Bedhead: A Romance

by Kayt Miller

  “Quinn,” Cooke growls. “Please stop.”

  “What?” I giggle. “He is.” I’m sort of hoping I get another passionate kiss against the car. Before I can get there, Gage calls my name from the front door of the police station. I look at Cooke and hold one finger up to let him know to wait. I walk quickly over to Gage, who’s holding the door open with his body.

  “Yeah?” I smile brightly.

  He looks down at me. No smile on his handsome face, he asks softly, “Are you happy, Quinn?”

  Why do I get the sense that his question holds more meaning than it seems? “I am. Very.”

  Gage nods, then pats my shoulder. “Good. You deserve to be happy, Quinn.”

  “Thanks.” I smile again. “So do you, Gage.”

  “I know. I hope to be. Someday.”

  Oh, geesh. Why does that sound so sad? Not knowing what to say next, I turn and wave. “Talk to you later, Gage.” I can’t say goodbye. It’s not in my DNA.

  “Sure,” he says with a small smile.

  When I get to his sleek sports car, Cooke’s standing on the passenger side, holding the door for me. He doesn’t kiss me, but his expression tells me he wants to know what that was all about.

  “We’re all set,” I chirp.

  While I was hoping to get that passionate kiss at the door, I’m glad he waits until we’re in the car this time. When he pulls me in, he kisses me like I’m water and he’s been in the desert for days.

  “Wow,” I say, sitting back in my seat. I had been nearly over the center console in my attempt to get closer.

  “‘Wow’ is a good word for it.” Cooke smiles. “Now, off to rugby,” he says as he starts the car. “Do you know where they practice?”

  “Uh… no.” I pull out my phone. “I’ll send a text to Dan and ask.” In seconds, I get his response. “Southwest Athletic Complex.” I know where that is. “It’s about a block from Cy’s. Turn right here.” I point in the direction I want him to go.

  In no time, we’re pulling up to a large grassy area filled with the same big guys Cooke met last night. The second we stop, all eyes turn to the fancy car. Bull’s the first one to head our way, followed by the rest of the guys. “Cooke!” he shouts. When he reaches us, he’s panting. “Mr. Thompson. Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem.” Cooke reaches behind his seat and pulls out what looks like tennis shoes. “I brought my trainers if you want me out on the pitch with you.”

  “Hell yeah.” Bull is outwardly giddy. I want to laugh, but I’d better not ruin his moment with Cooke.

  I find a spot to sit off to the side near a small group of bystanders. I make eye contact with an older man, who gives me a smile. I smile back. With the same smile still on my lips, I look at a young woman, about my age or maybe a little older, but her face isn’t as friendly. Choosing to ignore her, I turn back to the action on the pitch.

  After an hour, I have two things: a much better understanding of the game of rugby and a sore ass. Sitting on the ground for most of it hasn’t been fun. Even though I haven’t watched the team play before, I can tell Cooke’s advice is really helping them. The coach has been right in the mix as well, listening to Cooke as he shares some of his expertise. At one point, I watch as Cooke and two other guys move to the far end of the field. From the numbers on their tees, I see the number 10. That means they play the fly-half position, the same as Cooke. He spends a good twenty minutes with just them, and I can see from my grassy spot that they’re eating it up.

  When it’s time to go, Cooke slaps the 10s on the back and shakes hands with the rest of the guys. Well, everyone but Bull. Nope. Bull gets a hug. A big slappy man-hug. I swear the big guy has tears in his eyes.

  “Thanks, lads,” Cooke says as he makes his way toward me. Turning at the last minute, he waves one more time. Then, taking my hand in his, he leads me over to the car, unlocking it with the key fob on the way.

  “Wait!” We turn and see Bull jogging toward us. When he gets there, he wraps me up in his arms. “You’re the bomb, Quinn.”

  I giggle. “Thanks, Bull.”

  He turns to Cooke. “This is the best day of my life, Mr. Thompson. Hands down. Thank you so much for taking the time to visit us.” His eyes are glistening. I was right.

