“I’m sorry to bother you at work, Ainsley.”
“It’s not a bother. What can I do for you, Cooper?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to go to lunch with me?”
“Ainsley?” Stella says, tugging on my arm. I look up at her and catch a glimpse of Cooper standing in my doorway with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. They’re my favorites, too, sunflowers and roses. Stella takes the phone from my hand and hangs up for me.
I’m caught off guard by how handsome he is and how the pictures online don’t do him justice, even the ones where he’s dirty from playing baseball, and my mind races with images of sponge baths and long showers. I admit that, after we spoke the other night, I looked up him up on the Web. I find him attractive, but that doesn’t alleviate my fear about athletes. It shouldn’t matter that I can see myself tracing the outline of his jaw or that I want to feel his stubble scratch against my fingertips or that I need to see a picture of him without a hat on so I can imagine what it’d be like to run my fingers through dirty blond hair. From my experience, athletes aren’t honest people, and they easily forget their personal commitments when something else comes along. I’ve been down that road before, and it’s not something I want to experience again. I don’t care how cute he is in his khaki shorts, deck shoes, and Boston Renegades polo. I’m not going to let it faze me that, when he smiles, it’s slightly crooked, and I’ve imagined what it would be like to be held in his arms.
“Sorry to barge in, but I was in the neighborhood.”
In the neighborhood that’s a forty-five-minute drive from where you live? The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I hold them back. The man I’ve been trying to avoid, even if I haven’t been very successful in my attempt, is standing in my doorway with flowers in his hand.
“I wanted to thank you in person for all the help you’ve given me this week, and I’m wondering if you’d like to go out to lunch?”
“Cooper—”
“Of course she does.”
Stella comes behind me and pushes me toward him, leaving me with two choices. I can go and let him down gently after lunch, or I can be an epic bitch and tell him that I’ll never go anywhere with him. Option two sounds the best right now, but people are staring, and that would be incredibly unprofessional of me.
Cooper hands me the flowers, which are already in a vase, making it easy for me to set them on my desk. They’re beautiful—purple roses and bright yellow sunflowers—and they not only brighten my office but also my mood. It’s only lunch. Lunch can’t hurt, can it?
“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Ainsley.” I pretend to inhale the fragrance of the roses, but I’m really fighting off the emotion I feel when he says my name. It happens when he’s on the phone with me, and each time I find myself pausing when he says it. It’s the way my name rolls off his tongue, making my name sound softer than it is.
Cooper motions for me to walk ahead of him. I don’t glance at Edna and whoever may be lingering near her desk, but I hear the whispers and know I’ll be water cooler gossip and subject to a barrage of questions when I return.
He’s a gentleman, that much I can say. Cooper opens the door of his car for me, waits until I’m seated, then he shuts it and gives me just enough viewing pleasure when he runs around to the other side.
“Pull yourself together,” I berate myself. I shouldn’t be here.
“I found this little café not far from here. I thought we could go there.”
“You never asked me about Naples, only Fort Myers. How did you find the café?”
Cooper smiles, causing my insides to stir. I hate that it takes one look from him and my resolve begins to chip away.
“The Web,” he says winking before he pulls into traffic, leaving me speechless. He used me for three
days to give him information on Fort Myers but used the Web to find us a place to eat. I think I’ve been duped.
And I think I like it.
Chapter 9
Cooper
When I found out we were having a night practice, I started to panic. The last three nights have been spent sitting in my car, parked in the lot, talking to Ainsley. Little by little, I’ve been getting to know her, only to discover that my initial feelings toward her were spot-on. Her laugh, the way she says my name, and even the way she sighs all make me feel different. They make me feel like I’ve known her for years, even though we’ve just met.
I knew it was a long shot, showing up at her office. If she had said no, I would’ve just left it at that and moved on, but she didn’t. Not that she had a chance to, considering her friend all but pushed her out the door. Flowers, chocolates, or whatever her friend likes must be sent to thank her for helping me with Ainsley: first her number and now this. Clearly she sees something in me that she likes for her friend.
Now Ainsley’s in my car and I can smell her perfume. The scent, whatever it is, works for her. If I weren’t already interested in her, I would be, simply because of the way she smells.
“Thanks for coming to lunch with me.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she reminds me. I play it off, as if it’s no big deal that she was forced to go with me. My goal, by the end of the day, is to have her agreeing to another date, and hopefully another one after that.