Chapter Eleven
I pull at the knot in my tankini, trying to get it untangled before I toss it into a suitcase to join a pile of various wardrobe choices.
A few minutes into my struggling, I slump onto the bed and fling it toward my dresser.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter for the third time since I’ve started packing.
I took all night to sleep on it, all day at work to think about it, and still my head keeps teetering from one decision to the other.
I’m half convinced that taking Cooper’s offer is a good idea, half convinced I have lost my mind.
All I want is to spend some time with the man.
He’s attractive and handsome and seriously, the kissing…
As much as I try to talk myself into turning down his every advance, putting it into practice is so much harder.
I turn to Tom, who is curled up in the empty space of my suitcase, and scratch his black and white head.
“It’s more about the house than the guy,” I tell him, falling to the low point of convincing my cat why staying with Cooper would be a good idea.
“You should see this place, Tom. Indoor pool, private balcony, open bar. Any girl would die for two weeks like this.”
I don’t mention the company the vacation also provides because I’m determined to let my decision be Cooper- influence free.
But if I were to mention it, it’d definitely be added to the pros column.
Tom leans his head into my hand and purrs so loudly I bet Kat will be in here any second to try to get in on the back rub.
I let out a sigh and rest my head on the unorganized mess I plan on taking with me if I decide to go.
The main problem still exists, though; he wants to show me what married life would be like, but he doesn’t know what it will be like.
I don’t either, for that matter.
I only know what I see, and he only knows what he’s seen.
Our perception on the subject is so far off from one another, and I don’t see either of us changing our minds.
I’d hate to indulge in the newness of what I can already feel is an exciting and addicting infatuation, only to get to the inevitable boredom a few months later.
He may want that boredom, find excitement in something long term and promising.
He wants a wife, a family, a settled life…
things I don’t ever see for myself.
It’s dangerous and completely unfair.
I know it is. I feel as if I’ve already gone down the road farther than I should have.
Every time I talk myself into walking away, I see his smile, picture that dimple.
I hear his laugh and wish he were near so I could tease and flirt my way into his head, because he sure as hell is in mine.
“Who am I kidding?” I say to my chubby cat.
“This is so about the man.”
I pluck Tom from the suitcase and dump all the clothing at the foot of my bed.
I’m stuffing this thing into the darkest corner of my closet where it can’t be found .
What I need is a little reminder of why I’m so set in my ways.
I flick on Siri and ask her where the nearest club is.
Having a night to innocently flirt with men who are just looking for a non-committal romp is the prescription I need for my Cooper addiction.
I’m not one to go off without my wingman, however, so before dedicating to the evening, I should send a message to Holland to see if she’s okay coming.
It may not be the most fun place for an expectant mother, but my other choices require babysitters on short notice.
I trip over the pile of clothing I just spread all over my floor and bounce across my bed to get to my phone plugged in the charger.
Just as I get a grip on it, Kat leaps up on my nightstand and jolts me backward.
That kitten must get her skittish tendencies from her owner.
“Shush,” I tell them, even though my cats rarely mewl during my phone calls.
Rolling to my back, I hold my phone over my head and swipe the screen on.
Cooper, 1 new message
Forgetting why I needed my phone in the first place, I open up the message, heart pounding as if my teenage self was in the company of Nick Carter.
Thought you looked really beautiful in this one.
Attached is one of the photos from the shoot, but not one from the test shots.
Robbie, or someone else on set, must’ve taken it while I was hyena laughing at something that evening.
My mouth is split open in unabashed amusement, eyes crinkled in the corners and smile lines creasing near my mouth.
I reach up and smooth over my cheek, frowning at how old I’m starting to look.
My nose wrinkles in disgust as I type back a simple, Ugh.
Aging may suit Cooper well— very well —but I am not pulling it off.
I scoot my way off my mattress and pad across the carpet to the adjoining bathroom.
I think there is some eye cream in here somewhere.
A few years ago, I got cornered at the mall by one of those pushy salesmen and ended up with two hundred dollars’ worth of anti-aging cream.
Julie still hasn’t let me live that one down.
After a few minutes of digging around under my sink, my phone vibrates across the counter.
My heart gets another round of Nick Carter-like beats.
Unacceptable response ;)
I shake my head and type back, You’ll delete that photo if you know what’s good for ya.
You want to see a delete-worthy photo?
Before I can respond with a yes or no, the incoming attachment uploads.
It’s a close-up shot of just Cooper’s nose and left eye.
I laugh to myself, scaring my skittish orange kitten under the bed.
They really captured your boss-like essence.
;)
I’m relieved I had the brains to trim that day.
I give the shot another glance, my brow furrowing at the facial hair above his lip.
That is trimmed?
I meant my nose hair.
Then another picture comes in, his eyes wide in a goofy selfie.
He’s sitting in his bed right now, lying across it the way I’m sprawled across mine.
My cheeks start to hurt from the all the smiling I’ve been doing.
Even when he’s being a total goof, he’s one of the most attractive specimens on the planet.
I save the picture before typing back to him.
Can I bring my cats?
I hover over the send button, heart thumping through my chest, around my stomach, up into my throat, and then finally into my head where it makes me temporarily hard of hearing.
My thumb presses the button, and I don’t think I breathe for the twenty-two-and-a-half seconds it takes for him to respond.
Am I hearing a yes to my offer?
If text messages had a tone, I would assume his was full of hope.
Mine however would be a trembled mess, so I’m grateful that texts have yet to advance to that level of technology.
If I can bring my cats.
I send that one quickly before I can backtrack.
I’m really doing this.
I’m negotiating a verbal contract to be “married” to him for a couple of weeks.
My hand flies up to cover my face, the realization hitting me so strongly I feel the need to make a few more conditions.
And I want my own room, I type before he has a chance to respond.
This isn’t a romantic getaway.
It’s just an unorthodox way of proving to you that I’m right.
If there are any shenanigans to be had, it won’t involve me falling in love with you.
It’s only a few more seconds before my phone buzzes again, but it feels like a lifetime.
Got it.
Then another lifetime after that .
For the sake of clarity, I in no way promise not to fall in love with you.
I turn slowly from my bathroom, staring at his text as I plop back down on the bed.
Finally, we’re at the crossroad, moving forward with this ridiculous charade even though we both know how it’ll end, or I can just end it now with one simple “no.”
Tom nudges my elbow until I give in and scratch his head.
“He won’t fall in love with me,” I say to my older and grumpier cat.
It’s the truth. After a full two weeks of uncensored Maya, any man, even one as quirky as Cooper, would turn around running.
Perhaps all this will end in is a fun vacation in a mansion and an entertaining story for future girl’s nights.
Yes, I believe I’ve thoroughly convinced myself.
I give Tom a firm nod and straighten my spine as I type back.
Cooper Sterling, I accept.