Chapter Seventy-Three
Cooper
A creak of weight on floorboards pulls me from the edge of sleep. The movie I put on is still playing, but I haven’t watched a second of it. Blinking through the flickering light, I lift my head off the arm of the couch just in time to see Declan freeze in the doorway.
“Finally,” I yawn, rubbing my eyes. “Movie’s halfway done.”
His shirt clings to him from work, the sleeves rolled up, jaw tight like he’s still in boss mode. But his eyes? They go soft when they land on me. He doesn’t say anything right away, keys in his hand suspended above the sideboard as he stares like he can’t believe I’m here. In his apartment.
“So this is why you weren’t downstairs tonight, making a mess of my bar?” He deadpans, his gaze sweeping over my notebook on his coffee table, an empty water bottle and half-eaten chip packet beside it. “How the hell did you get in?”
Stretching, my hoodie rides up just enough to flash skin as I reach for the coffee table and hold up his spare set, swinging them around my finger once. “Vince.”
“Vince gave you a key?”
“He figured you wouldn’t mind.”
He makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl, but doesn’t argue. Just kicks off his boots and drops down on the couch beside me, like we do this all the time. Like it’s normal.
Like it could be.
We sit in silence for a moment, the space between us crackling, before he reaches for the remote, lowering the volume. I shift closer until our thighs touch. Heat radiates off him, tension riding just under the surface of work sweat and cologne that’s quickly becoming my new favorite scent.
“What are you doing?” he asks, not looking at me.
“What do you mean?”
Leaning in, I run my nose up his throat, lips trailing light kisses to the spot just under his ear, making him shiver.
I smile against him, catching him from the side of my eye as his fingers twitch against his thigh.
But he’s still not stopping me. I press another kiss, higher this time, to the edge of his jaw, the coarse hair of his beard tickling my lips.
“Cooper,” he warns, but I can already hear his resolve breaking into tiny pieces. “We talked about this. I said friends. This isn’t acting like friends.”
I should back off; I know that. But touching him like this doesn’t feel like it did before, not like habit or muscle memory.
It’s new. Different. Brighter. And even beneath his hesitation, he feels it too.
I know he does. That familiar pull is too strong to ignore, louder now than it ever was before, and it’s only a matter of time before he remembers how good we were together.
I told him I loved him, for crying out loud.
No take-backsies.
“I remember,” I murmur against him. “You talked. I listened, then ignored you.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
He turns his head, and I catch his mouth.
It’s instant heat, the way it’s always been.
No hesitation, no pretense, just lips colliding together, all teeth and tongue, like we’re starving.
I climb into his lap, straddling him, my knees bracketing his thighs.
His hands go straight to my hips, holding me there as I grind down.
He could push me off, but instead, he groans into my mouth. “Fuck.”
His hands slide under my clothes, palms flat against my back. My hoodie rides higher the more skin he touches, his hips rolling against mine as I kiss him harder, nipping his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth until he gasps. He bites back, beard scraping in the best possible way.
“Jesus, Coop,” he grits out, breaking the kiss long enough to suck in a breath.
“You want me to stop?” I pant.
He hesitates, but we both know the answer.
Dropping my head to his neck, I lick a slow stripe up his throat, until I’m right next to his ear. “Didn’t think so.”
Flicking my fingers against the button on his jeans, I rock my hips down again, his thick cock pressing right where I need him most. He bucks up to meet me, all hard muscle and want, and suddenly I can feel his strong body everywhere.
Under my hands, my thighs, burning through every inch of my skin.
His fingers slip under the waistband of my sweatpants, dragging them across the top.
I’m about to lose it, beg him to bend me over the back of the couch and fuck my ass with his tongue again, when there’s a loud knock on his door.
He tenses beneath me, fingers stalling before we even get to the good part.
“Leave it,” I whisper, nipping his earlobe between my teeth.
“I can’t.”
“They’ll go away.”
“No, they—”
“Declan, hurry up, I need to pee.” Grace’s muffled voice yells through the door, and I groan, smacking my head against his shoulder.
“Told you.”
Tapping my ass, he lifts me off him like I weigh nothing, setting me down beside him as he scrambles to button his jeans. Grabbing a pillow, I shove it over my erection tenting my sweats, heart pounding, mouth swollen, when he opens the door.
Grace whizzes past, dumping an overnight bag, a bright smile on her face when she sees me.
“Cooper? Hi,” she beams before darting into the bathroom and slamming the door closed.
“I thought I was coming to get her?” Declan asks his mom as she walks inside, kissing his cheek.
“Dinner was on route, so we thought we’d drop her off on the way.” Abby’s eyes light up the second she spots me, a knowing grin sliding onto her face as she glances at her son. “Cooper, what a surprise. Holly, look who’s here.”
Groaning, I shift in place, trying my best not to look like I was about to come in her son’s lap as my own mother walks in, holding a goddamn pie.
