”
“Only if your fingers find my hip again.” She gives me a sardonic smile—one that doesn’t scare me but makes me laugh again. “Stop it, Coop. This isn’t funny.” Leah smacks my shoulder with her wet palm. If she keeps that up she’ll be dry in no time.
“I mean, it’s a little funny.” Or a lot, but I’m not admitting to that just yet. Not while I stand this close to Leah. Because it is close. Close enough that I can grasp both sides of the skirt of her dress. Close enough that my nose and Leah’s abdomen are now best friends. Close enough that she’s the only thing I’m breathing in.
“Okay, now alternate tugging one side then the other.” More damp taps on my shoulder come with her directions. “And close your eyes!”
I stand to face her head-on. “Do my eyes really need to be closed? Vision might help the process.”
She pulls in a breath, her chest rising and falling centimeters from my own. “Close them!”
I crouch back down, close my eyes, and tug, just as she’s instructed, but… “Um…” The top of my head collides with her stomach, and I blink my eyes open, staring at the ground. “Ther e seems to be a blockade.” I divert my eyes to the right, peeking at the problem. Goosebumps have erupted over Leah’s arms, tiny little bumps that tell me she isn’t completely immune to my closeness.
“A blockade?” she says.
“Yeah, ah, your—” I rise again, looking her in the face. “Well, your… I guess we’d call it your backside . It’s sort of in the way.”
Leah’s cheeks go pink, and when she speaks, her tone is low and murderous. “Which is why we’re tugging. Left then right.”
“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not an insult. It’s a very nice backside . But?—”
“Close your eyes.” She slaps my shoulder again.
“Wha—”
“Close your eyes and tug, or you’ll be leaving this place with a swirly.”
I press my lips together, attempting to hold in my smirk, imagining this woman manhandling me into a swirly.
“Cooper!”
“Got it. Shutting my eyes.” I sigh, cram my eyes shut, and grab onto her dress once more. I tug. And tug. And tug.
Leah’s no-touching rule is a goner, though—all accidental, but there’s no way I’m getting this dress in place without brushing my fingers over the curve of her waist and hips.
Nope, in fact, eyes open, arm wrapped around her waist—for leverage—I tug at the ends of her skirt. My heart is racing, my breaths are fast, and my fingers know every inch of Leah’s waist and hips. We are well acquainted. We are BFFs. And I’m not even sorry about it.
I’m disheveled. I’m punch-drunk. And I can’t stop the laughter that rumbles in my chest.
Leah doesn’t care that I’m chuckling or that my hands and her waist are now soulmates. She’s fully dressed once more and pretty pleased about it. “We did it,” she says. She blows out a tired sigh. “I’m saved.” She’s smiling again. Maybe it’s because Leah usually frowns at me… but Leah Bradford’s smile is lighting up this very dingy bathroom.
“We did. And while I’m sorry for your predicament, I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. So, thanks.”
Her brows knit. “Why not?” She’s washing her hands–again. I may have to hold an intervention for the woman. She holds her damp hands outward so as not to drip on her dress.
“It’s been a rough few months,” I tell her—more honest than I’ve been with even my mother. Opening my suit coat, I face her. “Here. No paper towels, but a nice white dress shirt should work.”
“Are you serious?” Her bow-red lips perk in an amused half-grin.
“I just tugged your dress down over that very nice bottom?—”
Pink floods her cheeks.
“We’re past jokes. I’m dead serious. Dry away.”
She smirks. “Okay, then.” Leah flattens her hands, running them down my chest and over my white shirt. She dries and dries those hands—how wet are they again? By the time she’s finished, her pink cheeks are flaming.
I clear my throat. “Better?”
She pulls in a shaky breath. “Yep.” Then, reaching for the door handle, she pauses, thinking better of it. Her hands fold behind her back.
That’s all right, I can get the door. There’s sanitizer in my suit jacket anyway.
I hold the door open for Leah, who walks out ahead of me. She pauses for a second, and I don’t blame her. There’s a string of four men in line, waiting for this restroom to open up.
One smiles as he looks her up then down.
Another’s brows rise as he looks at me like a man admiring a boxer’s form as he knocks out his opponent.
Leah clears her throat, her head high. “It’s all yours,” she says to the men after confidently walking past the gawking group.
The last man turns to watch her walk away; his eyes drop to that round bottom. His crass grin makes its way up to me. “Nice,” he says as if we are appreciating the view together.
I glower at him, ram my shoulder into his, and repeat Leah’s rules: “No touching. No looking. Got it?”