Chapter 8 #2
“Maybe we should cancel brunch,” I blurt out. I feel the shocked looks of Aida and Ray, but all I can see is the horribly enchanting, crooked smile Cooper’s trapped me with.
“Subtle,” he replies with a wink. “But I would never ditch Lilith just so you could have me all to yourself, Kitten. I would hope you’d treat your friends with a similar level of decency.
” He gestures at Ray and Aida, and they melt at the beautiful roughness of his voice.
Aida collapses in her seat with a contented sigh. Fucking traitor.
My face heats to the point of discomfort, and I grope for something witty to say back.
Nothing.
The shock of seeing him (and his peach-colored sweatshirt with a retro Santa Claus walking a dachshund with Santa’s Favorite Wiener written in red cursive) has cleared my brain of all thoughts.
“Nice sweatshirt,” I manage, my lip curling. I’m still looming over the table, something my height has me used to, but I’m also struck with an awareness that it puts my tits at about eye-level with the man I want to withhold all things pleasurable and good from. I plop into my seat.
“Thanks, I just got it yesterday,” he says, pulling it taut and looking down at it. “It reminded me of you, actually.”
I roll my eyes, and am horrified to hear Aida and Ray laugh.
“I love it, but it should be illegal to wear holiday gear in early October,” Ray says. “Happy Hallo-Wiener is literally right there.”
Cooper’s jaw drops. “I’m ready to invest.”
I grab the arm of the passing waitress. “Please bring me a pint glass for my mimosa and hold the orange juice.” She spares me the time for a dirty look before traipsing away.
Ray, Aida, and Lilith introduce themselves, passing pleasantries back and forth while I wait for my quart-jug of champagne.
“So you’re the infamous Rylie Cooper,” Ray says, propping his chin in the palm of his hand and smiling at the object of my loathing. “You were a highlighted topic on our brunch agenda.”
“Eva has endless kind things to say, I’m sure,” he responds, mirroring Ray’s pose. I hate how fucking adorable it is.
“I looked up how to create a bowel obstruction on an effigy doll,” I mumble, only to wheeze as Aida and Ray elbow me.
“Are you as terrible as Eva makes you out to be?” Ray asks, ignoring my scowl.
“The me she knew definitely was.” Cooper straightens his shoulders.
His serious expression solicits a double look from all three of us, and he blushes from our attention, pushing his glasses up his nose and clearing his throat.
“I mean, I like to think I did a modicum of growing up in the past six years.”
“I would never dare trust a man who uses the word modicum ,” I reply, getting another elbowing from my friends. Damn, if they’re so enamored with him, maybe they should be the ones forced to date him for the viewing pleasure of the internet.
“There’s a sex joke in there somewhere,” Lilith says, meeting my eyes and winking. I laugh, but the sound harmonizes with Cooper’s, and I cut mine short.
Another thing I hate about Cooper is his laugh.
It’s so deep and rich, the afterglow from a shot of whiskey.
He laughs with his whole body, shoulders shaking and face crinkling, his fingertips covering his mouth like he’s half-heartedly trying to hold back his humor.
I have the alarming urge to slap that hand away and scold him for attempting to keep that from the world.
Clearly, I am extremely ill and in need of medical attention.
It isn’t until a few seconds later that I realize the table has fallen silent, Cooper’s eyes fixed on me, something gentle and tempting in the way he holds my gaze.
Everyone else is staring at me staring at him, and I correct my face into a grimace, trying not to name whatever softer expression it’s replacing.
“Is this weird for you two?” Lilith asks, flicking her finger between me and Cooper.
“Yes,” I answer over Cooper’s clueless “What?”
Lilith rolls her eyes at him. “This whole… whatever this is,” she says, twirling her wrist. “This experimental dating, make-up thing. Seeing each other again after so many years.”
“Well, this ”—he gestures at the table—“isn’t one of the dates, this is just glorious happenstance.”
For some reason this delusional man looks at me for confirmation, and I tut like a disappointed grandmother.
He turns his attention to Ray. “Eva makes no secret of her love of hanging out with me, so this probably just made her week. I’m going to change her ringtone to ‘Obsessed’ by Mariah Carey after this. ”
Ray’s laugh is uninhibited, and he leans around me to look at Aida. “I’m sorry, but I kind of love him. He gives it right back to her.”