  Thanks, mate.” Cooke pats Bull’s shoulder. “I appreciate that. Quinn has your number. I’ll let you know when I’m coming back.”

  He’s coming back? When?

  “Cool.” Bull nods, then looks at me. “Very cool.”

  And it is. It’s all very cool.

  Cooke is coming back.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “That was delicious,” Cooke says, patting his hard, flat stomach. “I could get used to American food.”

  “It was.” Even though I hardly ate, which is saying something, because I took Cooke to the most popular restaurant in Ames, Hickory Park. There are usually lines out the door to get into the place, but we went late enough that a lot of the rush was over. Not even Hickory Park’s dessert was tempting. Probably because I’ve got nervous jitters—or maybe I should call it anticipation for spending the night with Cooke again. There are so many thoughts rolling around in my head. The fact that he’s leaving in the morning is the main thing. I’m already sad about it.

  But what about when we get back? Will he want to have sex? Will I want to have sex? Yes, I do. I knew I’d been holding on to my virginity for a reason. A special reason. And there’s nobody more special than Cooke, and I can’t fathom there ever will be again. Sure, I used to think Eric Mackey back in high school was the one, and let’s not forget Bryant. In retrospect, I’m so glad it was neither of those guys. Nope. Cooke is the one in so many ways.

  “Love?”

  “Huh?” I look over at Cooke, who’s chuckling. “What?”

  “I’ve been talking to you for several minutes. Are you daydreaming?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Oh, wow. I can’t tell him my thoughts. “I’m already sad you’re leaving tomorrow.” That’s true.

  His face suddenly sad, he says, “I am as well, love.” Reaching out, he takes my hand in his. His thumb slides over my wrist, and I want to close my eyes to memorize the feeling. “You should come to London.”

  I open my eyes and look at him. “That’s….” An amazing idea. Unbelievable. And impossible. “I can’t.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Gah, I love his accent. Just the word “not” sounds so cool. He emphasized the t, and it’s adorable.

  “For one, I’ve got a job now.”

  “That’s an easy fix. Ask for leave.”

  I roll my eyes inside. “Two, I don’t have the money.”

  “I’d buy your—”

  “No.”

  “Yes. I’d buy your ticket. You have a free place to stay and free transportation. All you’d need is a little bit of cash for trinkets for your mates.”

  Okay, I’m going to call his bluff. “When? Because I’ve got school—”

  “At the end of term.”

  “Christmas?” What about my family? Christmas with them is my favorite time of year.

  “How much time after the term ends before Christmas?”

  I pull out my phone and look for the college calendar. “Um, there’s a week between finals week and Christmas. There’s also time after Christmas.” I look up at him. “Do you do anything for New Year’s Eve?” I’ve never gone to a New Year’s Eve party. I never saw the point. I wasn’t going to get that kiss at midnight, so why put myself through that?

  “Aye. My mates and I usually do something.” He turns his head to look at me and smiles. “But that would work for me.”

  “I just—”

  “Just think about it. We can talk about it next week. Let’s just enjoy the little bit of time we have left on this visit.”

  “Okay. Sure.” He’s right. There’s no use fretting over that now.

  “Good. Now, let’s hea
d back to the hotel, shall we?”

  Oh wow. This is it. It’s happening. “Sure.”

  Cooke chuckles, and it’s warm and rumbly. I like it.

  “Shall we watch some telly?”

  Telly? He’s pointing to the flat-screen. “Oh, television. Sure.” I sort of wish he’d ravage me instead of wanting to watch TV, but what am I supposed to do, jump his bones?

  Cooke flops down onto the sofa in the living room and pats the seat next to him. “Come. I’ll let you choose what we watch.”

  “A movie?” I step across the room and sit down, leaving about a foot between us. I’m just not sure what’s going on. Last night he couldn’t wait to kiss me. Heck, he had me against the door, for goodness’ sake.

  “If you’d like.”

  I can’t figure out from that if he wants to watch a movie or not. I mean, if he doesn’t, he would’ve said, right? Leaning forward, I pick up the remote. I find the page with the channel guide and hit the option that says Premium Movies. I blush when I see the first option: porn. I quickly move the selection arrow down to New Releases.

