Love Sex & Other Games: Part 3 (2 page)

THE PERSISTENCE OF COOPER FITZPATRICK

Emerson

“What’s wrong?” Evan asks the moment I take my usual seat in our shared sociology class. Though I barely looked in the mirror this morning, I know what he sees. Red, swollen eyes, dark bags, no makeup, and a messy bun. At least my outfit is okay. It’s the one I packed before… Well, just before.

Thankfully I found a friend to let me crash on her couch last night, but I didn’t get a lot of rest.

“Cooper and I are no longer seeing each other,” I explain just so I don’t have to hear him ask me again. I give him a tight smile. “But it’s…whatever.” I wave my hand, trying to sell it. But it’s not whatever. Not at all. I really liked him—the first person I’ve liked since Miles. I opened myself up to him in ways I’ve never done before. And it all came to a crashing halt.

“We should go out and get drunk,” Evan states, his gaze moving over my face. “Best thing for a breakup.”

“Thanks, but I don’t feel up to it yet.”

“That’s why you should do it. It will speed up the process.”

“I’m not twenty-one yet,” I remind him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t drink.”

“I’ll think about it. Not today, though. But maybe tomorrow or the next day. Getting drunk does sound nice right now.” It truly does. I just want this feeling to go away. If I can get that, even for a few short hours, I’ll take it.

“It’s a date,” Evan says, beaming at me.

Oh, awesome.

~*~

Cooper

Three days. I haven’t seen or heard from Emerson in three goddamn days and this shit is driving me crazy. I can’t get the image of her, soaking wet and eyes full of pain, out of my head. I know what she thinks she saw. I know it hurt her badly. And I know I can clear everything up in five seconds if she would. Just. Pick. Up. Her. Phone.

I even tried camping out on her doorstep. She never came home and I can’t stop worrying. If it weren’t for her occasional bland Facebook statuses—that give no hint as to where she is—I’d have reported her missing to the police two days ago.

Apparently she isn’t calling Rosie back either.

Or listening to voicemails.

Or reading any messages, tweets, or texts. Okay, I didn’t really tweet her. But I did direct message her on Twitter. And Facebook. I’ve also driven through the parking lot of her school, searching for her car. Emailed her. Tagged her in a picture on Instagram. A picture of me, looking miserable but still, of course, ruggedly handsome, holding a sign begging for her to pick up the phone.

Short of a smoke signal, I’m out of ideas. She’d probably just ignore them anyway.

Damn stubborn, obstinate, sexy woman.

In a moment of panic, I even texted Miles to see if she was with him, worried she might have used the situation to her advantage to claim what she’s always wanted. Or with the way she (mostly) misread the situation, I was terrified she would have thought Rosie left Miles and went to comfort him. And who knows what would have happened then. It occurred to me quickly that Em isn’t like that, and the alarm passed.

Miles didn’t think much of the text since Em is Rosie’s sister and all. Apparently Rosie hasn’t talked to Miles about her late-night visit to my house. It’s not my business, and I’m staying far,
far
away from that mess.

I go through the motion of cyber-stalking Emerson, my newest pastime, making my rounds through her social media. She’s tagged on Facebook. By Evan-Fucking-Mowery. Really, Ems? The douche-canoe? He checked in at a club not far from her campus. Twenty minutes ago.
Perfect
.

“Hey, man,” Dante says, answering his phone. “What’s up?”

“Change of plans for tonight. Meet me at Envy as soon as possible.”

“Envy?” he verifies. “Why the hell do you want to go to a college bar for?”

“To get my girl.”

~*~

Emerson

I’m three, maybe four sheets to the wind when Evan tips his double shot of Jack into my Coke. I’m not sure how many this is now. I’ve lost count. I’ve also lost my hair tie. “When did I take my ponytail down?”

Evan laughs, running a hand over my hair. “About two drinks ago. You said it was strangling your brain, remember?”

Vaguely. It sounds like something I’d say, at least.

Ev shrugs. “I like it this way. You rock the whole sexy-messy-do thing. It’s hot.”

“Thanks,” I say around my straw before taking a deep pull.

“Not that I don’t like the ponytail,” he continues, leaning in so I can hear him over the music—something made for dancing and not much else. “It shows off your neck.” He drags a finger down my throat, pushing a little too firmly and triggering my gag reflex.

