Best I Ever Had

“How did you imagine me?”

The boyish charm has returned with a little waggle of his brow. “The truth? Naked. Many, many times.”

“Confession: I’ve let my eyes and mind linger on you.”

Swinging his arm behind, he tucks me under his shoulder and kisses the top of my head. I love how easy, how open he is with kissing—from the deeper French kisses to the soft ones he places just because he feels the need. Cooper makes me feel appreciated, valued, too soon to say cherished? I feel that through and through because of his actions. I say, “The words and stories, the background, the information, and facts, our biographies will be shared in time. But I feel a connection with you that I’ve never felt with anyone else.”

Staring at our hands, I twist my wrist and watch how strong the bond is as they stay together. Looking up at him, I add, “I feel like I know your soul. I’m okay waiting on the rest . . . except for Haywood and the Hall. I’ll need that story sooner.”

“I’m thirsty. Water?”

“Yes, please.” I watch as he climbs out of bed still naked, the muscles working so beautifully together as he moves across the room that I can’t think of any sculpture that would compare.

As he grabs two of the bottles he bought and stocked in my fridge, he says, “You want to talk about it and get it out of the way?”

I look at him, batting my eyelashes. “Yes, please,” I reply giddily and with a little bounce on the bed.

“The shorter version because I promise it’s boring, predictable, and has fucked me over a few times.” He untwists the cap and hands me a bottle. “I’m kind of bitter over it.”

“Only share what you want, Cooper. We have time ahead of us for all the ugly stuff.”

He downs half the water and then returns to bed, holding the bottle when he readjusts back on his side. His side. I smile, kind of loving that we already have sides.

After taking another long swig, he says, “My grandfather, Daxton Haywood, four generations back, got accepted here after his father, Archibald, offered to build Haywood Hall for Atterton University. The honor of naming the building after Archibald came as part of the bargain. Little known fact. It was called Archie Hall until the twenties when the school was actively trying to up its clout to compete with the Ivy League. Hence, Haywood Hall.”

“You could give tours.”

“Yeahhh . . . no.” He laughs, then empties the bottle.

I could fixate on the fact that Cooper’s apparently from very old money with his notable name, but the story cements the truth. More so, I’m fascinated by him. “You’re legacy.”

“Five generations, but I’ve not held up the Haywood name as much as my father would like.”

“How so?”

He stalls this time with a roguish grin on his face. “Well . . . that might have to wait for another time.” He glances over and taps me on the nose. “Happy now?”

“Happy that I’m sleeping with the fifth generation of the building that holds my major?” I grin wildly. I move on top of him and straddle his deliciously muscular legs. “That’s not what got me into bed.”

Taking the bait, he drops the bottle on the floor next to the bed and grabs my ass, squeezing my cheeks and causing pressure between us. My body slickens against his length, and I bite my lip.

“What got you into bed, babe?”

I lean down and kiss him with all the passion he’s shown me, and then whisper, “Meeting the right guy.”

16

Cooper

Dawn steals the night away from us, peeking in the crack where the shade doesn’t fully close and the sheer curtains won’t hide us away from the rest of the world.

Although I only got a few hours of sleep, Story is sleeping soundly wrapped over me. She doesn’t realize that I’m completely wrapped up in her.

I never believed I deserved anything so good or pure, someone who looks at me not like I’m who they want me to be but for who I am. Or maybe it’s just because I’ve never met anyone like her.

Generous to a fault.

Charitable heart.

Thoughtful.

And smart.

The first time she spoke to me, I understood why Lou had a crush on her because I felt the same. It was as if I was the only one in the room with her. That’s who Story is—she makes you feel important as if you’re the only one who matters.

I’m still not sure how I’m the lucky bastard holding her now. And fuck. I took her virginity. I look down at her in my arms and how perfectly she fits there and grin like a fucking fool. Taking a V-card has never been a goal of mine, though I’ve had a few given to me over the years.