I don’t know why I couldn’t put two and two together. Of course Cooper works here. He welcomed us and happens to be holding a stack of menus as thick as a dictionary.
“Me stalking you? Don’t you wish.” It comes out far sultrier than I want it to.
“Three please,” Fletch interjects.
I wonder if Fletcher picked up on our flirtatious banter? I wonder how much I risk losing with Wes each time I unwittingly play this game.
Cooper extends his hand and lets me go first, navigating us through a dim pathway over to a booth near the back.
The tables are adorned with lace tablecloths pressed under glass. A small red votive burns bright in the center. White carnations poke sadly out of a chipped crystal vase, and yet it lends a certain charm to the place.
A group of girls giggle across the way and arouse my attention. I look over to find Kresley and Grayson… and Carter sitting with them like a traitor.
Great.
“Laken!” Carter jumps ship and appears at our booth in less than two seconds flat. “Hi, Fletch.” She offers a starry-eyed gaze and relaxes her shoulder into his. Something tells me I was just a nice segue into having dinner with my brother. Why she would willingly trade Jackson in for Fletch is beyond me. Jackson is gorgeous and a seemingly all-around nice guy. And Fletch is, well, Fletch.
“Hey, Coop?” I hesitate before sitting. “Can you point the way to bathroom? I seem to have misplaced Jen.”
He ticks his head and leads the way.
I follow Coop as the scent of deep fried tortillas gives way to the gentle fragrance of his cologne. Even from behind, Cooper is stunningly gorgeous. His white dress shirt makes his back look twice as expansive as it does in his dark school blazer. It’s no surprise he’s a force to be reckoned with on the football field, probably the bedroom, too.
I molest his body top to bottom with my heavy gaze and notice the heel of his left shoe disconnects with each step. It had never occurred to me until now that the Flanders may not be locked and loaded and financially ready to blow dough like the rest of the Ephemeralites in this fantasy world. But if his humble home, his well-worn truck, and dilapidated shoes were any indication, then, yes, I’d say that qualifies Cooper Flanders as fiscally normal in every possible way.
He lands us inside a service entry painted a dark azure blue, no restroom in sight. The whites of his eyes glint happy to see me, but if I didn’t know better he looked a little embarrassed at the same time.
“What size shoe do you wear?” I ask, as he leans in, backing me against the wall.
“Why?” He gives a dry seductive smile that could reduce every female in a ten-state radius to volunteer as his sex slave.
“Because…” The word drags out of me like a song. “I’m going to judge your manhood.” I avert my eyes. “I’m going to buy you shoes, that’s why.”
“I think I’d rather be judged.” He flat lines. “Thank you, but I don’t need for you to buy me shoes, Laken.”
“Why not? I have access to thousands of dollars. I can buy you shoes in every color. You might even get promoted because of your festive footwear.” I’m quick to fire off that last crack without actually computing that he might think I took a jab at the fact he’s a waiter.
“I can buy my own shoes. I promise, I’m not destitute.” He looks past my shoulder briefly. “In fact, I’ll treat you guys to dinner.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’ll eat up all your tips. I used to work in a restaurant. I know these things.” Ironic because I seriously doubt anyone else has ever referred to the diner I used to work at as a restaurant. “Plus, you up the odds of being fired before midnight for ‘treating’ your friends.”
“I wouldn’t get fired. I’ll be paying for your food.” His eyes round out. “Look, let me get your dinner tonight, and you buy yourself a pair of shoes in every color.”
“No and no.” I try to hide my irritation as I interlace our fingers without thinking. “I’m buying dinner and the shoes, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” I reach up and brush his cheek with the back of my hand. Of all the people at Ephemeral, I’m sorry it was Coop who got the financial shaft.
Cooper compresses a sigh and plucks his hand free from mine. “I don’t need or want your pity.” He darts his gaze back into the restaurant. “Jen’s on her way back to the table. Excuse me,” he says it low as he speeds into the kitchen.
