by Anna Martin
Rainbow Sprinkles
By Anna Martin
Cooper Reed has a fairly relaxed life for someone who lives in LA. He’s no celebrity—just the guy who makes sundaes at the Dreamy Creamery, and that’s the way he likes it. The highlight of every week is the beautiful guy who turns up and orders a sundae with rainbow sprinkles. Cooper still isn’t sure if that’s a code, because he has a huge crush and the hot guy is terrible at flirting.
Drew Tanner, it turns out, is an original California dreamer. He’s as wholesome as apple pie and twice as sweet, a real-life Disney Prince at Disneyland. But while Drew’s head is in the clouds, Cooper’s feet are firmly on the ground, and their different outlooks might be more than their new relationship can take.
States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
More from Anna Martin
About the Author
By Anna Martin
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Copyright
Chapter One
“COOPER. PSST. Cooper.”
“Jesus, what?” Cooper snapped.
“It’s Alana, but you’re close. Your hottie is here.”
Cooper rolled his eyes and thanked God the AC was turned to subzero, so no one could see the heat in his cheeks. He wiped his hands on his white apron and went over to his window, then pulled it back.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Dreamy Creamery,” Cooper said, tucking his tongue in his cheek and grinning at his hottie. Who totally wasn’t his and totally was very, very hot. “What can I get for you?”
“Hey, Cooper,” the hottie said, leaning his arms on the window and grinning. It was very not fair that the hottie knew Cooper’s name but Cooper didn’t know his; that was what happened when you had to wear a name badge. “How are things?”
“Damn hot with this window open,” Cooper said. California was sweltering through an early heat wave, the temperatures hitting the low 90s—and it was only April. His hottie was sweating at the temples, just a little, just enough to dampen his dark blond hair.
“Amen to that. Can I get a….”
He looked over the menu like he didn’t stop by here at least once a week. Cooper would have expected anyone who got two sundaes a week to be a little chubby around the edges, but not his hottie. He was tall and broad shouldered, with a narrow waist and long legs. Most of the time he came by in workout gear. Whoever thought to put an ice cream parlor on the same patch as a gym was either an idiot or a genius. Probably a genius, since the Dreamy Creamery was signposted on billboards for miles, and they were on the main route into Disneyland. The place saw a lot of tourist traffic.
“Birthday Cake and Green Tea.”
Cooper winced. “You sure?”
“I’m adventurous.”
“You’re sure something,” Cooper laughed, turning back to the freezers and his scoop. “In a cup, right?”
“Yeah. And with—”
“Rainbow sprinkles,” Cooper finished for him.
Always the same. Always gross combinations of ice cream, topped with rainbow sprinkles, and if that wasn’t code, Cooper was going to die.
The Birthday Cake flavor had Funfetti sprinkles in it already, so Cooper made sure there were extra sprinkles on top of the Green Tea. He didn’t want his hottie to think he was being ripped off. He stuck a little plastic spoon in the top and pushed the cup across the counter.
“Five bucks, please.”
His hottie handed him ten and waved off the change. He already had the little plastic spoon sticking out of his mouth, figuring out whether his flavor combination was a good call or not. Cooper raised his eyebrow in question.
“It’s good,” Hottie said.
“I don’t believe you. But thanks.”
The hottie raised his hand in a little salute, then turned and headed back to his beat-up old convertible. Cooper slid his window shut, since there wasn’t a line, and turned back to Alana’s smirking face.
“What?” he demanded.
“Did you ask for his number yet?”
“No. I’m at work, in case you forgot. It would be highly unprofessional of me—”
“Uh-huh,” she said, effectively cutting him off. “Unprofessional my ass. You work in an ice cream parlor. As long as you’re not licking it on the job—”
“Ew.”
“—there’s nothing to be unprofessional about.”
Cooper sighed heavily and leaned back against the counter. With the window closed, it was back to being freezing in here again. Just how he liked it.
“What did he order this time?” Alana asked. Of course she knew everything there was to know about this guy, because Cooper couldn’t shut up about him.
“Birthday Cake and Green Tea.”
She made an “icky” face.
“I know! We make all these amazing flavors, and he seems to pick the worst combinations ever.”
“Maybe he has some kind of disability with his taste buds.”
“Is that even a thing?”
She shrugged. “Maybe?”
One of the other servers hit the bell on the main counter, their signal that a line was forming. Alana went back to her waffle station, and Cooper slid open his window, grinning for the young family waiting.
“Welcome to the Dreamy Creamery,” he said. “How can I help you?”
SHIFT CHANGEOVER was at four in the afternoon, and Cooper could go home and chill out for a few hours before he started his second job tending bar at a delightfully generic dive bar a few blocks from his apartment.
He lived on his own in a shitty studio apartment that he could only afford due to that second job. The fact that his place was in the flight path right into LAX meant no one else wanted it, even if it was only a few blocks from the beach. Cooper could sleep through anything—he’d famously not woken during an earthquake, only realizing the next morning that something had happened in the night.
