Games We Play (35 page)

He heard her shriek, and he laughed wickedly into the night, hoping he’d scared her, as he made his way back. There was only the light of the full moon to guide him. When he reached her, he flung her club to the ground and pulled her to him, his hands on her hips, drawing her close, his lips making a downward descent to meet hers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked when his lips broke away from hers. He lifted her legs, secured them around his waist, and laid her on the ground, gently, him on top.

“Working on your swing,” he said. She laughed and sighed. He was at her neck now, kissing her, both hands sliding under her skirt, up her legs.

“How is this working on my swing?” she asked.

“You’ll see.” His mouth was back on hers.

“Are you sure no one can see us?” When he pulled his lips away again, he slid them along the curve of her chin.

“I can barely see us,” he said, and she chuckled.

Thursday evening

“S
o you spend all of your time with your aunt. That’s nice, right?” Celeste said. She and Kendall were on the couch at Knit One, Purl Two supposedly knitting, but doing more talking than crafting.

“Not all of my time, but yes, a big chunk of it. The summer has been very enlightening,” Kendall said, and brought Celeste up to date on the things she and Myra had done so far.

“You like helping her?” Celeste asked.

“I do,” she said.

“She is very busy, and you hear nothing but good things about her,” Celeste said, glancing over at Mrs. Miller, who was busy chatting it up with her buddies. Unlike her and Kendall, their hands were keeping up with the speed of their conversation. “You could move here and help her, especially if you and Cooper get serious.”

“That’s a big if,” Kendall said.

“What are you and your aunt working on now?” Celeste asked.

“I’m going up to Austin again tomorrow to meet a friend. We’re helping her with a mobile home, and I need her to choose between two options. They promised to have it delivered here in a week.”

“We all need little help sometimes,” Celeste said.

“You need help?”

“No, I’m fine, working with Cooper and renting the house, trying to figure out what’s next for me.”

“What about your marriage?”

“Not sure what to do with that. I figured he would have divorced me by now. I’ve been saving, and when it’s enough, I guess I’ll have to be the one to start the proceedings.”

“I’m sorry, sounds like you don’t want a divorce.”

“That’s because I don’t. I’m still holding onto this small sliver of hope that maybe it won’t have to end.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants me to come back. He’s been calling me lately, telling me to come back, but I don’t think I should. We got off to a bad start in our marriage, and maybe we were doomed to fail because of it. And if I go back…” she said, her voice trailing off. “It’ll just be more of the same.”

“How long were you married?”

“Five years.”

“Do you think he loves you?”

“I don’t know, and how sad is that? He’s never said.”

“Not once during your marriage?”

“Not once.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kendall said.

“Me too,” Celeste said.

Friday night

Kendall sat on the lounger, wedged in between Cooper’s legs, reclining against his chest. They were sitting out on his deck relaxing, talking, and looking at the stars. Cooper liked jazz, so some jazz tune was playing in the background. It was near midnight, their agreed-upon meeting time.

She had skipped the bar part tonight. It had been packed, the Fourth of July festivities in full swing, and she hadn’t felt like dealing with the stares. Staring back had seemed like a good solution at first, but how long could you maintain the effort that went into glaring back at people? It ended up making her feel small, encouraging small people in their smallness. Great professorial behavior she was exhibiting; so she’d stopped.

“The co-op does quite a bit of business. Tonight was crazy crowded, but even without the holidays, you have to be profitable. You’re always full,” she said.

“The summer months are our best months. Business is steady up until winter. January and February are the weakest months, and that depends on the weather. You know Texas, winter some years, others not so much.”

“Some of the new customers aren’t always friendly. They give off a different energy, more mean and hateful, like your bud Jeremiah.”

“He is not my bud.”

“I know, it was meant as a joke. I know you’ve seen those people who’ve been hanging around the pub lately. They started showing up when Hank’s proposal came to town.”

“I’m not up to talking race relations, if that’s where you’re headed,” he said.

“What if you fought back against this Hank person? Have you ever thought about fighting back?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

“How do you know I’m not fighting back?”

“Are you? I can’t tell if you are. I know you have to hear what’s being said around you. Don’t you think you should do something about it?” she asked.

“Like what? What would you have me do?”

“I don’t know. You have power here. You have friends. You have influence. Use it. Even though you continue to deny having helped people, you could get the people you’ve worked with to support you, ask them to speak out on your behalf. Explain about your past to the town. You know, get out in front of it.”

“Nope.”

“No?” she asked.

“No,” he said, pushing her away from his chest so he could stand. She watched as he looked out over his yard. He was angry.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said. She watched as he walked into his home.

“Okay, maybe someone could use a little space,” she said out loud into the night, deciding to follow her own advice and sit it out, give him some breathing room. They hadn’t talked race relations since Jeremiah, and it was a sticky subject with him, she knew; she’d heard the stories. He was angry, and arguing with him wasn’t her goal. Avoiding an argument on race was so unlike her, but she’d didn’t want that wedge between them, especially if it was only a summer thing. Why get all angry…yeah, she was avoiding something important if they were going to be a more serious couple, but no need to get so way ahead of herself. So far, he’d stayed silent on the subject of them as a serious couple.

It was your typical Texan night in July. Hot and muggy with a side of small breeze blowing. She looked around his backyard, nice and neat, evidence of Coop being his usual organized and orderly self, except when he wasn’t, and she loved it when he wasn’t.

Before she knew it, fifteen minutes had passed. Perhaps she should go in and find him? He was back before she had to answer that question. He sat behind her again. He was still angry. She could feel the tension in his body after he pulled her back to lay on his chest again.

It was quiet between them for a while, the soft music playing in the background the only sound. Cooper blew out a breath before he started to talk.