  “No porn, love?”

  I don’t turn my head, but I do side-eye him. “Do you want to watch porn?”

  “I’d love to watch porn.”

  Now I turn to face him. When he starts to laugh, I want to throttle him. “Funny. Ha ha.”

  “I’m not joking. I love some good naughty secretary porn.”

  God, my face is on fire. “You do?” I squeak, because gah!

  “What’s not to like?” He shrugs. “You have your domineering boss and the secretary that keeps fumbling at her job. She gets her little bottom swatted, and the rest… well, it’s hot.”

  I’m speechless. Literally and utterly speechless. And do you want to know why? Because it does sound hot. Gah! Again. I’m a pervert, but so is he.

  Doing my best to gain whatever semblance of control I have, I shrug. “That sounds good, but I think I’d prefer to watch something more mainstream.”

  “Ah, of course. Like delivery man porn?”

  I laugh as I reach out and swat his big arm. “Stop teasing me.”

  “I never joke about porn, love.”

  It’s stressful choosing a movie for someone you don’t know all that well. We’ve never talked about movies or music or anything like that.

  Ignoring his last statement, I click on a new release, Captain Marvel, one I hope he likes. I wanted to see it in the theaters, but it’s expensive. I mean, by the time you buy popcorn, you’ve dropped thirty bucks. “How’s this?” I nod toward the television. “I mean, it’s not MILF porn, but it’s okay.”

  When he throws his head back to laugh and hits it on the wall behind the sofa, I lose my shit. I laugh so damn hard I nearly pee myself. When I take a breath, I see he’s now slumped over his legs, his body still vibrating with laughter, but he gets out, “Oh, bloody hell, woman.” He sits up and covers his face with both of his hands, trying to get himself under control. “Quinn, love, you’re hilarious.”

  That makes me smile as I wipe the wetness from my eyes. Yep, I laughed so hard, I cried.

  Cooke bends forward and reaches for me at the same time. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into a hug. “Come ’ere, Quinn. Sit close.”

  So I do. I scoot over and lean back until my head sits perfectly between his arm and chest. No place I’ve ever been has felt so good.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I must’ve dozed off. I wake up blinking, still in Cooke’s arms, but the television is off and it’s dark outside.

  “Why’d you let me sleep?” I whine, because damn it, we’ve only got this one night.

  “You conked out as soon as the movie started. You looked like an angel. I didn’t want to wake you. But we need to go. I want to take you somewhere.”

  “We’ll be back, right?” I want to sleep in his bed. “You’re not taking me home yet, right?”

  Cooke kisses me softly. “No, of course not.”

  Thank God.

  Cooke takes my hand and leads me out of the room, down the hallway, into the elevator, and out to the first floor, then his car.

  “Where are we going?” I mean, it’s late.

  “You’ll see. Stop asking,” he says giving me a quick kiss on my cheek.

  “Fine.”

  Once we’re in the car, I pay close attention to the direction he’s going. When he pulls his car onto the road that leads around the Memorial Union, I ask, “Are we going to the Campanile?”

  “Of course. I can’t let anyone else kiss my girl at the stroke of midnight under that thing, now can I?”

  I shake my head. I can’t speak. I’m getting choked up because, honest to God, I never thought I’d ever get a kiss there, at any time.

  Cooke finds a spot right in front of the Campanile, because of course he does. I pull the handle and start to push the door open when he appears at my side. “Milady,” he says with a bow. My goodness, the man makes me giggle.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” I do my best English accent, but it sounds more like… well, not like an English accent. I’m sure I’m red from embarrassment, but it’s dark, so who cares? Speaking normally, I ask, “What time is it?”

  “We’ve got five minutes until midnight.”

  “Just in time.”

  Cooke pulls me along until we’re in front of the clock tower. “Now what?” he asks, looking down at me.

  I point to one of the four archways at the base of the tower. “I think we go inside, underneath, to, uh, to kiss.”

