The Off Limits Rule (It Happened in Nashville 1)
I try the handle. “Nope. Sorry.”
He lets out a curse that makes me smile for some reason. “Okay. I’m coming. I’ll see you in a year when I make it to the door.”
A minute later, it opens, and Cooper stands before me with alarmingly pale skin, a big comforter draped over his head and around his shoulders, no shirt, jeans sitting low and showing off the waistband of his black boxer briefs.
“Lucy.” He says my name like a plea, and it tears me right in half.
“Oh, Cooper. You don’t look good.”
He gives me the most pitiful smile I’ve ever seen. “That’s cause I’m dying, remember?” Apparently, it’s true what they say, and men are big babies when they’re sick. I once had to go to work with a fever of 101 and mastitis, but a little stomach trouble has completely taken out this six-foot man. It’s sort of adorable, and I love it.
Cooper looks down at me through half-lidded eyes. The flirtatious spark and cool-guy demeanor that are usually always present with him are nowhere to be found, and instead, he looks a little fragile. Unable to stop myself, I step forward and rest my hand against his cheek and then his forehead.
“You don’t have a fever, so that’s good.”
His eyes shut as my hand slides from his forehead down his temple. He turns his face toward it and sort of presses his cheek against my palm again. Did he just nuzzle me? Like a little love nuzzle? It’s a tiny gesture, but it makes my stomach jump through my throat. His face rests lightly against my hand before he groans, pulling away. “Come in. I have to go finish dying.”
I watch Cooper and his blanket cape disappear down a hallway, and then I turn my eyes to the empty house. I remember everything I have tucked underneath my arm and decide to start the task of making this place more comfortable while trying to ignore the horrific sounds coming from down the hall.
First, I make my way into Cooper’s kitchen, admire the double oven and wonder if he ever uses it, and then fill up a glass with ice and ginger ale. I didn’t know if he had any straws, so I bought a pack because it’s a fact that no one wants to drink out of a wide-rimmed glass when they’ve been puking.
Next, I go into the living room and unpack the hamper. Cooper’s couch gets a comfy new blanket, and his mantel gets a soft vanilla-scented candle and a cute faux succulent that adds a tiny bit of color to the room. Don’t get me wrong, the place still looks pathetic, but at least slightly more like someone lives here.
Once I’m finished, I’m not sure what to do. Should I sit down and wait for him? Go check on him and make sure he hasn’t passed out in the bathroom? A moment ago, in the doorway, things felt different between us. A little less friend-like, a little more something…but then I remember my rejected kiss and feel even more confused.
Still…he called me over here because he was desperate, right? I should go check on him.
Tiptoeing my way down the hall, I make it to his bedroom and eye his rumpled king-si
zed bed that makes my stomach flutter. The room smells like him, and a strong part of me wants to dive onto his mattress and make blanket angels in the covers, absorbing all of his scent so I can take it home with me.
Cooper isn’t in here, but I notice a cracked door inside his room with light peeking out. I’m just about to go open it when I hear the shower faucet turn on and catch the tiniest glimpse of skin, just enough to know there’s a human in there with no clothes on, and I bolt from the room, run into the living room, and leap onto the couch, deciding it’s best to await further instructions from Cooper rather than barging into his bathroom and seeing him naked in the shower.
Ten minutes and a whole lot of daydreams later, I’m still sitting stiff as a board, trying to figure out what my purpose is here, when I hear footsteps coming down the hall. My breath catches when Cooper turns the corner. He’s barefoot, wearing gray cotton joggers and a white t-shirt. His wet hair is slightly unruly, and he has a five o’clock shadow, making him look like a walking ad for men’s shower gel. Whatever scent it is, I’m buying a whole case. The warm, clean, masculine smell precedes him as he approaches, and I drag in a deep breath, thankful he doesn’t smell like a sick person. His blue eyes snag on me sitting on his couch, and I stiffen again.
“Oh. Sorry. Is it okay that I’m still here?” I shake my head and pull my feet out from under me so I can stand. “I wasn’t sure…I mean…maybe you want me to go? I should have just left the ginger ale. I just—” Before I can fully slip my feet back into my sandals and stand, Cooper comes over and collapses onto the couch, spreading out over the entire length of it and resting his head in my lap.
My breath freezes in my lungs, and I sit stunned for a solid minute with my hands in the air. Cooper doesn’t say a single word. He shuts his eyes and snuggles his head back against my stomach like this is something we do every single night. I guess he doesn’t want the ginger ale…?
Another small groan rumbles from his chest and breaks my heart. I may be enjoying this moment immensely, but he clearly feels terrible. Without really thinking, my hands lower, and my fingers intertwine in his hair. I barely touch him at first, worried that maybe I’m crossing some invisible boundary since we’re not in the salon and he’s not my client right now. But then he snuggles in further and makes a contented noise that empowers me to apply more pressure. For several minutes, I rake my fingers over Cooper’s scalp, wondering what the HECK is happening. I try to stay emotionally detached from this moment, assuring myself that it’s only occurring because he feels terrible and can sense the motherliness in me, but it’s no use. I love the way his wavy hair feels slipping through my fingers and how comfortable and docile he looks curled up in my lap.
I think Cooper is asleep, because his breathing has been deep and steady, but with his eyes shut, he says, “I like the stuff you brought.”
My fingers stop their caress. “Consider it a housewarming gift.”
Suddenly, Cooper’s big shoulders shift and bunch under his shirt as he lifts up slightly to reach something on the cushion beside me. He lays his head back down in my lap and hands a remote up to me. “Here. Rent whatever you want to watch.”
That’s when I notice the TV mounted on the wall for the first time. “Hey, you got a TV.”
“Yeah. You inspired me to start adding a few things.”
I refuse to let those words go to my heart. He means inspired in that I brought it to his attention, not that I made him want to start filling his house with homey things because he’s desperately in love with me.
“What do you want to watch?” I ask, turning on the TV then looking down when Cooper doesn’t answer. His eyes are closed, and he looks passed out. I smile, running my hand through his hair one more time while scrolling through his queue and settling on a movie I haven’t seen in way too long. “I hope you don’t mind watching The Holiday.”
He doesn’t answer, but I do see the corner of his mouth quirk up before he takes in a deep breath and wraps one of his arms tightly around my thighs like he’s holding on to a pillow. He’s snuggling me. I look around, briefly waiting for the Punk’d camera crew to burst out from a closet.
When they don’t, I look back down at Cooper. “Do—do you want a pillow?”