I slip past him, inhaling the comforting scent of Ivory soap and laundry detergent, as I step into the living room. To my left there’s an open staircase, and to my right are several oversized chairs and couches arranged around an enormous flat screen tv.
Typical.
Coop closes the door and heads for the back of the townhouse, where light spills through a wide entryway, casting shadows on the hardwood floor.
“Hungry?” He turns to glance over his shoulder. “I ordered pizza.”
“Sure.” I clear my throat. “I could probably eat a slice.”
Yeah, right. My stomach is so tangled up, I couldn’t force down pizza if I wanted to.
I trail him into the kitchen, which is surprisingly clean. There’s no clutter. No dirty dishes in the sink. The only thing on the granite counter is a bunch of bananas and a pizza box with paper plates and napkins stacked on top.
“What can I get you to drink?” He opens the fridge, giving me a glimpse of what has to be the most organized fridge on campus.Marie Kondo would be proud. “We’ve got beer, water, Powerade, orange juice, some weird green smoothie shit, and Coke.”
“Water is fine.”
He grabs two bottles of water and pushes the door shut.
“I didn’t take you for such a neat freak,” I say, leaning a hip against the counter.
“I’m not. That’s all Vaughn.” He flashes me a wicked grin. “Sometimes I move stuff around just to mess with him.”
Why am I not surprised?
Speaking of roommates. I glance around, straining my ears as Coop offers me the water.
I accept and twist off the top. “Where is everyone tonight?”
The townhouse is eerily quiet.
Or you’re being hypersensitive because you expect the worst.
Ugh. You know what’s the worst? My inner monologue.
“They’re out partying.” He shrugs. “Probably making the most of the bye week.”
Of course. Coop would be out living his best life if it weren’t for me.
He scoops up the pizza box and nods to the hall. “You wanna head up to my room? We can watch a movie or something while we eat.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest we eat in the kitchen, but that’s probably my nerves talking, so I nod and we make our way upstairs.
Coop’s room is at the back of the house and despite his claims that Vaughn is the neat freak, his room is spotless. There’s a computer desk by the window with a laptop and a stack of textbooks on top, but a queen-size bed with a gray and navy comforter takes up most of the room. The bed is flanked by a small, functional nightstand on one side—with Starlight Twinkle resting on top—and an ensuite bathroom on the other. A flatscreen tv hangs opposite the bed and there’s a bulletin board above the desk with articles and game schedules pinned to it, but there’s not much else to see aside from a Wildcat flag and a few ball caps hanging on hooks.
Definitely not what I expected from Cooper and his larger-than-life personality.
Because there’s nothing personal about it.
That’s when it hits me. There’s not a single picture to be found. Not of his family, his friends, or even the team.
It doesn’t matter. You aren’t here to get to know him.
At least, not in that way.
Anxiety fills my chest and I sink down on the edge of the bed, water bottle clutched in my hands.
This is a bad idea. We should’ve eaten in the kitchen. He’ll probably scald his mouth on hot cheese and then he’ll drop his pizza and the grease will burn his cock and—
