Best I Ever Had

Cooper chuckles. “Clever.”

“Speaking of clever. It’s quite the coincidence that you share a name with a building on campus.” Not a question. Just putting it out there and studying how this guy who can afford to drop two K without a worry has a name in common with distinguished and wealthy alumni.

He doesn’t even bat his eyes. “It’s not what you think, Story.”

“What do I think?”

“What if we get something to eat?”

There’s no squirming or evasive body language. He remains right here as sure in his stance as he was yesterday. “Are you changing the subject?”

“I’m starving.”

“Smooth but I’ll let it go.” I point right at his face, the same face I want to kiss again. “For now.” I smirk and head to Lila. “Am I free to go?”

“You are, and pizza is on you next time.”

Holding up my hand in Scout’s Honor, I laugh. “Definitely.” I turn to Cooper. “So lunch . . .?” I leave it open for discussion.

He shifts around, seeming to exhale a deep breath of relief. “What do you have in mind?”

“I hear there’s food at my place.” I move around and bump into him sideways. “What do you say? Want to come over?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

9

Cooper

I’m not myself with Story.

I’m not sure who I am when I’m with her, but it’s been entertaining to do things differently. Fun even. Fun in the past few years usually has me walking on the wilder side—from girls to fights to drinking until I pass out. With Story, it means lying in bed holding her in my arms while listening to the rain mix with her soft breaths.

This must be how dating usually plays out—spending time with each other and getting to know one another. Even though it’s slower than how things typically go for me, I don’t mind with her.

I appreciate it more, in fact.

Turning over a new leaf?

My parents would be so proud. I roll my eyes just thinking about them.

Back to more important things, like the little brunette with a penchant for heavy blankets and flannel pajamas currently hogging a lot of the covers.

After we ate chicken noodle soup and sandwiches, the meal I delivered to her door for us earlier, Story managed to get me to strip down to my underwear and spend the day with her in bed with one simple request. “I want you to stay.”

Miniature gold candy wrappers litter the bed, and her nightstand has a cup of Gatorade and cold medicine in some cocktail she created. With one hand waving in front of her and candy in the other, she says, “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much money in my life, Cooper.” She pops a small Reese’s in her mouth and falls back on a pile of pillows.

I’m not sure what to think about what she says. It’s nothing in the scheme of things, but she acts like she won the lottery. Remembering how she got upset about the delivery guy’s tip, seeing the small apartment, and how empty her fridge is, the pieces click together. But hearing her tone and the excitement rattling through it has me glad I gave it to her.

She’s not had it easy and probably had to work for anything she ever got. I should feel good that I could make such an impact. But I don’t. Lying on the bed next to her, I turn to look out the window. I’ve never been uncomfortable when it comes to discussions involving money. It’s just not anything I’ve ever had to worry about. So, thinking about it isn’t something I do very often.

I feel good when I’m with her until I fuck it up in regard to money by flaunting it without a second thought, which then makes me feel like a bastard. Has my life been so sheltered that I never realized the impact I could make? Before I get too self-indulgent and start analyzing all my failures, I bring her hand to my mouth and steal the mini Reese’s from it with my teeth.

Story smiles. Fucking hell. My chest tightens, and I know I’m in trouble. If she can do me in with her smile, I worry what other magic this goddess possesses.

I slowly chew the chocolate, biding my time to regroup my thoughts. This is nothing. Just two people having some fun on an unexpected free day.

The lie sours on my tongue, and I close my eyes to rid the wave of guilt that rolls through me.

She props her chin under her hands on top of my chest. “Do I want to know where that money came from?”

I stroke her head and then caress her cheek. “Nothing illegal but talk of money is not what I want to do with you.”

“Ooooh,” she says, flirting and sitting up. “What do you want to do with me, Mr. Haywood?” Her gaze slides to the wall behind the bed, troubling her lip, and then she repeats, “Haywood. Let’s talk about that instead.”