Chapter 7 #4
“That’s a dangerous door you’re leaving open for me,” I say with an amoral smile. “But I’ll go in if you’re ready.”
He waves me on, a delightful mix of fear and enjoyment playing across his face.
“Well, dear listeners,” I begin, pressing close to the mic and lowering my voice in a parody of his. “The date started with a car crash.”
“It didn’t start with the car crash,” Cooper says, leaning toward me.
“Fine, it started with you showing up with a giant hired SUV like we aren’t in the midst of a climate crisis and then five minutes later the car crash happened. Is that a more accurate timeline for your liking?”
There’s a weighted pause.
“Yes,” he reluctantly mumbles.
I paint the picture of the seven A.M. champagne cork to the jugular and the near death-by-stilettos walk of shame (because I was walking in a public place next to him). “I will at least give you credit that the art museum was amazing.”
“I knew you’d like that,” Cooper says, absolutely glowing. I hold up my hand to silence him, but he’s so hyped up he reaches across the table and gives me a high five. I jerk away from him.
“Absolutely not,” I say, wiping my hand on my skirt with a grimace. “You don’t get a high five for that.”
His face falls. “Why not?”
“Because it was extraordinary but you rushed us through it! You almost pulled my arm out of the socket dragging me to the next harebrained thing on the itinerary—a damn helicopter ride, no less—when we had entire hour to ourselves in that amazing exhibit.”
Cooper lets out a sigh, shoulders curling as he deflates. “I know. I was just trying to create this really amazing day for you. Us. I wanted it to be special. Start this redemption tour with a bang so you didn’t regret agreeing to this.”
“I will always regret agreeing to this, so don’t trouble yourself with impossible endeavors,” I taunt. But my voice is softer than usual, a thread of gentleness knitting through it and into my small smile.
Cooper catches it, his eyes brightening.
“But that’s the issue,” I continue, firming up my too-soft thoughts as I get back on track.
“You were more concerned about creating an itinerary that on paper looked great but inevitably set us up for unrealistic expectations. You were so focused on the timetable and details that we hardly had a second to breathe, let alone enjoy what we were doing.”
“I get that,” Cooper says quietly. He drags his hand along his jaw as he looks at me.
“And a helicopter, dude? Really? Don’t you think that’s a bit Fifty Shades –level extreme for a first date?”
“Huh…” He drums his fingers against the tabletop. “Are you saying I can’t pull off love bombing as successfully as Jamie Dornan?”
I laugh despite myself. “The differences between you and Jamie Dornan don’t begin and end there, baby girl.”
He sways toward me, grin magnetic, and I feel myself lean in to the pull.
“I… I see what you were trying to do,” I admit, horrified to be throwing this man a bone. “And I fully recognize that it was a recipe for a really amazing date, but probably for people who actually know each other better than we do.”
“So you’re saying you want to get to know me?” The spark of hope in his eyes is so sweet I have to bite back a smile while something in my chest melts.
“ No. No, no. You misunderstand. I was trying to be generous and allow you to get to know me . I’m a goddamn delight.”
The radiance in his expression softens to a shimmer, his head tilting to the side as he looks at me. “Well, I already knew that.”
Heat rushes up my neck, curls across my cheeks. I look away, becoming aware again of the camera, the microphones, the fact that this is all for show. For both of our jobs. I’m here to challenge him, not be endeared by his smile.
“Piss off. I’m a bitch and you know it.” I flick my hair behind my ear, letting out an unbothered chuckle. “I wear it with pride; you don’t have to lie to your listeners.”
“Okay, calm down, Meredith Brooks,” he says, mouth twisting. “You may have quite the bite, but that’s what makes it all so fun.”
I shake my head, annoyance bubbling through me, but my expression stays calm for the cameras. “You don’t get to say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, maybe because we haven’t talked in six years?” My cool facade cracks, voice pitching and eyebrows furrowing. “Maybe because you ghosted me after I showed you an ounce of emotional vulnerability? Maybe because you don’t know me, so how can you act like you enjoy being around me?”
Cooper’s eyes make a thorough circuit of my face, his forehead lined and jaw working. He licks his lips. “You keep saying I don’t know you, but I know some things, Eva.”
Challenge is a lightning strike on my tongue. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
He huffs, pushing his glasses further up his nose before planting his forearms on the table. “I know your middle name is Mary and your favorite color is red.”
I roll my eyes. “Wow. Congrats on your Google search and learning your colors,” I say, waving at my red silk blouse and coordinating skirt. “Do the slutty little glasses you wear now help with that? Is that why you couldn’t see all the red flags you were waving in college?”
