Chapter 7 #3
Cooper gently puts a mug in front of me, and I watch with way too much focus at the way his fingers uncurl from the red handle, the thick veins and dusting of dark hair that trace up his exposed forearms. My gaze travels up his arm to land on his face, my stomach tightening when I find him looking at me.
“Thanks,” I say, horrified at how breathy I sound. I clear my throat, reaching for the mug and taking a scalding gulp. Why are my hands shaking?
Cooper parks himself across from me again, fingertips framing the base of his mic as he rotates it a millimeter to the left. I toy with the tag hanging from the teabag, avoiding eye contact again.
“All right, Eva. Hit me. What are your rules?”
The question catches me off guard, and my gaze snaps to his. “M-my rules?”
He leans forward, gesturing at the mic setup. “Yes. Your rules. As you like to say, I trapped you into this scheme and already monumentally fucked up one of the dates. I’m trying to avoid screwing anything else up by asking you a pretty simple question. What are your rules?”
Jesus, why… why am I suddenly so hot ? It feels like a heater kicked on, like my face is flushed with a fever. Probably some sort of low-grade allergic reaction to his proximity. I’ll likely break out in hives next.
But damn, when did his voice get so low? It’s always been rumbly, but something about the quiet timbre and the way his eyes stay hooked with mine makes this conversation feel like he asked me my hard limits in the bedroom and to name my safe word.
I take another boiling sip of tea, sufficiently burning off the roof of my mouth. I frown at the brownish water. Cooper must have poisoned me. That’s why my body is going through some sort of goddamn riot.
“Well, obviously, I don’t want to spend hours of my life sitting here and listening to you mansplain your behavior,” I say, already imagining the litany of excuses men seem so ready to deliver. “That’s a waste of my time.”
“Agreed.”
“And I would hope it goes without saying, but don’t give away any like, super-private info about me. I don’t want hot dog fanatics showing up at my apartment at two A.M. dressed like giant wieners.”
“Of course,” Cooper says, nodding. “And I’m making a note to change your birthday gift, but I’ll worry about that later.”
I snort with laughter, then disguise it as a cough, snuffing out the tiny ember of enjoyment glowing in my chest. I look at him, sizing up if I dare hand over the vulnerable thought pacing around my skull. His face is open and inviting, eyes twinkling. What a shithead.
“I guess the other thing is…” I let out a deep breath. “I know I totally overreacted to the end of our date and was irrational and ridiculous with the whole…” I wave a hand, hoping he’ll spare me from having to admit my childish fear.
“Heights situation,” Cooper says evenly, expression serious but gentle.
I look away, my leg bouncing so rapidly the table trembles.
“Yeah. That. It was silly of me to flip out like that over heights, but, obviously, I’m not a fan and I kind of…
yeah, lost my cool. And I do recognize that the date ending on such a sour note is partially on me and I’ll own that, but I guess what I’m trying to say is… um…”
“I would never make fun of you for your fears, Eva.” Cooper’s voice is edged like a knife, eyebrows furrowed as he frowns at me, like even the suggestion he’d poke at that is personally offensive to him.
I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know.
Probably to argue, downplay the seriousness of his tone, wipe away the heavy cloud of tension between us with a barb of my own.
Anything to toughen up all these soft spots I’m showing.
But instead, I nod, letting out a quiet “Thank you” that’s more breath than voice.
A few beats of silence pass between us, and I look anywhere but at his face, slotting my bricks of coolness back into place.
“What are your rules?” I eventually counter, leaning back and fixing him with an appraising look, trying to regain the upper hand here while I feel like I’m drowning.
Cooper searches my face, a private smile revealing his dimple.
He looks at me like he knows I’m all bluster.
“Well, I’m not bullshitting you when I say I want you to be honest.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
“The whole point of this is an airing of the grievances that got us here, yeah?”
“And you trying to make up for them,” I point out. I meant it to have a little bite to it, but it comes out delicate.
Cooper’s laugh is self-deprecating, and he shakes his head. “ Trying being the operative word, it seems.”
I don’t know what to say—probably something witty and cutting and emotionally distant—but he looks so sincere, I suddenly don’t have the heart. I shrug.
“So, I guess my rule would be unconditional honesty between both of us,” he continues, holding my gaze.
My throat is dry, tongue thick. “I can do that.”