Cooper’s place was, essentially, one not-so-big room. A breakfast bar divided the kitchen from the main living space, and the bathroom was in what Cooper was convinced had once been a walk-in closet. He had a small bed and a couch he’d inherited from his mom, and he mostly lived out of a suitcase because the closet was his bathroom. Or something. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he owned any clothes that needed to be ironed.
Cooper was a California native. He’d left the state a dozen or so times in his life but was of the firm opinion that he lived in the best part of the whole country. He had some of the greatest cities in the world on his doorstep, along with beaches, parks, mountains…. He could go surfing today and skiing tomorrow, and where else in the world could you claim that?
Truth be told, Cooper was a regular guy. He wasn’t a wannabe-anything, didn’t have any particular talents or aspirations or that many dreams. He had both feet planted firmly on the ground and considered that one of his best traits. He made ice creams for tourists heading to Disneyland and mostly liked his life, even if, at twenty-four, he didn’t have much to show for it.
He flopped onto the bed and shoved his hands into his boxers.
Okay, so he might not have any dreams, but Cooper definitely had fantasies. Most of them featured Mr. Tall, Blond, and Beautiful and his incredibly broad shoulders. It should be illegal to own shoulders like that. The hottie should need a permit.
The guy was as wholesome as apple pie and twice as sweet, and even after months of this back-and-forth, not quite flirting, testing
out the edges of each other, Cooper wasn’t sure if he was interested. Cooper had his favorite server at Starbucks, the guy who knew how to make his order just right. His hottie could feel the same.
In his fantasies, Mr. Tall, Blond, and Beautiful made love to Cooper on soft white sheets, the doors to their beachside villa open to the paradise outside. He could picture it vividly—late afternoon sun warm on their faces, the smell of sea air and man-sweat, blond hair and gray eyes, the soft, husky whisper as Cooper writhed underneath him….
The fantasy ended as it often did, with sticky underwear and a sense of deep well-being.
With that particular itch scratched, Cooper drifted in and out of lazy almost-sleep for an hour, until his alarm beeped to tell him to haul his ass to work. Again.
Pulling double shifts had sucked at first, though after the first month, he’d adapted pretty well. He’d been in LA for a year now, and he’d always thought it would be a stopping point on his way to San Francisco. He was supposed to find work for a couple months, do the LA things he wanted to do, then take the money he stored in his mom’s mason jar and head on up the coast. Cooper had made the trip a few times, for weekends away with friends, a minivacation or two, but had never made the move permanent. For now, this life suited him just fine.
He took a shower, needing it after his itch-scratching, and changed into black jeans and a black T-shirt with the bar’s logo on the back. He had different shoes for this job—checkered Vans, because he was cool like that. Back home in San Diego, in high school, Cooper had been attractive. He was fairly tall, slim and toned, and he did that thing with his hair, styling it back to make him look just a little James Dean.
In LA, Cooper was dog shit.
He was one of the ugliest trolls who had ever existed.
In LA, people had assistants and maids and cleaners more attractive than Cooper.
Context was everything.
It was a good thing he wasn’t vain, or the injustice of it all would have wounded him.
Twirling his car keys around his finger, Cooper headed out of his apartment. The afternoon had started to cool, enough that Cooper wasn’t immediately sweating once outside.
His second job was even less glamorous than the first, which was saying something. It was a proper dive bar, fulfilling every cliché the owner could possibly cram into one building. It was Friday, which meant it was twenty-five-cent wing night, and Cooper would go home smelling like barbeque sauce and chicken and grease on top of the sticky-sweetness of spilled beer that had to be showered off before bed.
Jim’s Bar might once have been Irish-themed; Cooper wasn’t sure. They certainly went all out for Saint Patrick’s Day and had Guinness on tap, though that wasn’t exactly conclusive. The regulars tipped well, and Cooper didn’t mind taking part in karaoke from time to time, and even though his colleagues weren’t nearly as nice as Alana at the Dreamy Creamery, he got on with them all just fine.
Cooper rolled his shoulders, pushed his aviators down onto his nose, and headed off for round two.
BY THREE in the afternoon a week later, Cooper was starting to run out of energy. Three days in a row of double shifts took its toll, and though he’d never admit it, Cooper’s back ached.
“Your hottie came in the other day when you weren’t working,” Alana said as she cleaned off her waffle maker.
Cooper rolled his eyes. “Of course he did. Because fuck my life. What did he order?”
“Coffee and Cinnamon.”
“Gross,” Cooper muttered under his breath. It wasn’t like he was keeping track or anything, and of course his hottie could be served by anyone here. It wasn’t like it mattered.
Except it did, because Cooper always served him, and everyone else who worked at the Dreamy Creamery knew it, and it was ridiculous to feel jealous of someone else doing their goddamn job and scooping ice cream, for fuck’s sake. He was prepared to be in a pissy mood for the rest of his shift, because that was his goddamn right as an American citizen, when Alana elbowed him in the ribs—hard, because she was a bitch like that.
“What?” Cooper snapped.
