The Off Limits Rule (It Happened in Nashville 1)

I blink at the screen, registering the name Cooper James, and wonder if maybe I’ve already fallen asleep and this is going to turn into the best dream of my life. It has to be a dream because Cooper and I didn’t exchange numbers today. I would remember typing his name into my phone. Also, Cooper would have been spelled wrong because my hands would have been shaking terribly.

Okay, so I’ll just play along with this dream and read what “Cooper” texted me. When I do, I see a text from earlier in the day, sent from my phone to his.

Lucy: This is Cooper. I’m texting myself from your phone so I can have your number.

I jolt up in bed and stare down at the screen. He stole my phone and texted himself?! So he could have my number?! I instinctively look to my closed door like Drew might be receiving sibling vibes and will burst in at any moment. When he doesn’t, I scoot down, re-enacting my teen years by reading the text under my comforter.

Cooper: It was fun hanging out today. Thanks for jumping with me.

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And then a video comes through that I had no idea he took. Apparently, he left his phone recording on the boat. I hit play and smile at the sight of Cooper and me, hand in hand, running and jumping off the cliff. My screams are more than a little embarrassing, but when I zoom in, I’m shocked to see how big my smile is—and I’m not looking at the water.

I’m looking at Cooper…and he’s looking at me.

It’s been two weeks since my cliff-jumping adventure. A lot has happened in that time.

I got a job! Well, not so much me as my mom who called in a favor with one of her friends who called her friend who called her cousin who got me a chair at Honeysuckle Salon. Nashville may be a big-time town now, but if you grew up here, those roots run deep, and everybody’s mama knows everybody’s mama. It’s always good to be on the mamas’ side, because they are the ones running this town.

I actually really like Honeysuckle Salon. The stylists are all sweet ladies who seem pretty down to earth and not the kind to get catty or stir up drama, and the aesthetic is beautiful. The floors are a cream marble, and all of the salon chairs are made of expensive light-brown leather. The fixtures are either gold or brushed brass, and there’s some sort of lemon oil diffusing in the room. It’s definitely not Steel Magnolias in here. Best part is, I don’t even have to put Levi in daycare because my mom retired last year and has been able to stay home with him every day for me. It’s like an enormous boulder has rolled off my back, and I’m able to breathe again for the first time in a year.

Yep, everything is great being back home. Drew and I have been hanging out after Levi goes to bed, watching movies, and—OKAY, YEAH, I’M GOING A LITTLE CRAZY BECAUSE COOPER HASN’T TEXTED AT ALL! And I’ve been racking my brain every day for these past two weeks, wondering why he never responded to my text. It was a nice text, a heartfelt message that went something like this: Aw, great video! Super fun day.

Good, right? If only I’d left it at that. But then, I just had to go and text him again because I’m not a normal human and should just hide in a hole for the rest of my life.

Lucy: Seriously. Just want to say thank you for today. Jumping off that cliff was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, and it helped me realize I need to be more adventurous and step out of my safe box more often. It was nice being challenged by you, and I think you’re a really great guy. Maybe you could challenge me more often :)

I know…it’s bad. Painful even. Cringe-worthy. DESPERATE. No wonder he never responded. He’s probably been too busy packing up his house and moving across the country so his new stalker, Lucy, can’t find him and cut a lock of his hair to keep under her pillow.

I don’t even know why I did it. I’m not normally the type to spill my guts to a guy like that, but something about Cooper makes me temporarily lose my mind. As such, it’s probably a good thing he hasn’t texted or come around at all. Who knows what I would do in person? Best to just focus on my work, which is where I am now, sweeping up a pile of hair from my last client and preparing to clock out for the day.

Jessie, the salon owner, my new best friend, and an all-around sweetheart, walks up to my station. “Hey, Lucy, do you have time to squeeze in a last-minute cut?”

To be honest, my feet are killing me, and I’d like to go home, but I’m also trying to save every penny I have to get my own place sooner rather than later. Drew is amazing, and I know he doesn’t mind having me, but still…a single guy doesn’t want his baby sister staying with him forever. And I get tired of having to wear a bra.

“Anything for you, sunshine.” I’m not even sucking up. Jessie and I sort of hit it off from the minute we met last week. After my interview, she and I went out for margaritas (hers a virgin because she’s five months pregnant) and talked until the restaurant had to kick us out. I learned over dinner that Jessie is not married or even in a relationship, so there is a story there with her pregnancy, but I figure she’ll tell me when she feels comfortable.

“Thank you!” she says, looking relieved. “It’s a men’s cut, so it shouldn’t take too long, and your shirt is kind of see-through in this light, so you’ll probably get a great tip.”

I gasp and look down. “What! It is not!” Shoot, it is. You can see my pink bra right through my black-and-white striped tee. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?!”

She laughs. “Why are you freaking out? Look around this room—you’re the most modestly dressed woman in here.”

She’s right. Another stylist is wearing high-waisted dress pants and one of those fashionable sport bras. Another is wearing a sundress with a plunging neckline. And me…I’m wearing distressed jeans and a striped t-shirt. I’ve come to terms with the fact that in a room full of J.Crews, I’ll always be a Target. I love Target. Let’s see J.Crew try to sell delicious soft pretzels in their store.

The door of the salon chimes, and Jessie and I both swivel our heads to see who entered. I kid you not, life turns to slow motion, and “SexyBack” by Justin Timberlake starts playing over the speaker as Cooper James steps through the door. The sudden burst of air tosses his wavy locks around his attractive-as-sin face, and he pulls his sunglasses off, making his arm muscles flex under the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp, white button-down. Every single woman in the salon notices. Our jaws are collectively hitting the floor, and I’m sure he can count each of my fillings, because for as good as Cooper looked without a shirt, he looks almost more incredible wearing one—and nicely tailored business attire at that. I think it’s because the fabric strains against his chest and biceps, whispering a tantalizing secret of what’s underneath, daring you to find out if it’s true or not.

He pauses in front of the reception desk, and his aqua eyes rise, cutting across the salon.

I drop to the floor.

Not in a swoon, but more of a hit-the-deck sort of way. I hunker down, rolling up into a tiny pathetic ball behind my rolling cart of hair products because HE CANNOT SEE ME.

Jessie looks down at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. She’s never met an animal like me in the wild. “What are you doing?”

“Shhhh, don’t draw attention to me! Look over there. No! Stop. You’re still looking at me!”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m worried I might need to throw you in my car and drop you off at the closest mental health facility.”