“This town has to decide what it wants to be when it grows up. I know what I’d like it to be—a town that’s very different from the one my father and grandfather created,” he said.

She pulled away, looking over her shoulder at him as she listened. Yes, he was still angry, but was that frustration she read in his face, hurt?

“At some point it will have to decide for itself, without a Cooper getting into it one way or another. The people here will have to choose between the old way and the new one, and I need to know that they want what I want, and I need to know without having to ask them to choose. So no, I don’t feel the need to fight back. I’m going to sit this one out, see if anyone else shows up to fight this time.”

“Okay,” she said, and he pulled her to lie back against his chest again.

The last few weeks had been a struggle, listening to all those old voices. Of course he’d known. Of course he’d heard. That didn’t mean he had to react. If he reacted to every mean, hateful thing he ever heard, especially growing up, he’d be a basket case. He used to think it was up to him, that he had to get his dad to stop—it was what the fork in the road had been about. But there had been others living in this town, people who’d known what happened Friday nights at the golf course. Where had those folks been? How had they lived with what was happening there without trying to stop it? He’d been so angry afterwards.

Would people fight for change if he weren’t around to push for it? He’d like to know the answer to that question. It was important to him, given all he and Myra had done and wanted to continue to do. He wanted confirmation that he wasn’t alone in his wish for an inclusive and diverse town. So no, he wasn’t going to fight back this time. This was his line in the sand.

It had been a long couple of weeks with Hank and the Proctor boys stirring up trouble in town. Yes, it was getting old. Two and a half weeks remained before the committee meeting. He hoped he could make it, hoped he could contain his anger until then. More than once he had to talk himself down from the ledge of driving up to Austin and having it out with Hank in person. And he wasn’t ready to share all of that with Kendall. He just wasn’t. He’d been watching her at the bar, wanting to see how she handled the hate. He smiled, and felt himself relax at the thought of her. All fight was his professor.

“Hello,” Kendall said into the silence.

He squeezed her, his arms wrapped around her as she lay against his chest, an acknowledgement that he was back in the present.

“Tough week, huh?” she said.

“Try a couple of them, and yeah,” he said.

She turned to face him, then leaned down and kissed him. Hoped she could show him that he wasn’t alone in this and that he didn’t have to be. She loved being here, the two of them talking, playing around. She couldn’t get enough of it, and not just the sex part.…She was falling for Cooper the man, probably had been since the beginning.

“I think I might like your fiancée,” Kendall said after they broke apart, changing the subject.

“My ex-fiancée is what you meant to say,” Cooper said, chuckling.

“Right, your ex-fiancée. She seems so nice. She comes to the knitting sessions on Thursday evenings. She’s agreed to help me clean and decorate Sandy’s mobile home. Would it bother you if the two of us become friends?” she asked.

“If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”

“I used to watch her a lot in the beginning, especially after that beer tour,” she said, chuckling.

“She’s a hard worker, and that idea took some getting used to. She’s very different from the way she used to be, and that’s a good thing,” Cooper said.

“She misses her husband. Did you know him?”

“No.”

“Okay, new subject again. You up for it?” she asked.

“I am,” he said, chuckling. He liked the professor’s playful side.

“Did you know that 2012 was declared by the United Nations as the International Year of Cooperatives? They hope that it will become the fastest growing model of enterprise in the world.”

He laughed, surprised by that comment, by how out of the blue it was. It was sick that he was more than a little turned on by her smarts, her knowledge of the world. “How do you know that?”

“Who doesn’t?” she said, scoffing like she was offended. “The cooperative is an alternative business model to the one we Americans prefer—the profit-driven, board-leading variety. It’s a more equitable way to distribute wealth, more culturally and politically forward thinking, and it creates wealth for all, as opposed to the few owners and their board of directors. I love that you chose it as your business model,” she said, turning to face him again.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said, pleased by her words, by her.

“I’m a professor, so it’s my job to know things. Business models are part of what I teach. Cooperatives are important, particularly for countries that aren’t as developed as the US, third-world countries that need to grow, right? The world is changing, people all over are finding their voices and searching for systems that fit their needs,” she said, laughing now at how they’d gotten into this discussion.

“Like those coffee cooperatives in Rwanda,” he said, staring at her in that sexy way of his. “You’ve heard of it, right? It’s a country,” he said, smiling. Then he started to laugh, and she laughed too, ’cause it was way cool that she could talk to him about this stuff.

“What about it?” she said.

“Rwanda’s coffee cooperatives helped turn the country around after their civil war. It has given the small farmers a way to make a living, giving them more control over their products. The farmers there are producing and selling top-grade coffee now,” he said, still smiling. Then he chuckled, and he had no idea why, other than that he loved being here, talking with her about these and other business-related issues. It was soothing in a strange way, and it was helping him leave his worries about all the other stuff behind for a bit. “A lot like craft brewers, the owners of co-ops tend to be independent. Not all of them, but most wanted a connection with their community, the chance to produce a quality product. It’s not all about money.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “That’s so cool,” she said, and kissed him again, this one short and quick. “Talking business and sustainability is such a turn-on—it really gets my blood flowing,” she said, smiling. “You missed the fireworks display tonight,” she said, changing the subject again.

“I almost always do.”

“Well, tonight you don’t have to,” she said, standing up. “Stay put. I’ll be right back,” she said, and disappeared inside his home.

A few minutes later, she came back outside with two sparklers in one hand, a lighter and a small fire extinguisher tucked under the other arm.

He laughed, surprised again by her and by the gesture. He was touched.

“Don’t want to burn your house down,” she said, handing him the fire extinguisher. He watched her as she took a few steps into his backyard, lit her sparklers, and waved them around in the air, in time to the music that played in the background.