Bedhead: A Romance

by Kayt Miller

  The joint is jumpin’, as they say. When I first got to work, there were only a handful of people here. Now there’s an entire rugby team and their entourage, my roommates, and Tayler. It’s a party. Luckily for me, I’ve only had to pour beer so far. Luke has decided to let me try it on my own. He’s still here, lurking in the kitchen and his office. Well, correction—as soon as the rugby team got here, he’s been staying close to the bar area. But I’ve been holding my own.

  When the door opens, I stop what I’m doing and hold my breath. Then I release the breath and slump. Still no Cooke. I guess I should have asked him what time he’d be here. I’d text him, but Luke would frown upon that, even though I warned him that everyone was coming to meet my friend. Apparently, Luke doesn’t pay much attention to sports. His words. He said his life is this bar. That’s sort of sad, really.

  As I start to pour a pitcher for Bull—get this… the pitcher is his glass—the door opens again. I turn my head in time to see the man himself step through the door. What was especially strange was the noise in the bar. There was none. The second he stepped foot into the place, it went dead silent. Well, until one of the rugby guys said, “Jesus, look at the size of him.” Several people laugh, me included.

  But once the shock wears off, he’s practically attacked by the hordes. I watch as he talks, jokes, and laughs with everyone around him. At one point, Bull looks over at me, and I swear he’s crying. Maybe I underestimated Cooke’s fame. Hell, even Luke seems to be a little starstruck. Since Cooke’s been here, Luke’s been bombarding me with questions about him like, “How do you know him? Where did you meet him? Are you sure you can trust him?” I wasn’t sure what he meant by the last question, but I quickly answered it, and he seemed to be satisfied.

  Once everyone has had a chance to talk or just touch Cooke, he steps up to the bar. “Hey, Q.”

  “Hi, Cooke. What can I get you?”

  “Guinness, please, lass.”

  “Bottle or tap?”

  He arches a brow at me like I asked him something stupid. “Tap. Always tap.”

  “Right.” I laugh and pour him his Guinness. God, I hope I did it right. Sliding the glass to him, I hold my breath, half expecting him to critique my pour, but he doesn’t. Instead he places the glass to his lips and drinks fast. Almost half the beer is gone in one go. I watch his throat bob up and down as he drinks. It’s sexy. Okay, I know that sounds weird, but everything about Cooke Thompson is sexy.

  “You look beautiful, Quinn.”

  “Huh?” I’m taken aback by his words.

  He chuckles. “I said you look beautiful.”

  “Oh.” I look down at myself. Black tee, black jeans, black Converses. “Thanks?” I guess I did do something with my hair. I flat-ironed it and left it down for once. And I have makeup on, so there’s that. “Are you okay with everything?” I point to the crowd behind him. I’m worried he’s annoyed by all the attention.

  “I’m perfect. No worries. Your mates are cool.”

  Just then, I let my eyes move to Cooke’s left. Bull is seated next to him, staring at Cooke. “You need another beer, Bull?” I ask.

  He nods, so I pour another pitcher.

  “Cooke, I think you’ve got a true fan there.” I nod to Bull.

  Bull grunts. “You’re the bomb, Corinne.”

  “It’s Quinn,” Cooke snaps.

  Bull quickly corrects himself. “Right. Sorry, Quinn. I asked you to get him here, and you did.” He holds his palm over his chest. “I’m at your service anytime you need me or any of us.” He picks up the phone he’s got in front of him. “Give me your digits.”

  I start to laugh but stop when I look at Cooke.

  “And why is that?” he asks, anger written all over his pretty face.

  Bull stares at Cooke, and I see real fear there. “So I can text her, so she has my number, sir. If she needs protection or whatever, she’s got the entire team at her disposal.”

  Sir?

  Cooke nods, but his expression is still steely. “I appreciate that, mate.” He slaps Bull on the back. “Keep my girl safe.”

