by Sarah Adams
“That’s great, man. Just don’t let Lucy be your test subject.”
Test subject. Those words feel like acid on my tongue as I repeat them to myself on my drive home from the bar. Test subject. Is that really what he thinks I would do? It’s clear that Drew has a different opinion of me than I’ve had of myself. I don’t know; part of me wants to be ticked at him, but another part wonders if I’d react any differently if I had a sister and the roles were reversed. Nope. I’d probably be giving him crap too.
Lucy is officially off limits. I know I need to get her out of my head, but I can’t.
And as I pull up to my house and park in the driveway, a queasy feeling settles into my stomach at the thought of not seeing her again. She’s unlike any other woman I’ve ever known, and I feel a pull to her that I don’t know how to deny. What if Drew is wrong and Lucy is the one for me that everyone talks about? My soul mate or whatever.
Shoot, even worse, my body is having a physical reaction to the thought of not seeing her again. I suddenly feel sick, and achy, and…okay, so maybe this is not entirely due to Lucy? What are the odds the burger I had at the bar gave me food poisoning?
Pretty high, considering the way I spend the next hour of my life. And because no one should be judged harshly for decisions they make on their deathbed, I don’t want to hear any crap about the fact that I call Lucy, hoping she’ll come over and take care of me.
I’ve just finished singing Levi a song and scratching his back until he falls asleep when Cooper calls. It’s a little strange that he’s actually calling me instead of texting, but we’re friends, right? Friends call friends.
“Cooper. Hey,” I say in my totally-cool-I-have-cute-guys-calling-me-all-the-time tone.
“Hi, Lucy,” he says in a gritty voice that immediately makes alarms blare in my head.
“Why do you sound like you’re knocking on death’s door?” I ask while shutting my door so Drew doesn’t overhear.
He sounds like a lifelong smoker when he says, “Because I am, in fact, dying.”
“What?! What’s wrong?” Okay, Luce, let’s take it down just a bit.
“I have food poisoning. I can’t keep anything down.”
“Oh, Cooper. Where are you right now?”
He breathes deeply for two seconds before answering. “In my hallway. On the floor. I can’t make it to my room.” He sounds so pitiful and miserable that I can’t think of anything other than going straight over there and helping.
But I don’t know if I should. It’s not really my place to go nurse him back to health, and given the other night, when I tried to kiss him and he rejected me, it seems a little strange for him to be calling me. Isn’t that the kind of thing you call a girlfriend for? “Do…you have anyone who can come take care of you?” I chicken out at the last second and add, “Like your mom?”
“I’m sure she would if I asked, but she and my dad live in a retirement community about seven hours away.”
Right. “So you don’t have anyone? Like…Bailey maybe?” I press the palm of my hand to my head, feeling like such an idiot for asking. What am I trying to get him to say here? The man is clearly miserable, and I’m trying to get him to DTR a relationship we don’t even have! I’ve totally lost my mind.
“Uh—no. Bailey…I don’t want to call Bailey.”
My heart soars on the back of a magical tiny hummingbird. I feel weightless. I don’t know what it means yet, but Cooper is calling me, hoping I will come take care of him. And I refuse to think so lowly of myself that I believe he’s only chosen me because I’m a mom and have excellent bedside manners. There’s something here. I just don’t know what it is yet.
“Cooper…” I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice, “are you calling because you want me to come over and take care of you?”
There’s a tiny pause, and I hear him swallow. “Yeah. It’s embarrassing.”
Light bursts from my cheeks like I have just harnessed my superpowers for the first time. I feel invincible. “I’ll be right over.”
After I hang up, I carry the baby monitor out to Drew, who is watching TV in the living room, and tell him one of my friends is sick and needs me to help. I purposely avoid any pronoun usage because I am an evil genius, and thankfully, hearing the urgency in my voice, Drew spares me the third degree. Tomorrow is Saturday, so he tells me he doesn’t have to go into the office, and he’ll take care of breakfast for Levi if I’m late.
Guilt over lying to Drew tries to claw its way across my skin, but I refuse to let it, because I’m lying to him with noble intentions, right?
I’m standing at Cooper’s door, waiting for him to answer and feeling too excited for someone who’s about to aid a sick man. This is when I realize my crush might be getting a little out of control.
When he doesn’t answer the door after I knock, I pull out my phone and call him.
He just grunts when it connects.
“Hey, I’m here.”
“Is the door not unlocked?” he asks, sounding way worse than earlier.
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?”
He grunts a negative answer and holds on to me tighter. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles into my legs.
“You mean perfectly squishy like a pillow?” I ask, not really enjoying that answer.
“No,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Not like a pillow.” But that’s all he says.