I find Jen with her head on the table collapsed over her arms while Carter and Fletch conduct a lively conversation regarding the benefits of silicon breasts.
“What do you think, Laken?” Carter starts. “Should girls enhance their bodies with manufactured parts just to please men?” She glares at me openly as if somehow I were responsible for both the manufactured parts and the females that flock to have them inserted in delicate places.
“I don’t know.” I slide in next to Jen, completely numb from the fact I’ve successfully managed to both insult and piss off Cooper without putting too much effort into the situation. “If it makes you feel more confident but probably not.”
“See?” Carter playfully smacks Fletch across the chest. “Plus, they’re not really hers, so it should be a turn off.”
“Oh, they’re hers,” he’s quick to correct. “Trust me. She’s got the receipt, and they are very much not a turn off.”
It takes a minute for it to register that the wonder twins in question belong to Grayson. It’s not until I look over at her do I notice she’s unbuttoned her blouse to expose her extra-large, extra-enhanced décolleté. It looks like she’s got a toddler hostage in her shirt, and his naked ass crack is hanging out the front. It’s totally freaking obscene.
Cooper appears with two large dinner platters and sets them down before her and Kresley. He successfully blocks the two of them with his body, but I can hear the bubbling laughter stream from Grayson like a chortling orgasm. Cooper sways as he carries on a conversation. He looks more than happy to linger and engage in just about any topic with the two of them—something tells me shoes in any shape or style are not being discussed.
I’m such a moron.
Note to self—never try to force a rainbow of footwear on unsuspecting males, especially when the male in question is Cooper I-eat-mortals-for-breakfast-Flanders. I should have bowed at his feet rather than pointed out any iniquity in them.
Cooper strides over and looks decidedly dejected as he pans the table—as he should, being there isn’t one ounce of cleavage that can entertain him quite as effectively as the last table could.
“You guys want the usual?” he asks, looking down at his notepad.
“Number 3.” Fletch nods.
“Me, too.” Carter is quick to echo.
Jen nods into her tears and Cooper makes a note.
I haven’t even had the chance to open the menu let alone peruse it.
“I’ll take whatever Jen is having.” I imagine it’s mild and tolerably boring in every way, much like Jen herself.
Cooper trades his stone features for a slow spreading smile. “Jen is having water with lemon. She doesn’t eat here.”
“Oh—” I bounce open the menu and am met with unreasonably tiny fonts, far too many options, and pictures of unfriendly looking burritos. “I’ll take what they’re having.” I point across the table.
“Three number three’s, coming right up.” He twitches his brows amused before collecting the menus and disappearing.
“So…” I lean into Fletch. “What’s going on with Grayson?” I whisper her name in fear of calling the demon over. “Aren’t you seeing her?” I could care less that Carter is here trying to navigate her way into my brother’s pants. More important things are at stake like Grayson trying to navigate her way into Cooper’s pants.
“Things are moving along.” He gives a secretive nod as if covert ops were being discussed.
Obviously, they’re not moving along quick enough.
“She’s not that into you.” Carter is quick to de
flate his ego. “She’s all the time going on about Coop. Why do you think she’s here tonight?”
I should eviscerate Carter from under the table with my fork. Instead, I sink in my seat and watch as Cooper goes back over to their booth and refills their glasses to the brim for no good reason.
Grayson beckons him to stay, to take a quick seat, and he complies without hesitating.
I officially hate Grayson Evans. And, I’m starting to hate myself for falling for a boy I have no business falling for. But, it’s Cooper, and, really? Who could blame me?
“She’s plenty into me.” Fletch leans over and spots Cooper in their breasty midst and frowns. “Flanders can take her for a test drive if he wants, but she’ll be mine by midterms.”
I don’t know what I find more horrifying, the fact I’ve all but admitted to myself that I’m falling for Cooper or the fact that Fletcher just publicly displayed he’s a full-on imbecile. Then again, I’m totally rooting for him to end up with Grayson way before midterms.
