Chapter 24
COOPER
Watching Amara get jealous has been a favorite pastime of mine my whole life, and there’s something thrilling about knowing that the jealousy is still there.
It would have been devastating if it weren’t.
I didn’t talk to this girl willingly. She came up to me, and I did want out. But if Amara had stayed away, or had not cared at all, I think I’d shatter.
I’d know that there’s no hope at all for us.
But it’s in there.
“I just think you could be honest with me,” I tease as I kick off my shoes, undoing the buttons on my dress shirt.
I watch as Amara wobbles, grabbing the wall as she attempts to take off her heels. Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms, enjoying the entertainment.
She gives up with a huff.
Instead, she watches me as she rounds the couch, dropping into it like a rock.
She holds up her leg. “Are you going to help or not?” she groans.
Fuck.
I’m not sober enough to process this.
Closing my eyes, I take a second to give my body a little pep talk on the importance of behaving and not getting too excited before I find myself standing in front of her.
I grab her calf, undoing the ties around her ankle before slowly taking the shoe off her foot and dropping it to the ground with a thud.
I was expecting her to say something sassy. Maybe call me out. But what I was not expecting her to do is moan.
The sound sends a shock through me.
“Your hand feels good on my skin,” she mumbles, sinking into the couch.
“Do you want a foot rub?” I ask, taking the other off as she lifts her leg out to me.
She rolls her eyes. “Do you ask all your interior designers that?”
“There’s that jealousy I know and love,” I grin. Her face turns bright red as she looks up at me from under her lashes, her lids heavy.
She sighs. “Actually, let me make you a drink, and then you can rub my feet.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“The occasion is me wanting another drink,” she says as if it’s the dumbest question in the entire world.
She peels herself off the couch slowly, nearly falling as she makes her way to the bar.
I watch as she gets out all the necessary tools to make something complicated, but in the end, she adds some ice cubes to two glasses and pours whiskey over them.
She comes back with both, handing me mine quietly. “I owe you a drink,” she whispers after taking a sip.
“This is a drink.”
“No, a real drink. This is whisky.”
I don’t press the matter; instead, I let her go.
She sits, a little alcohol tipping over the side of her glass and onto the absolutely disgusting green rug she brought into my place a bit ago.
I’ve told her it’s grown on me to make her happy. She loves the thing.
I would rather it be anywhere else.
“I was a really good bartender,” she mutters, lifting the glass to her lips. “I actually really miss it.”
“Why don’t you do it again?”
She scowls at me, and I put my hands up in surrender. “Okay, sorry I asked,” I chuckle.
“No, don’t be sorry,” her head rests on the back of the couch. “I just don’t like people all that much.”
I snort, because of course that’s the issue. She’s said that much.
Her head whips to me, her brows furrowed, her lips in a perfect pout. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I just think it’s cute, is all,” I admit, downing the rest of my drink.
She looks at hers, making a face before handing it over to me with a frown. “I need you to take this from me.”
“Why?”
“I really, really don’t want to do something I’ll regret in the morning.”
“I wouldn’t let you.”
Her eyes grow larger than Fluffernutter’s. “Ever?”
I shake my head with a smirk. “When you can consent to me touching you like that, I can assure you, I would do anything you ask of me.”
“I’ve kissed you,” she says suddenly.
“You have. I remember it quite well.”
“I do too,” she admits.
“You were quite jealous that night, too.”
God, I love when she gets playfully angry.
“I wasn’t jealous tonight.”
My brow arches, and I bring her drink to my lips. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“Why are you so infuriating?”
“I’m whatever you want me to be, Sweetheart,” I say softly. And I mean it. Sure, working her up is funny. And hot. And, everything I’ve wished we still were. But all she has to do is ask me to be something different, and she’ll have it in a second.
“Do you trust me?” I ask quickly.
“No.”
I watch as she tries to be serious, her eyes holding mine pretty well for the amount she’s had to drink. But the small dimple in her cheek comes and goes, and I know that I’ve caught her.
“I feel like you’re lying.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” she says simply, pulling herself up again. She takes a step before stopping, her shoulders slumping. “Ugh, Cooper, I have one more horrible task for you.”
I chuckle. “What in the world could that be?”
“I need you to unzip my dress.”
That’s more like it.
“That’s just unfair,” I groan.
“It’s the law. You have to.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Henry, please.”
My heart beats a mile a minute at her using my last name.
“I don’t know if that works on me anymore, Mrs. Henry.”
She looks back at me, scowling. “It’s Miss Flores, Cooper.”
I spread my legs, leaning back into the couch more, a smirk plastered on my god damn lips.
“Okay, wife.”
“Okay, asshole.”
With a chuckle, I decide not to push her too much more, instead getting up and carefully unzipping her dress, wishing I could see it on my bedroom floor.
Hell, I’d take seeing it on this hideous rug.
She grasps the top of the bust as she turns back to me. “Goodnight, Henry.”
“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”