“You think my glasses are slutty?” he says, smile huge and voice hopeful.
“We both know your glasses are slutty,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Men don’t pick tortoiseshell frames like that without being a little bit of a ho.”
It takes him a few moments to tamp down his smile, but he fixes me with that serious look again.
“I know you studied journalism in college. Got your master’s in it too.
I know your favorite course, at least up through junior year, was art history.
You liked it so much you were thinking of adding it on as a minor. ”
I shift in my seat, eyes darting away. So maybe the date wasn’t as randomly planned as I thought. “Wouldn’t put it past you to have called Breslin and bribed the registrar for that info.”
“I know your favorite type of food is Thai and you order it at a level-five spice, then don’t even break a sweat.”
A memory flashes to the one time we’d gone out to a restaurant all those years ago.
I’d offhandedly told him how much I loved Thai food during a lecture, and it had surprised me speechless that he remembered when no one in my family had ever bothered to retain the fact.
Cooper took me to my favorite place near campus for our third date.
He’d tried to match me on getting the dish extra spicy, and spent the rest of the dinner choking and sweating.
But also smiling as I gently teased him about it.
I remember how charming I’d found him, how goddamn endearing he was.
It’s funny to think that only a few weeks after that, he spent the remaining handful of our shared lectures in a different seat, ignoring my existence completely.
“I know you’re the middle child of six kids and you grew up in a suburb outside of Philly.
” He pauses, tilts his head as his gaze softens, turning thoughtful as he searches my face.
“I know you write some of the most thoughtful pieces about current issues and poignant critiques of media and pop culture that I’ve read recently. ”
My lip snarls, and I want to snap at him to stop. I want to tell him not to bring my writing into this artificial bullshit. I’m 99 percent sarcasm and flagrant irreverence, but I actually care about my writing. I don’t want him tarnishing that in this ridiculous nice-guy parade.
“Maybe I don’t know everything about you, Eva,” Cooper says, leaning forward. “But I know some things, and all those things make me want to know more. If you’ll let me.”
The way he says it scrapes the bone, the sincerity seeming so raw and real.
I hate my stupid, overeager heart for leaping at the idea.
Someone wanting to know me. Someone seeing my sharp, prickly edges and gleefully asking for more.
But that’s not how it works, not for people like me.
It’s fun and games and an exercise in sparring until it becomes too much work, too many minefields to navigate the second things get a little bit real.
Rylie Cooper was the origin story for the trend that’s plagued my entire dating life, and I’d be a fool to fall into the same trap again.
“That’s enough for today,” I say, ripping the headphones from my ears and tossing them on the table before fumbling with the mic’s off switch.
“Eva—”
“I’ll see you for our next sham of a date,” I cut him off, scurrying for the door and not looking back.
“Hold on,” Cooper says, chasing after me down the stairs. “Why are you so mad?”
“Why am I so mad? Are you serious?” I spit, barreling down the second-floor hallway.
“Aren’t you supposed to be some psychic master problem-solver of people’s feelings?
” I despise the way my voice cracks, feelings damming up my throat and building pressure behind my eyes.
Being an angry crier is the world’s greatest curse.
But even if I could speak, I’m not sure I’d be able to articulate exactly why I’m so mad, and that fuels my rage all the more.
I make it to the ground level and flounder with the front door’s lock, finally wrenching it open.
Cooper’s palm lands on the wood, shutting it again.
I stare at the gold handle, unable to look at him.
“Damnit, Eva, will you talk to me?” There’s fire in his voice, making the threatening tears in my eyes burn even more. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I grit my teeth and pinch my thigh to regain control over these pesky and pathetic feelings. I force my features into a glare as sharp as a dagger, looking up and pinning him with it. I hope it slices him to ribbons. “No.”
“No?”
I shake my head, offering a cruel smile.
“No. I’m not going to tell you what I’m thinking.
You want a gold star for remembering a region of food I like and a color that I wear all the time?
Good for you, I’m sure your fans will be weeping at how goddamn sentimental and caring you are.
But none of this is real. You don’t get to know me.
You don’t get to back me into a corner and demand I tell you things about myself so you can feel better about being a fuckup in college, then use it against me in a stupid podcast recording to prove you’re some sort of nice guy and deserve the frenzy of adoration you’ve somehow tricked people into. Now move your fucking hand.”
Cooper’s face is ashen, lips parted as he stares at me. His palm slides from the door, landing with a heavy slap at his side.
“Wow, you are a good listener,” I say with a sneer, then walk out the door.