“This is a surprise,” Mom says, setting the dessert on the sideboard, her eyes dancing as she looks at me. “You okay? You look flushed, honey.”
Declan shoots me a warning glare, scratching the back of his neck. “Just warm in here.”
Abby laughs under her breath, then pats his cheek. “Okay, we’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie. Try not to let your guests overheat.”
“I’ll do my best,” he mutters, steering both moms toward the door.
“Bye, Cooper,” Mom sing-songs, giving me a wave as they disappear into the hall.
The second the door shuts, Grace bursts from the bathroom, wiping her hands on her leggings. Spotting my guitar leaning against the arm of the sofa, she gasps, throwing herself down next to me.
Her eyes go wide with excitement. “You brought your guitar? Can you play me something?”
“After dinner,” Declan says, lifting her bag, muscles flexing as he throws it over one shoulder. “Let me put this in your room and then you can help, okay?”
Dinner is chaotic.
When Declan said “help,” I don’t think he meant noodles spilt over the floor or pasta sauce splattered down the cabinets. But he doesn’t care, just laughs, lifting her up onto the counter, letting her stir with all the confidence of a Michelin chef.
I lean in the doorway the entire time, unable to move, this ache in my chest growing with each second I watch.
This. This is everything.
Not fame. Not LA. Just this apartment and a too-small kitchen, Declan looking at his little sister like she hung the moon.
By the time we finish, Grace is exhausted, sagging against the table, her cheek resting on her arm.
“Alright, kiddo,” Declan says as he scoops up her empty bowl. “Bedtime. Go brush your teeth.”
“But he was gonna play me something.” Her pout is instant, tired but exaggerated, aimed straight at her brother.
“Another time.”
“But—”
“Hey,” I say, crouching down by her chair. “I’m still working on it, but when it’s finished, you’ll be the first to hear it, okay?”
She studies me, eyes narrowed, then finally nods. “Okay.”
I look up, catching Declan watching me. Leaning on the counter, towel in hand, his face is unreadable, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. Just for me.
“Are you staying?” Grace asks, sliding off her chair.
I blink, mouth opening and closing, before Declan says, “Yeah. He is. So go brush your teeth and you’ll see him in the morning.”
She scurries down the hall, disappearing from sight. Straightening, I lower my voice. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “You can take my bed, and I’ll take the couch.”
It’s not rejection. Not exactly. He’s pulling back, not because I don’t think he doesn’t want me.
I think it’s the walls—the old ones, necessary ones he built when we were younger—keeping him protected.
Besides, whatever this thing is between us, it isn’t meant for here, for now.
Especially not in front of Grace. And I understand, I really do, but it still stings.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll take the couch.”
He’s about to argue, when Grace calls out his name from down the hallway. He stares at me for a beat longer before tossing the towel on the counter and heading for her room. Staying behind, I go over to the sink to clean up, letting the silence settle.
“She wants you to say goodnight,” he says, holding onto a blanket.
Reaching for it, our fingers brush, that buzz from earlier passing between us.
Grace is tucked under a sea of blankets, her face half-buried in a pillow. Turning onto her back, she smiles as I step inside, leaving the door ajar.
“Cooper?”
“Yeah, kid.”
“Are you my brother’s boyfriend?” she asks, squinting at me.
I freeze. Jesus, this kid.
Crouching next to the bed, I sigh. “Would you mind if I was?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Really?”
“He’s been sad for a really long time,” she says, rolling over onto her side. “He’s not so sad anymore.”
Can a heart break while simultaneously being held together by quiet words from an eight-year-old?
Stretching forward, I kiss her forehead. “Goodnight, Grace.”
“Night,” she mumbles, already drifting.
Stepping out, I pull the door almost closed behind me, stopping short when I nearly run into Declan standing there, arms folded.
“I’ll just—” I motion toward the sofa and start to move, but he reaches out and takes my hand instead, leading me into his bedroom.
I stand there awkwardly, watching as he starts to strip, tossing his clothes into a hamper in the corner. My heartbeat thuds through my veins, throat thick as he steps toward me and slowly peels off my clothes, piece by piece, until we’re both in our underwear.
Turning to the bed, he pulls back the covers and climbs in, his eyes tracking me as I crawl in beside him, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.
His arm hooks around my waist and pulls me into him, my back pressed against his front, thighs bracketing mine.
One strong hand rests low on my stomach, fingers splayed wide.
This close, I can feel everything. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his skin, the slow, deliberate way his thumb brushes back and forth, just once.
I don’t speak, barely breathe, my heart doing gymnastics behind my ribs.
He must feel the way I tense, because his voice comes out low and rough against my neck.
“Don’t overthink this, Cooper.” He pauses, his arm tightening slightly. “Go to sleep.”
And the whole night, he doesn’t let go.