“Be careful how you respond to that or I’m taking you both off my Spotify family plan.”
“Don’t let her bully you,” Cooper says, pressing his lips into a line against his fighting smile.
“Because what you let her do to you on your own podcast this week was…?” Aida nudges.
Cooper laughs again. “Touché.”
“Should I leave?” I ask, getting dramatic. “Seems like I’m not even needed in this conversation since you all want to talk about me like I’m not here.”
Ray and Aida roll their eyes in unison, and I focus my attention on Lilith, returning to her original question. “Yes. It’s all very weird and very annoying. It’s like being in some psychological experiment without a governing body for ethical oversight.”
“Gosh, you know how to stroke a fella’s ego.” Cooper flashes his dimple.
I ignore him. “So far it’s just been an artificial and curated date that I then had to give a play-by-play recap for all of Pedro Pascal’s internet to dissect and comment on. But at least I can say he’s living down to my expectations. I’ll always take satisfaction in being right.”
“That last bit kind of sums up dating men in general,” Aida says. The server lets out a tiny snort of amusement as she sets down a round of mimosas, and I’m mortified that Cooper and I flash her matching grins.
He gently touches her arm before she can leave and leans up to whisper something in her ear.
Jesus, he might as well suck on the lobe for how close they are.
I can’t believe she’s giggling at whatever he’s saying instead of running away screaming.
When he finally lets her go, she nods and winks at him, a blush fanning across her cheeks.
I grind my teeth and look away. Poor girl.
I should probably warn her. Instead, I gulp down a hefty amount of my drink, letting the bubbles float to my head and trying to think of anything besides the way Cooper’s lips ghosted near the server’s skin.
My lovely brain lands on how brutal everything’s been since the first recording released.
I’ve turned off notifications on social media, overwhelmed by every person on every app wanting to give me their every opinion on this whole thing while calling me a raging bitch at a rate that isn’t exactly surprising but doesn’t make me laugh quite as much as I thought it would.
I know that’s the point of it all, and William’s thrilled (cold, humorless, straight-to-the-point) email yesterday telling me about the spike in Sausage Talk traffic and cross-promo stuff with Cooper’s podcast has made the powers that be very happy.
There was even another dangle of that promotional carrot at the end with encouragement to keep up the good work as the dutiful dancing monkey.
Hell, even my Babble posts have seen a substantial hike in engagement.
But the bitter, loud part of my brain is regularly reminding me that all of that attention is thanks to this asinine social media charade and not any actual journalistic talent on my part.
I want to ask Cooper if he sees the comments.
I want to ask him what goes through his head when some kind soul calls me hot or hilarious.
If he feels quietly justified when the majority of people call me mean and say he’s too good for me.
But, more than anything, I want to know what he thinks —about me, about this, about our past, about the fucking weather and what bodega has the best bacon, egg, and cheese—and I hate that damn curiosity that’s only been growing since he reentered my life.
“Call me old-school,” Ray interjects, saving me from my own spiraling thoughts, “but I prefer the thrill of seeing a date crash and burn in real time.” We all look at him.
“Don’t get me wrong, your little podcast thing is hilarious and all”—I could kiss Ray for referring to Cooper’s livelihood and career as a little podcast thing —“but there is no higher form of living art than witnessing a terrible first date or dramatic breakup in the flesh.”
Lilith lets out a choked laugh, hiding her smile behind the rim of her champagne flute.
“Like, I don’t mean to call attention—”
“You literally get out of bed each day for the sole purpose of calling attention,” Aida interrupts.
“But the table over your right shoulder”—he nods toward Cooper—“is about two minutes away from full screaming breakdown.”
With the subtlety of a wrecking ball, Cooper whips around to look right as a broken sob from the table in question echoes toward us. On instinct, I reach across the table, grabbing his face between my hands and pivoting his head to look back at me.
“Be chill for one minute, I’m begging you,” I whisper, eyes locked on his. Cooper’s pupils dilate, nearly eclipsing the silver of his irises, his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose.
I try not to notice his swallow or the weighted breath he lets out that tickles the sensitive skin of my wrists.
I ignore the gentle shift of his cheeks under my palms as his mouth curls up in an inevitable smile.
I have absolutely zero awareness of the trace of his tongue across his bottom lip, his low, nearly laughing voice as he says, “You better talk me through it, then.”