Cooper turns around as though he heard my thoughts from a distance and offers a passive smile.
Heat rises to my cheeks, my stomach does a harsh roll and I have to look away.
Good God, I am falling for Cooper Flanders—harder and faster than I ever thought possible.
46
Midnight Run
When I get a text in the middle of the night from Flynn asking to meet him by the dumpster behind Austen House, of course I do it without hesitating because, A, I am formidably addicted to fresh night air, and B, I’m still hopped up from the caffeine I had earlier.
The night sky is lit up like a lantern with a swirl of white fog dancing in plumes. I don’t ever remember magical nights like these back home—breathing in the precipitous universe, inhaling and absorbing it as it seals over my being like a membrane.
I spot Flynn under a well-lit eave. His hands are securely buried in his pockets and his face tucked into a scarf with his jacket zipped to his nose.
“What’s going on?” I ask, pulling him under the patio away from the trash bins. The stench of sour milk spikes through my nostrils—ruins the efforts of the pines as they bleed their rich scent into the night.
“I was getting ready for bed when found this in my sock drawer.” He produces a roll of paper from out of his jacket. He unfurls it and shines his phone over it revealing a picture. It’s Flynn and me lying in bed. It looks suggestive. He’s not wearing a shirt, and I’m touching his chest. I recognize it from that night he was with Carter. I was pushing him away.
“What does this mean?” I look up at him.
“You tell me. You have cameras set up in your room?”
“Not that I know of.” I examine Flynn as his hair illuminates a gentle glow. “I don’t think humans are taking these pictures.” I take a breath and tell him about the picture of me and Cooper sans the lip-lock.
Flynn exhales, and a swirl of fog enwreathes him like a halo.
“Wes thinks maybe I pissed off the Fems.”
“Why would Fems care about who you’re with?” He shakes his head dismissively at the theory.
“Maybe it’s a warning to stay away from the two of you.” Really, if creatures from the netherworld are trying to manage my love life from afar, they should consider being a little more blatant, like leaving a detailed list of demands. These erotic pictorials are confusing the hell out of me. Maybe it’s better if I just stay away from Cooper and Flynn.
A hot burst explodes through my abdomen at the thought of cutting Cooper out of my life.
“Shit,” Flynn hisses, dropping the picture in haste. It flickers in flames before petering out in ashes. Flynn stomps out the loose embers with an aggressive show of violence. “What the hell?”
“That’s the kind of week I’ve been having.” I fill him in on Tobias sisters.
“Cool—are they good looking?”
“They’re hideous,” I say, disgusted in his ability to size up the opposite gender whether or not they’re currently sporting breath in their lungs.
“Never mind.” He gazes out into the blank white night. “Keep ‘em the hell away from me.”
The windows to the upper level of Austen house dim one by one.
“I’d better get back,” I say, pressing a hand against his chest. “Do me a favor, don’t tell Wes about any of this.”
“I won’t, but I want something from you, too.”
“What’s that?” If his request is at all sexual in nature, I’m pretty sure I’m going to introduce my knee to his ball sack.
“I don’t want to be kept in the dark.” Gone is the playful Flynn as he washes over me cold as stone. “You may never find your way back to Kansas, Dorothy, but I’m for damn sure going to find my sister.”
Friday after school, Carter and I go over to the swimming facility where Wes is showing off his water polo prowess.
Wes is a titan of fire, raining down his wrath on the opposing team of Rycroft.
An endless sea of snickers and wayward glances come my way from the students lounging in the stands in support of the other team. I either had no friends, or none of those imaginary people made the trek to be here.
“Don’t pay any attention to them.” Carter threads her arm through mine. “God, Wes is a freaking maniac out there. He’s knocked Miles in the head like three different times. He’s going to kill him just for you, Laken.”