I can’t help the smile tugging at my mouth as I watch Cooper fall asleep snuggling my legs. It strikes me that this is exactly how Levi lies down when he’s sick, because I’m the most important thing to him, and when someone feels horrible, they want to keep the most important thing in their life nearby for comfort.
So why is Cooper holding on to me like this?
My feet are killing me, and I swap all of my weight to my left foot, hoping to give my right a break as I place the 200th foil in my client’s hair. She and her bestie popped in here an hour ago, right at closing time, and begged Jessie and me to squeeze them in for last-minute highlight appointments. I wanted to laugh in their faces, but then she tucked some hair behind her ear, and her SUV-sized diamond ring raised its eyebrows suggestively at me. Jessie also saw the dollar signs hovering over these ladies’ heads, and we both became the world’s most accommodating stylists. Would you like a glass of wine? A foot rub? Need me to do your grocery shopping? Socks mended? SURE! Don’t forget to tip, and no, I don’t have change for a hundred.
But believe me, we are more than working for this money. They wanted highlights, lowlights, dark roots, and to talk nonstop until my ears bleed and my brain oozes out of my nose. You’d think they’d want to talk to each other, but no.
“How far along are you?” the girl named Sasha asks Jessie—which is honestly a bold move because Jessie’s baby bump is still small enough to potentially be an undigested burger.
“Five months.”
“Cute. Who’s your baby daddy?”
Jessie falters with her foil, though I doubt anyone noticed it but me. It’s an invasive question (one I’ve never had the guts to ask) and I’m sure not one Jessie appreciates. “Like his name? You wouldn’t know him.”
“You never know,” the girl says with a cheeky grin that no one appreciates. “I get around.” Just for that, Sasha is going to leave with slightly brassier highlights than she’d like. “I’m kidding, girl! So, did he bail? I noticed you don’t have a ring on.”
Jessie gives a tight smile in the mirror. “Yep. Bailed.”
My heart tugs. I know exactly what that feels like. I know how it feels to have to answer those prodding questions, and I know what it feels like to not be wanted. If it wasn’t weird, I’d go wrap my arms around Jessie, snuggle her right here in the middle of the salon, and tell her she will get through it.
“Ugh, too bad. Men suck,” says Sasha’s friend Carrie. “They NEVER do what they say they are going to.”
This triggers something in Sasha, and her jaw drops as she sharply turns her head to Carrie. “Did he seriously still not add you on Snapchat?!”
Carrie abruptly whips her head toward Sasha, ripping a foil from my hand that I had just perfectly placed. Yeah, don’t mind me, I’m not doing anything important back here. “No! And he, like, promised he would before he left town today.” She plops back heavily against the chair again and pouts at her reflection. “Why is it so difficult for men to follow through and contact us like they say they will?”
“You’re telling me!” I say, shocking myself that I said that out loud.
Jessie looks even more shocked. She paints a little lightener onto a strand of Sasha’s hair then slowly moves her gaze up to me with sassy lifted eyebrows. “Is this about Cooper? Do tell.”
Carrie gasps with joy and completely turns around in her seat, knees tucked up to her chest and clapping with excitement. “TELL US!”
>
It makes me laugh how eager these women are to jump into my drama, but I also kind of love them for it. Besides, who else am I going to talk to about this? My only other friend is Drew, and I definitely can’t discuss it with him.
“Okay, well, yeah. So, there’s this guy…my brother’s best friend—” The girls oooooh collectively, and Jessie just gives a guttural laugh. “Anyway. He’s the best-looking man I’ve ever seen and definitely has women fawning over him at every turn. I thought there was no way he would be interested in me, but then…”
“YEAH?!” They are way too excited to hear this story.
“Well, he sort of started flirting with me. And texting me. And…sneaking me off on secret late-night pool adventures.”
“Shut up. I’m so jealous of you right now. Keep going.”
“And then…I tried to kiss him. And he rejected me.”
“Ouch,” says the choir of women.
“Yeah. But here’s the really confusing part: he was still super touchy-feely with me the rest of that night, even sent me a sweet goodnight text. AND THEN, about two weeks ago, he came down with food poisoning and called me to come over and take care of him.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, of course I did. And he was so adorable and sweet and laid his head in my lap and slept the entire night snuggling my thighs like they were his favorite stuffed animal from childhood.”
“And then?”
“And then nothing.” My eyes catch on the droopy, wilted bouquet of flowers on my station that I refuse to throw away despite the mold now creeping up the stems, and I correct myself. “Well, not nothing. The next morning, we had a stilted goodbye where he almost seemed to regret the night, so I hightailed it out of there, ready to write him off forever, until this gorgeous—well, it was gorgeous—bouquet showed up here at work with a thank-you card for taking care of him. The card also mentioned that he’d be happy to return the favor next time I’m feeling bad.”