by Ali Parker
I arched an eyebrow. “I expected you to be pissed off. I was kind of an ass.”
“You had a good night out with the boys. It’s okay. I get it. No harm in blowing off a little steam, right?”
“Right,” I said slowly. This seemed too good to be true.
Unless she was that taken with me that she was willing to overlook my partying ways.
As soon as I thought it, I shook the thought off. Not possible.
“Well, if there’s no harm in blowing off a little steam, maybe you can join me next weekend for a big monthly beach party?” I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the table. “It’s a good time. If you come, I won’t leave you hanging like I did at the party here at the house.”
Piper bit her bottom lip. My blood sang in my veins at the sight of it. Did she have any idea how hot she was?
“I don’t know,” Piper said, running her hands down her thighs.
“There’s a bonfire. Late-night swimming in the ocean. Fireworks. Food trucks. Music and dancing. It’s a great time. Really low key.”
“Low key, huh?”
I nodded. “I’ll stay by your side the whole night.”
“Like my date?” She arched an eyebrow and gave me a flirty little smile.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “Like your date.”
Piper clasped her hands together. “All right.” She took another sip of her coffee and stared down into the mug thoughtfully. “Can I be honest with you, Cooper?”
Where was this going? “Of course,” I said.
She licked her lips and then rubbed them together. I wanted to kiss her again. To feel their softness against my own lips. To taste her.
“I feel a little out of sorts here.” Piper shifted in her seat. “Like I don’t really know you. And it would be nice if we could dig deeper this week leading up to the party. I know it’s weird. But this process has taught me that you have to put in what you want to get out of it.”
My chest tightened. Dig deeper? Not my thing, really.
But there was a prize at the end: Piper.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to get to know each other better,” I said.
Piper smiled. “That’s the spirit.”
“How would you like to start?” I asked, my mind already wondering.
How deep had she dug with the other men over the last six months?
CHAPTER 11
PIPER
I gazed up at the ceiling of the tiki bar Cooper had taken me to for drinks and seafood appetizers. Polaroid pictures of strangers were strung up on copper strings of lights and spanned the entire ceiling. The photos fluttered on the wires as a breeze rolled in off the ocean, carrying with it the scent of salt and wide-open air.
I breathed in deeply and smiled as a couple at the table next to mine snapped a picture with one of the polaroid cameras sitting on one of the tables in the bar. Apparently, it was a thing. Tourists and visitors were invited to put their pictures up to mark their visit to this place, and if they ever returned, they could spend hours searching the hanging photos for their memory.
It was a sweet sentiment.
I caught a glance of Cooper up at the bar, ordering us drinks served in hollowed-out coconuts. Despite spending the last couple of days together touring the island, I couldn’t help but find myself wishing I felt closer to him. Wishing he was less of an asshole than he was. Wishing I wanted to snap a picture with him and string it from the ceiling among the other smiling faces.
But I didn’t want that.
Instead, I ached to have the company of someone else. Someone who already would have scooped up one of the cameras and told me to smile wide while he leaned over my shoulder and snapped a picture. He might even kiss my cheek for the photo if he was feeling particularly affectionate. And I would laugh. And the picture would be candid. And our memory would be as worthy as all the others dangling above my head.
I sighed and rested my chin in my hand. If only I was here with anyone other than Cooper Diaz. Cooper Rockefeller.
Whatever.
In the middle of my pity party, Cooper returned with our drinks. The coconuts were topped with neon umbrellas and wedges of fruit. Long hot-pink straws stuck out from the top, and I pursed my lips around one and took a sip once he handed it to me.
“Whoa,” I said, pulling back and staring at the coconut. “What is this?”
“Like it?” Cooper asked, pulling out the chair beside me.
I nodded. “It’s delicious. Like summer in a cup.”
He chuckled. “It’s a Nassau signature cocktail. Well, sort of. Bass created the recipe. He refuses to share it with anyone who asks.”
“Bass?”
“One of the brothers who owns the place.”
“Oh.” I took another greedy sip of the fruity cocktail. I picked up notes of rum, coconut, and lime, and then more subtle flavors like bananas and grapefruit. It was a delight on my taste buds. “These could be very dangerous. I could drink several in one sitting.”
“We can if you want to.” Cooper winked at me.
“Very funny.”
He chuckled and held up both hands. “All right. All right. Just a joke. I know we’re here to chat and get to know each other. I’m on board.”
“Good,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“Uh…” He hesitated and looked everywhere but at me.
I was about to suggest he tell me about something safe to get the ball rolling, like why he chose the Bahamas of all places to move to, or why he decided to join the Casanova Club, but our server arrived with an appetizer platter worthy of the gods.
He set it down in the middle of the table, gave Cooper a friendly nod, and hurried back to the kitchen, where I imagined dozens more orders were pouring out.
Although the bar, Bassau, was not all that large, it was very busy. It had an indoor seating area and a covered deck that hung over the ocean. The waves rolled to the shore underneath, sloshing against the wooden posts holding the deck up. It was a peaceful sound.