I try to meticulously scan the chaos in the thrashing water for a sign of anyone who might look remotely familiar to me other than Wes. I can’t believe Miles Richards, my fictional boyfriend, is here. Just the thought inspires a thin rail of anxiety in me. Every now and again a few different boys glance up in our direction, but it’s not until the last whistle blows and bodies emerge from the water that I see someone heading over.
It’s unnerving to see so many boys in their Speedos, their well-toned bodies glossed with water—the noticeable bulges that sit centered below their hips.
“There’s Miles!” Carter squeezes my arm with a death grip.
The boy she’s eyeing snaps off his crimson rubber cap and shakes out his hair.
“Here he comes,” she squeals.
My stomach lurches as I take in his features. He looks slightly familiar. Even with his face pinched in anger, he looks handsome—dark hair, light eyes, but in general he does nothing for me. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t go out with him in any lifetime.
“Hey, Lake.” He nods over to me as Carter and I make our way out of the stands.
My stomach seizes at the sight of him.
If I don’t remember him, why the hell am I having such a visceral reaction?
The green light of the exit calls to me, and I head over without acknowledging his brief hello.
“So what’s going on?” He strides up next to me. “You too good to talk to me now? You won’t even look at me?” His voice cracks as if he’s about to lose it, and I snap my head back in his direction. In the recesses of my mind, I see the two of us locked in an argument and I try to shake the thought away.
It’s either a genuine memory or one that was programmed incorrectly. Right about now, I’m hoping for the latter.
He steps in and circles my face with a resolute sadness.
“I’m sorry for everything, Laken, and I forgive you.” He glides in and smooths his lips over mine before I can protest. An image appears of the two of us—me on the ground in a tangle of bodies, Miles above me with a clear look of shock.
“Get the hell away from her.” Wes growls as he snatches him by the arm. Wesley walks him backward and slams him up against the wall with a violent force. I can hear their voices thundering, all threats and hatred.
Miles shoots a cutting look over at me. His eyes bloom with hurt as if whatever Wesley told him managed to magnify his ache.
I feel sorry for this strange boy the Counts have thrown my way. I feel horrible for being mildly responsible for breaking his heart, even if it is completely fictitious.
“Let
’s get out of here.” Carter pulls me toward the exit.
We hit the threshold to the facility without looking back, and Wes appears by our side with a towel wrapped around his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” He darts a kiss just under my ear and takes up my hand.
“Yes.” Before I can go on, Miles emerges nursing a swollen lip. He jets on over, spearing me with a look just this side of hatred.
“He’s going to ruin you worse than the assholes you screwed around with,” he says it with a thin seam of blood trickling over his lip. “You’ll come back to me, Laken.” He bears into me with a hypnotic stare. “You always do.” He pushes out into the crowd and heads toward the gym.
I’ll never go back to him. There’s nothing in me that even believes I was ever with him. There’s no one for me but Wes, and if I were ever to be with anyone else, certainly Cooper is ahead of this Miles Richards character any day of the week.
Wes blinks up at me with a look of hurt and squeezes my hand. Fucking Flanders.
Crap.
Of course, the only one for me is Wesley, I’m quick to dream up a visual of the two of us rolling around on the senior lawn, Asterion rooting for us in the background like some mythological cheerleader. I can see us plain as day, Wes and his naked limbs entangled around mine—his dark head writhing over my chest in a fit of passion.
I push out a dull smile and Wes swells with relief. The apples of his cheeks burn with color as he takes me in. Clearly, I’ve impressed him with my late afternoon erotica.
Not one to let a good skin flick slip by, I zoom in on the image of Wes and me in the throes of passion. We roll around on a bed of flaming red leaves as a glazed sense of passion overcomes us both. Wes in all his naked glory lies beside me—my tousled hair delicately covering my breasts.
Wes widens his eyes and gives an approving smile.
“Fall is my favorite time of year,” he whispers directly into my ear. I can feel his longing, the depth of his desire unraveling like yarn as his breathing grows erratic.
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