  I’m not sure what to say about all that, so instead of overthinking it, I move on to the next customer. Everyone is having a good time, especially when Cooke rejoins the raucous rugby guys. They’re taking turns getting pictures with him, and at one point, the entire team lines up behind him for a group shot. I’m sure that’ll end up on the web. And for those people who know and love rugby, it’ll be a big thing.

  I’m just finishing up making my first mule for a customer when I see Bryant walk in the door. I haven’t seen him since my horrible, terrible, very bad fucking day, and I’m okay with that. I half expect Kara to follow him in but he’s alone. He makes a beeline to Cooke, introducing himself as “one of Quinn’s best friends.” I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I’m not about to correct him right now. When he finally approaches the bar, he says, “Hey, Quinn.” Pointing his thumb back to Cooke, he adds, “How’d you get him here? Promise him homemade cookies or something?” Then he smirks.

  I’m speechless. Honest to God speechless. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. I recall him referring to me as ditzy not long ago, also insinuating that I’m not a useful bartender, and now what? I had to lure Cooke Thompson from England with baked goods? What the ever-loving fuck? “No, he came to support me.”

  Bryant snickers. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  I lean closer. “For your information, Kara assaulted me, then someone ran over my scooter and destroyed it, and my bedroom flooded with half a foot of water, ruining my textbooks and computer. He’s my friend. I was upset, and he came to see what he could do.”

  “So, he’s going to buy you a new scooter?” Honest to goodness, I don’t think he means it the way he said it, but it still pisses me off. I mean, why he didn’t lead with “What! Kara assaulted you?” I have no idea.

  “No,” I growl. “He’s here because he was worried about me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about any of that?” Now he looks affronted. “I would’ve helped.”

  “You’re dating Kara.”

  “Dating? I wouldn’t say dating.” He smirks again, and I want to punch him in the face.

  Stepping back from the bar, I pick up the bar rag and ask, “What can I get for you?” He still hasn’t asked me about the first thing I mentioned. He doesn’t care.

  “Busch Light, please.”

  “Glass or pitcher?”

  “Glass. I’ll bum some beer off the guys after that. Hopefully your friend Cooke is buying.”

  Wow, he’s a cheap-ass mooch too. “He’s not a frigging ATM,” I mutter to myself. Pouring his beer, I place it in front of him. “Three-fifty.”

  He pulls out a five and hands it to me. I ring him up and place his $1.50 on the bar. Usually, people leave at least the fifty cents on the bar. Not Bryant, though. He leaves nothing. “I’ll get ya next time,” he says with a wink and the pistol hand gesture.

  “Sure.” There won’t be a next time, since he’s planning on mooching off everyone else in the bar. “What did I ever see in that guy?”

  “No idea,” says Tayler. She must have snuck up on me.

  I roll my eyes. “How are you doing?” I’m worried about her. She and Dylan were inseparable going on four years. That’s a long time.

  “Good.” She leans closer to the bar. “We’re going to sit down and have a long-ass talk about all of this.” She uses her thumb to point behind her. “But right now, tell me how to get Luke Green’s attention.”

  “I have no idea. You know me. I’m the last person to dole out advice about a guy. Besides, you’re absolutely stunning.” Especially tonight. She’s wearing a short, tight dress in an emerald green color. It looks amazing with her deep red hair.

  “Introduce me, then.”

  I can do that. I head toward the kitchen and yell, “Luke.”

  “Yeah?” He steps out, wiping his hands on a towel. I wonder what
he was doing. No matter, he looks damn hot in jeans that fit him perfectly and a tight Cy’s Roost tee. His tattoos are peeking out of each sleeve, giving us a glimpse of some beautiful art.

  “I want to introduce you to my best friend. A best friend I will never give free drinks to.” Crossing my fingers, I add, “I promise.”

  He walks slowly up to the bar. “Does your beautiful friend have a name?”

  Beautiful friend? “She does. It’s—”

  “Tayler,” my best friend says, holding her hand out to him. “We’ve met, though.”

  “I know. You were here last Wednesday.” His voice just dropped an octave, I swear.

  “I… uh, yes, I was.”

  “You’ve also been here a number of times with a man.”