His resulting smile is so brilliant, the sky must study his sunniness.
After a moment, he slips back into seriousness, clearing his throat.
“I think the only other thing—and I promise I’m not saying this as some sort of dig or scolding for the texting, er, incident…
” Mortification is a quick flame, my blood gasoline.
“But I do try to avoid language and conversations on here that place value or judgment on genital sizes and shapes, if you know what I mean. Lilith has really drawn my attention to how common that ends up being when discussing sex and intimacy and just like, gender in general, and I’m trying to be more aware of it.
I don’t ever want to make a listener feel, you know, badly for something I flippantly say about dick size or vulva types or whatever.
I’m, uh, yeah, just trying to be more intentional about harm avoidance.
And whatever.” Cooper lets out a whoosh of a breath, pink staining his cheeks and ears.
I stare at him, shame trickling through me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, teeth gritted and hands clenching into tight balls on the table. “You’re right. And I’m sorry if I… if the texts made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t cool of me. I wasn’t even thinking.… I… I’m—”
“Hey, stop.” Cooper reaches out, closing his hand over the top of mine, his palm warm and broad and enveloping my curled fist completely.
His thumb brushes gently against the jagged pulse at my wrist, and my fingers unfurl at the sudden comfort.
“I really meant it when I said I wasn’t bringing it up as some sort of scolding.
God knows I’d be up on the highest horse for policing how other people talk.
I just… I’m trying on here, you know?” He waves at the mics.
“Trying to learn and grow, at least. I know you were joking around and… Well, I get the feeling that message wasn’t exactly meant for me. ”
I snort, my cheeks on fire. The embarrassment is hot and thick, quicksand in my gut. I know he’s right, and I know better. Ray and I are petty and run the gamut of bitchy talk between the two of us, but I hate that Cooper thinks I’m the type of person who might publicly shame people’s bodies.
“Eva.” His voice is low and clear and pins my attention through my flurry of worries. “Me saying this isn’t personal. This is a conversation I have with every guest on here. Our timing was just off because of your latest rendezvous with the antichrist and his massive schlong.”
I let out a wet laugh, shaking my head, then biting my lip hard.
“But in the name of unconditional honesty,” he says softly, “I wanted to bring it up with you.”
Holy fuck. Is Rylie Cooper… actually showing consideration for other people?
“I get it,” I croak. “And you’re totally right. Thank you for bringing it up.”
Cooper continues to look at me, each moment measured by the heavy thud of my heartbeat. I swallow, looking away and pulling my hand from his. “Should we get started?”
“Are you asking me if I’m ready for my public slaughtering?” he asks, face grim. Then he smiles. “Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”
He snaps into motion, getting up to adjust the camera on its tripod. He posts the full recordings on YouTube and puts snippets on other social media platforms, and he’s agreed to give Soundbites access to the footage for similar promotion and use on their channels.
I take a steadying breath, remembering why we’re here, why this matters.
If I do this, play into this game, show what a good little soldier I am to Landry and, by extension, William, I’ll get that promotion.
I’ll gobble down my last hot dog and flip the bird to Sausage Talk , covering real stories instead. I can do this.
After a quick sound check and Cooper giving me the rundown of his intro, he cues up the recording and launches in.
He mentions two sponsors, and I try to weed out if he sounds particularly desperate during that part, remembering he has some skin in this game too.
He then gives a brief recap on the outrageous events of the past week-plus, even offering me a particularly kind bio: “While you may know Eva Kitt as the host of Sausage Talk , she also writes incredible pieces on her Babble platform. Seriously, I encourage everyone to check her stuff out.”
I try to cool the golden ball of satisfaction in my chest from his praise. I don’t need a man to hype me up.
Finally, Cooper lets out a deep breath, pretending to be winded. “… Which brings us…”
“Here,” I say, a snarky curl to my smile as I gesture around.
“I’m tempted to imitate the Paul-Rudd-on-Hot-Ones meme,” Cooper says, grinning at me.
“How original.”
His smile doesn’t waver. “That’s what I love about you, Eva, you’re just so easy to please.”
“You’re really setting me up nicely to talk about the disaster of our date ,” I say, using air quotes around the last word.
“Why delay the inevitable?” His voice and body language drip with easy confidence. Fuck. Why is he being so chill about this? “Do you want to start or should I?”