  We both walk through the closest archway and wait, still holding hands. “Two minutes,” Cooke says, moving closer. Pulling his hand from mine, he wraps both around me, tugging me closer. “Are you ready, love?”

  “I am.”

  We stare into each other’s eyes as time ticks away. Just as Cooke starts to lower his head, the clock tower starts to gong. And by gong, I mean G-O-N-G. It’s loud!

  “Bloody hell,” Cooke says, placing his hands over his ears. “Fecking hell.”

  Covering my own ears, I start to laugh. I think I know why this is such a big deal. If you can endure the bell enough for a kiss, you deserve to be a true Iowa Stater. Cooke bends and kisses me so fast, I nearly miss it. The next thing I know, I’m being dragged away from the bonging, and then we’re running to the car. “Get in,” Cooke yells.

  I quickly open my door and jump in, slamming the door as I go. “Oh my God.” I’m still laughing as Cooke slams his too.

  “I may never hear again. I’ll need to see an audiologist when I get home.”

  I wish I could tell you Cooke was laughing. He wasn’t. On the contrary, he looks very angry.

  “Cooke, I had no idea.”

  He takes a minute and does some deep breathing before he answers. “I could tell. You were just as shocked as I was, Quinn.”

  My voice sounds small, weak, as I say, “I’m really sorry.”

  He finally smiles. It’s a small one, but that’s something. “No need to be sorry, Quinn.”

  He’s saying all the right things, but I can’t help but worry. We’re quiet on the ride back to the hotel. Maybe it’s because our ears are still ringing.

  I hope that’s the reason.

  The quiet continues all the way up to the room. Once inside, Cooke offers me the first shot at the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth and hair, then I change into his jersey. I’m out in less than half the time as the night before. When I step out, Cooke’s sitting on his bed, typing something on his phone. Afraid to disturb him, I clear my throat. “I’m done.”

  He stands up then, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “I’m going to hop into the shower, love. Out in a jiff.”

  I swear he hasn’t looked me in the eye since the Campanile. I must have really screwed up. In my defense, though, I had no idea we were even going there. I do my absolute best to gird my emotions by sliding into bed, the same side as last night. At first, I lie facing the bathroom door, but ogling him the second he
walks out of the bathroom is kind of creepy. Then I roll onto my back, but I’m not a back sleeper, so it feels uncomfortable. I finally decide on facing the opposite direction of the bathroom, which doesn’t work either because it’s like I’m giving him my back. When none of the others work, I push myself up to sit with my back against the headboard. I can look wherever I want this way.

  “Damn,” I mumble. I wish I had my phone. I could pretend I’m doing something like checking messages or reading. I scan the room for my purse, but it’s not in the bedroom. “I left it on the table.”

  “What did you leave on the table?”

  “Oh.” Shit. “My phone.”

  “Shall I fetch it?”

  It’s then that I finally look up. And I gasp. I’m speechless because Cooke’s out of the shower, water droplets still clinging to his beautiful chest and arms. But that’s not the part that leaves me mute. It’s the little white towel he has wrapped around his waist. The wet and almost transparent white towel.

  “Quinn?”

  “Huh?” I realize I’m staring then. “What?”

  Cooke walks over to me slowly. “Are you ogling me?”

  “Yes. I’m definitely ogling you.” As a matter of fact, I used that exact word in my head a minute ago. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Love,” he whispers. Sitting next to me on the bed, he places his palm on my cheek. “Are you okay after the bells? I feel bloody awful I took you there.”

  “No.” I’m so surprised at his words. “I’m sorry. I had no idea they did that.”

  “I was attempting to be romantic and I failed. Epically.”

  “No, Cooke. I loved it.” I stare into his pretty gold-green eyes. “I really loved it.”

  With his hand now on the back of my neck, Cooke scoots closer—close enough to kiss me. It’s soft and tentative at first, but it quickly escalates to something frantic and hot. My god, this it hot. Doing my best to get closer to him, I kick away the sheet and blanket from my legs, and I’m up on my knees and wrapped around him in moments. I push his shoulders back until he’s lying down, I lean down, kissing him back just as frantically.