Our table was in one of the corners. The sun was starting to bow to the horizon, and the sky was turning a deep magenta shade. It painted everything a soft pink hue, and suddenly, the lights above our heads with the Polaroids flicked on.
“I think I love this place,” I said as I gazed up at the little twinkling lights.
“It has that effect on people,” Cooper said.
My attention went to the appetizer platter before us. It was a spread and a half, complete with massive garlic shrimp, veggies, chicken wings, fresh salsa with so much cilantro I could smell it, and a side of tortilla chips.
“The crab legs are still coming,” Cooper said as he reached for a wing.
“There’s more food? How are we going to eat all this?”
Cooper laughed. “Man up, Piper.”
I laughed too. And it felt good. Really fucking good. As I picked up a heavy, girthy, buttery shrimp, I realized that I hadn’t let my hair down at all this month. It was already the ninth of July, and I’d spent most of my time with my nose buried in one of Aaron’s various books, wishing I was anywhere but here.
But now, we were laughing. I wasn’t going to let the moment slip through my fingers.
“Where were we?” I asked. “Oh yes. You were about to tell me something about yourself.”
“I like seafood.”
“That doesn’t count as an answer.”
“Sure, it does.” Cooper shifted in his seat and made me blush with an endearing, lopsided smile. “Now it’s your turn.”
I popped the shrimp in my mouth and answered him with my mouth full. “I like seafood too.”
Cooper watched me with a steady gaze. “My last name isn’t Diaz.”
I nearly choked on my second shrimp. I recovered by sipping my drink and playing it off like I was just parched. His gaze never wavered. I hadn’t expected him to come clean with the goods so fast. Or so bluntly. Was he testing me?
“I
t’s not?” I asked innocently.
Cooper shook his head. “No.”
Did he want me to ask him what his name was? I hadn’t thought this through enough. I was going to have to feign surprise, and I’d been told on more than one occasion that I was bad at acting. Mom and Dad always knew when I didn’t like a birthday or Christmas gift.
Game face, Piper. Game face.
“Why did you change it?” I asked, hoping the question sounded natural.
Cooper shrugged and leaned back in his chair. I liked the way he had himself draped casually over it, like he owned the place.
Hell, maybe he did.
“My name painted this picture in people’s heads of who I was before they met me. And it wasn’t doing me any favors.” His tone was casual, dismissive.
“And Diaz does you favors?” I asked.
He smirked. “Sort of.”
“Was your family upset when you changed your name?”
Cooper’s eyes flicked back and forth between mine. “Furious.”
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
I bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know. Family can be tricky to navigate. Especially when they don’t agree with your choices.”
“Does your family disagree with your choice to be here?” he asked, turning the tables on me.
I ate a piece of carrot smothered in ranch dressing. “They think I’m in school in the UK.”
Cooper’s eyes widened. Then he burst out laughing and slapped his knee. “You’re shitting me. Tell me you’re shitting me.”
I shook my head. “Nope. God’s truth. I told them I was in school. They have no idea what I’ve been up to all year.”
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
I considered lying to him and telling him they were just strict and that they wouldn’t understand. Which wasn’t technically a lie. But in my experience, the more truth you wove into a lie, the more convincing it was.
So I told him everything, except for my real motive: the money. “My parents don’t have a lot of money. Actually, they have negative money. The family business is being run into the ground, and I needed to escape. I needed to carve out my own future. And when this opportunity came across my path, I couldn’t let it go. I needed to try. To be honest, I never expected to be the girl sitting here… but here I am.”
“Here you are,” Cooper mused, dragging his eyes over me. I hated that I liked when he looked at me like that. Like he wanted to do naughty things to me. He sipped his drink and set it down. “But you haven’t explained why you never told your folks this is what you were actually doing.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“My dad has a bad heart. He had surgery last month. I didn’t want this to push him over the edge and compromise his health.”
Cooper frowned. “I’m sorry about your dad, Piper. It must be hard to be away from him at a time like this.”
I felt my eyes widen and fought to keep my mouth closed. Was Cooper actually being supportive? For a moment, I wished I didn’t have to trick him to get him to open up. But only for a moment.
“It is hard,” I said softly. Just not for the reasons you think.
Cooper nodded before indulging in another chicken wing.
“So, what is your last name anyway?” I asked, licking ranch dressing off my thumb.
He paused.
“You can tell me,” I pressed.
He studied me like a textbook. “Don’t freak out.”
“Why would I freak out?”
“Rockefeller.”
“What?”
“My real last name is Rockefeller,” he said, playing right into my hands.
I hoped the way I contorted my features made me look convincingly shocked. Or rattled. I opened my mouth to speak and promptly closed it again. Then I reached for my drink and took six steady gulps.
“I know it’s a lot,” Cooper said, his expression tight. “You can see why I wanted to get out from under it.”