She gave a pointed look toward the window. Where the hottie was smiling sheepishly, giving Cooper a little wave.
“Oh, fuck my life,” Cooper said, aloud this time, and plastered a grin on his face as he slid open the window. “Welcome to the Dreamy Creamery. What can I get for you today?”
“Hi, Cooper.”
“Hi.”
“I came by on Tuesday, but you weren’t here.”
“No.” Cooper wasn’t blushing. He wasn’t; he wasn’t. “I, uh, had to run a few errands. Alana mentioned that you stopped by.”
“I thought I should make sure you’re okay.”
Not blushing. No.
“I’m good, thank you. Do you want a sundae?”
Hottie huffed a cute little laugh, dimples forming in his cheeks. Motherfucking dimples. Cooper was going to die.
“I probably shouldn’t. Can I get you one?”
Cooper pressed his lips together. “I’m actually….” He cleared his throat. “I’m lactose intolerant.”
Hottie paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You work here and you’re lactose intolerant?”
“Laugh it up, buddy,” Cooper said. “It works out for the best. There’s no chance of me getting fat on the product.”
“There is that,” Hottie agreed. “Not that I think you’re fat,” he said, backtracking quickly. “I mean, uh, you’re good. As you are. Great, in fact.”
Cooper leaned his elbows on the window, letting his chin fall in his hands. “Is that so.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“What’s your name?”
“Sorry?”
“You always call me Cooper. But I don’t know your name.”
“Oh. Sorry. It’s Drew.”
“Drew.”
“Yeah.”
“If you don’t want a sundae, is there anything else I can get you?”
This was full-blown, all-out, Cooper Reed flirting charm. If this didn’t work, then he was going to quit, for good this time.
The hottie—Drew—was blinking like someone had just slapped him in the face and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“Drew,” Cooper said in a stage whisper. “I’m flirting with you. It’s okay. If you like it, you could try flirting back.”
“Oh.” He blinked again. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”
“Not particularly. It’s fine, though. I am.”
“You are.” He took a deep breath, then leaned forward and batted his eyelashes a little. “Could I get your phone number?”
“Smooth,” Cooper said with a bright laugh. “Sure, hotshot.”
He grabbed a napkin and a marker from his apron and scrawled his number. No hearts, no kisses, nothing to scare the guy off. He carefully folded it and handed it out; Drew took it and tucked it into the pocket of his shorts.
“Thanks. I think I changed my mind, though.”
Cooper’s heart sank. His stomach churned.
“Could I get a Lemon and Pistachio double scoop sundae?”
“No problem.”
“Cooper?”
“Yeah?”
“With rainbow sprinkles.”
Chapter Two
SUNDAY DAWNED slow and easy, a warm glow and a promise of a hot day to come later. Drew stretched, feeling delightfully relaxed and at peace with the world. He had two days off work before he was due back for his next shift at the Happiest Place on Earth, and he planned to use those days wisely doing nothing. Nothing at all.
He shifted, settled, and sighed.
Okay, he was going to clean up his room, because it was a mess, and do some laundry, and get to the gym at least once, and call his mother before she called him and chewed him out for not calling her first. And if he was feeling especially brave, Drew thought he might call Cooper.
The napkin had been on his dresser since Friday, carefully out of the way of anything that
might let it get lost or damaged. He hadn’t had the intention to wait so long before giving Cooper a call, but he’d been working extra shifts recently, and Fridays and Saturdays were always busy. He’d gotten home late, showered, and collapsed onto his couch, not wanting to talk to anyone at all.
Of course Cinderella had turned up with all her princess friends and interrupted Drew’s plans for a Breaking Bad marathon, and he’d taken himself upstairs and hidden in his room instead.
It was a little after nine in the morning, so he hadn’t slept ridiculously late. He decided to save his workout for later, make it a run on the beach with his buddy’s Labrador instead of lifting weights in an air-conditioned gym.
Drew wasn’t a particularly messy guy, but working extra hours had cut into his spare time, and the state of his personal space was usually the first thing to slip. He had traumatic memories of his teenage years and his mother threatening to burn all his worldly possessions if he didn’t pick them up off the floor of his room.
It turned out he’d grown up a lot in the ten years or so since that incident. The laundry and cleaning got done within a couple of hours, he ran a rag and some bleach around the kitchen to count toward his “good housemate” points, and took a long shower since he was apparently the only one home today.
Clean, dressed, and feeling good about getting his chores done, Drew stared at his dresser and the napkin with Cooper’s number on it. If he put it off much longer, the chances were Cooper would get the wrong idea. Taking a deep breath for courage, he surged across the room, grabbed the scrap of paper, and punched the number into his phone.
It rang four times, and Drew was about to hang up, then go throw up, when a scratchy voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cooper?”
“Yeah.”
“This is Drew. Um, Andrew Tanner. You gave me your number at work?”
“Hey, Drew.”
“Did I wake you up?”
Drew flopped back onto his bed and stared at his ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster running almost the whole width of the room.