  I respond before she can. “Her ex. He cheated on her. Can you believe that?”

  “No.” Luke looks at her for a good long time. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

  “Right?” I say, then laugh. Neither of them is listening to me. As a matter of fact, Luke’s now leaning over the bar so far that if Tayler leaned in, they’d be kissing. “Welp, I guess I’ll move along.” I laugh again as I head off to help another customer. Peeking back at them, I see they’re now talking.

  Damn, matchmaking is fun.

  Surprisingly, Luke lets me leave early. He must have been grateful to me for the Tayler introduction or something. She left not long after they met. Knowing Tayler as long as I have, I suspect she wanted to leave him wanting more. Not only that, she’d want him to make the next move. Clever girl. Now we’ll have to wait and see.

  The party is still going strong when I grab my sweatshirt and purse. I catch Cooke’s attention and point at the door. As he follows me, the rugby guys slap him on the back, sad to see him go.

  “You’re all done, then?” he asks, taking my hand in his. It feels very natural to hold hands with Cooke Thompson. I should probably be wary of any feelings I have for this man, though.

  “Luke let me leave early.”

  “What shall we do now? The night is young.”

  It’s just past ten on a school night, but I’m not about to say a word about it being late. “We could….” I shrug. “What would you like to do?”

  “First, I want to see where you live. I’m feeling peckish, so after that, a bite would be lovely.”

  “Peckish?”

  “Yes, I’m hungry.”

  I could make him some ramen, but I’m afraid to bring it up. “Oh, okay.”

  Cooke leads me down the street to a sleek black sports car.

  “Nice ride.”

  “Aye. I’ve had a bloody time of it trying to drive on the wrong side of the road and sit on the opposite side of the car.”

  “I could drive.” Oh, please let me drive. I’ve never driven anything remotely as fancy as this thing is.

  “Be my guest.” He holds the driver’s side door open for me. When I sit down, I practically fall backward, he’s got the seat so far back. As I adjust it, Cooke walks around the car and slides into the passenger side. Once I’m set, I search for the key slot.

  “Press the button,” he explains.

  “Ooh, this is cool,” I say, admiring all the leather and faux wood details. There are so many buttons, lights, and other gadgets in this thing, I’m tempted to play for a few minutes before taking off, but he’s “peckish,” so we need to get a move on.

  I’ve got the uncontrollable urge to put the pedal to the metal on the main road, but I don’t need a ticket. Too bad.

  Before we know it, we’re at my house. It’s not perfect or even pretty, but it’s a solid house with lots of room for us. Pushing the shifter into Park, I smile, then turn to look at Cooke. “This is a sweet-ass ride.”

  It must have been a funny thing to say, because Cooke bursts with laughter. “It is indeed, love.” Taking my hand in his, he lifts it to his lips and kisses the top of it. I felt it through my entire body. It practically singed my skin, it was so electrifying. I’m staring at his face—well, his mouth, as it still sits about an inch from my hand. He slowly releases it and I sigh, wishing he’d do that again, but this time on my face in general, my mouth in particular. But that’s never going to happen.

  Reaching for the door handle, I find it and tug until it clicks. Then I push the door open. “Come on, I’ll show you my subterranean slumber chamber.”

  He chuckles as he steps out of his side of the car. “Spiders included.”

  “Well, they may have all died in the great flood of ’19.”

  Cooke holds his arm out, and I place my hand in his again. It’s becoming a habit already. One I like very much. God, it’s going to suck when this is over.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Bloody hell,” he says, pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth. He points to my shirt, but there’s no way I’m doing that. It’ll rise and show my secrets. And by secrets, I mean my belly that I’ve kept strategically hidden beneath lots of fabric. “That smell?” He points into the room. “It’s mold. Please tell me the landlord is going to remediate.”

  Remediate? “Um, I—”

  “Love. You can’t live down here with mold. It’s dangerous.”

  “I moved upstairs.” I grab his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you my new digs.” I pull him up the basement steps and through the kitchen, into the living room, to the stairs leading to the top floor. “See?” I point to my little area known as the niche.