I set my drink down. “Because you’re the son of the wealthiest family on the planet? Yeah. Yeah, I think I get it.”
Cooper nodded. Then his eyes got this far-off look, and I had the sense he was no longer in the tiki bar with me. He was somewhere far away. Somewhere cold and dark that he didn’t like, judging by how the color drained from his face.
“Cooper?”
He blinked and looked up at me. “Sorry. Yes?”
What had he been through, being a Rockefeller? What was it like growing up with that kind of pressure on your shoulders?
I supposed it made sense that all he wanted to do was party and cut loose. He was escaping.
The trouble was, he never figured out how to stop escaping.
I reached across the table and put my hand on his. “You’re still Cooper Diaz to me.”
His cocky playboy smile came back in full swing. “Thanks, babe.”
You should have seen that one coming.
CHAPTER 12
COOPER
From my bedroom window, I could see the pool. And therefore, I could see the pretty girl lounging on one of my chairs.
Piper had the seat fully reclined. She’d been reading when I first went down to work out, and then she had gone for a swim. That had become her daily ritual at the house. I had no complaints. While I worked out, I had a great view—well, greater than usual. On top of the blue ocean spanning as far as the eye could see, and the white sandy beach, and the shimmering pool, I had her.
All long legs, strong thighs, and dark glittering hair.
It was like she’d been designed to tan in my backyard.
Today, she was wearing a neon pink bathing suit. It had turquoise and white beads dangling from the string between her breasts, a cruel placement in my opinion. It was already hard enough to keep my eyes off her body without there being pretty little accessories to draw my attention. The beads also dangled by her hips and down her back. The swimsuit was cute, sporty, and suited her, especially with the tan she had going on.
I raked my fingers through my hair as I watched her down below.
Things were moving along quicker than I anticipated. It was already the twelfth of July, which was nearly the halfway mark of our time together. I didn’t feel close to her. Not in the sense that Jackson Lee suggested I might by this stage of the game. But I did feel like we were bordering on something close to friendship.
At least, I hoped we were.
Our days touring the island together and our night at Bassau on Tuesday had shifted things and put us closer together. It was what she wanted, so she was in higher spirits than her first week with me, and in turn, so was I. Though I couldn’t be in a bad mood with a beautiful girl like her strutting around my place.
I didn’t know at what point I started thinking of her differently.
Back at the beginning of the month, she’d been nothing more than a nuisance to me. A task to check off my list and move along from. Hell, back in December, I hadn’t thought she was anything special at all.
And now?
Well, things had changed.
“Clearly,” I muttered, leaning forward to rest my forearm on the glass above my head. “You told her your fucking last name.”
I hadn’t spoken my Rockefeller last name aloud in some time. A year at least. Mitch was the only person on this island who knew where I actually came from, and that was only because I’d confessed it to him on the beach when we were both shitfaced. At the time, I had thought he’d be too drunk to remember.
But after passing out on the sand and waking the next morning, he told me breakfast was on me. When I protested, he scoffed and told me it was the least I could do for swearing him to secrecy about being a Rockefeller.
He’d been right. It was a heavy burden to bear. Ever since walking away from my name and my family, things had been easier, sure, but I still knew the truth. I knew who I really was.
And it wasn’t Cooper Diaz, despite how desperately
I wished it was.
Piper hadn’t moved in a while, and I began to suspect she’d fallen asleep. I pushed off the window, worried she might have been down there in the sun too long. She was going to burn.
I stopped at the top of the stairs and frowned at myself. What was this girl doing to me?
Shaking my head, I hurried down the stairs and swept across the foyer to make my way out to the pool.
Piper didn’t stir when I approached her chair. Her ankles were crossed, and her book rested on her right thigh, cover down. I cocked my head to the side to try to read the text printed on the back, but I couldn’t make it out under her hand.
She’d made her way through three different books since arriving here.
Either she really hated me and wanted to immerse herself in a fictional world, or the writer was really talented. Curiosity got the best of me.
I reached for the book and slid it out from under her hand. She didn’t wake. Her hand fell down to her thigh, and I flipped the book over to peer at the cover.
It was a minimalist design with mostly white space and the image of a girl’s ankles on the cover. The book was called “Simmer” and there was a New York Time’s Best Seller sticker slapped in the righthand corner, right alongside the author’s name.
“Aaron Morris,” I whispered, reading the author’s name aloud. “Son of a bitch.”
She’d been reading the damn author’s books. I scoffed and flipped the book open, skimming past the copyright pages, the title, and the dedication and stopping at the page with the number “1” in cursive font to mark the first chapter.
I ran my index finger down the length of the page as I started reading.
* * *
Annabeth’s parents saw the world through a narrow lens of black and white. They were the sort of people who believed hard work and wanting something more than others meant you deserved it. They were impatient consumerists who made sure their annual new car was proudly displayed in the driveway every spring like clockwork.
They were good at a lot of things, too.