  “Love.” Cooke’s face is scrunched up. “You can’t live like this.”

  “What’s wrong with it? It’s warm and dry.” And there aren’t any spiders to speak of. Well, there was one, but he was a little guy.

  “Darling.” He places one hand on each of my shoulders. “I can’t have you living like this.”

  “Huh?” What does he mean by that? “This is fine. The girls aren’t loud—well, very loud.”

  “Quinn.” Cooke bends down until we’re face-to-face. “I—”

  Just then, my stupid phone rings. I want to ignore it so I can hear what he was going to say, but he smiles and says, “Answer it.” He nods at the ringing phone. “Go on.”

  I quickly find the phone in my small purse. “Hello?” The second I know who it is, I add, “Oh, hi, Gage.”

  “Who’s Gage?” he mouths, frowning.

  Holding my hand over the phone, I tell Cooke, “It’s the police officer who’s looking into my scooter.”

  His frown is still there.

  Turning back to my phone call, I hear Gage say, “I have some news.”

  “You do? What?”

  “I was able to locate the person who damaged your scooter.”

  “Okay.” I wait, but he says nothing. “Can you tell me, or is it not allowed?”

  “It was Kara Becker.”

  I’m shocked, sort of. I suspected her, but in my mind, I didn’t think she would go that far. “Do you know for sure?”

  “Her vehicle had damage, and traces of paint from your multicolored scooter were on her car and most importantly, your helmet was jammed up between the frame and the muffler.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I were. She was adamant that she had nothing to do with it until we took her car in and got it up on a lift. Your pink helmet was right there.”

  I so want to ask if it was okay, but I think I know the answer. “So, what happens next?”

  “We’ve charged her with hit-and-run.”

  “Is that serious?”

  “Very. Leaving the scene of any accident is frowned upon by law enforcement.”

  “I doubt it was an accident.”

  “She claims it was.”

  I know different.

  “This combined with the other assault report filed, she’s in serious trouble. I’m going to need you to come in tomorrow to sign some papers.”

  “What time?”

  “It’s my day off, so just text me when you plan to come, and I’ll meet you here.”

  “Are you sure? It�
��s your day off.” I look up at Cooke, whose expression has turned from a frown to downright stormy.

  “It’s not a problem, Quinn. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Gage. Bye.”

  I press End and look up at Cooke. I’m going to ignore the flaring nostrils for just a second. “Kara is the one who ran over my scooter. Her car had my paint on it, and my helmet was caught up underneath it.” My poor helmet.

  “So, you call the police officer Gage?”

  That’s what he took from that. “He’s nice. A friend.”

  Cooke runs his palm over his face, then through his hair. “You have a lot of friends.”

  I smile because it’s a nice thing to say, but by the look on his face, he didn’t mean it like that. “I do.”

  “Men friends.”

  “I have both. Male and female friends.”

  “Are you sure they only want to be friends?”

  I snort. “Well, yeah. Nobody wants to be more than that with me.”

  “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  I roll my eyes to keep myself from tearing up. God, this is embarrassing. “Guys don’t like me… like that.” I shrug. “I get it. I’m not attractive to you… them.”

  “Quinn,” he says softly, his face changing from cranky to something much gentler. He steps closer to me, bringing his finger up to touch me right below my chin… chins. “Love.” With slight pressure, he pushes my face upward. “You’re bloody beautiful.” Then he does that thing I wished he’d do earlier. He kisses me. I close my eyes so I can really concentrate. His kiss is soft. Sweet. It’s just a brush of his lips over mine. I’d love to savor it, but it’s over before it started.

  I open my eyes. He’s still so close, I can see the color of his irises. They’re light brown, almost the color of his hair, but there are flecks of gray and green in them too. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before. “You have really pretty eyes.”

  Cooke chuckles. “So do you. They’re as blue as an azure sea.”

  “That blue, huh?” I giggle because I have no idea what that is. I’m definitely going to google “azure sea” the first chance I get.