I pull back, making sure I’m cool and not actually going to blow chunks all over our table. I wobble a little on my stool and Evan grasps my forearm, steadying me.

“You okay?”

I swallow down more Jack and Coke, nodding. “I’m good,” I assure him, blowing at a loose strand of hair that’s fallen in my face. “Just lamenting my hair tie.”

Without missing a beat, his hand is back, tucking that unruly chunk behind my ear. His fingers linger and if I weren’t five, maybe six sheets to the wind, my reflexes would be quicker to sidestep all these little gestures. I don’t like him touching me. Because…

He’s not Cooper.

The thought makes my heart ache, so I tongue the straw into my mouth and suck down more of my drink until I’m slurping air.

“Sounds like you need another,” he announces, attempting to signal a waitress making her rounds and I don’t argue. I
do
need another—I can still feel.

His hand drifts to my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze and I cringe. I don’t mean to, it’s reflexive, but Evan doesn’t seem to notice. He’s had a lot to drink tonight too. We’ll definitely need to take a cab home.

“Well imagine seeing you here,
Emmie
.” My entire body stiffens at the sound of Cooper’s voice. I know it’s him directly behind me without even looking. I pinch my eyes closed as if that will somehow hide me or transport me—in time or space, I don’t care which—but it doesn’t work.

When I force my lids open, he’s pulling a stool over to our table, pushing it right up against mine.

“You don’t mind if we join you, do you?”

We?

My head snaps to the other side, expecting to see Rosie and ready to protest, but my gaze lands on Dante’s chipper smile. He mirrors Cooper’s movements, sliding an empty stool over, crowding Evan’s personal space and squishing his way in between us.

“Well, actually—” Evan begins.

Cooper points at him, a murderous glint in his gaze. “Wasn’t asking you, Mowery.”

Evan glances at me, searching for assistance.

I narrow my eyes and swing back to glare at Coop. It might be slightly overly dramatic in my drunkenness, but I rock that shit anyway. “What are you doing here?”

“Last Friday of the month,” he clarifies. “Guys night out.”

“Well, don’t let us keep you from it.” My smile is tepid at best. It hurts to look at him. In all honesty, it’s almost torturous. My body wants to close those last couple of inches and wrap my arms around him. I want to breathe him in and pretend everything is okay.

But it’s not.

“I’m good here,” Dante chimes in. “Makes it a little party.” He shifts his attention to Evan, offering his hand. “I’m Dante, by the way. Who are you again?”

“This is Evan,” Cooper answers for him. “And if he tries to touch Em again, I’m going to break his fucking fingers.”

Dante nods. “I’m closer, I can do it.” His hand visibly crushes Evan’s, forcing him to jerk his arm back.

“Are you threatening me?” Evan seethes.

Cooper leans into the table, both arms nearly taking up the entire area as he invades Evan’s space, just as Dante is doing, only Cooper is more intimidating with the feral expression on his face as he stares Evan down. “Yes, I am threatening you. I want to be crystal clear,
Ev
. If you ever ply Emerson with alcohol and—or—put your hands anywhere in the vicinity of possibly grazing any part of her body again,
I will beat the living shit out of you
. This is the only warning you get.”

What. The hell.

That is either the most egotistical, misogynistic, arrogant bullshit I have ever seen…

Or the hottest.

I’m drunk, so my judgment is a little skewed at the moment. Should I smack him? Or climb on his lap and kiss him?

I honestly can’t decide.

~*~

Cooper

“I don’t think you get a say about that.” Evan spits. “You guys broke up.”

The hell we did. I tilt my head, meeting Em’s glassy gaze. “You told him we broke up?”

“We did.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Yes,” she hisses, “we
did
.”

“Who says?” I ask. It’s difficult to keep sitting here, with the douche-bucket right there watching, unable to just grab Em and kiss her until she’s ready to listen to me.

“I do.
I say
.”

“Okay, and
I
say we’re not.” I raise my brows. “You have to have a conversation in order to break up with someone.”

She squints, her mouth opening and closing multiple times. “You know,” I murmur close to her ear, “if you can’t figure out what to do with your mouth, I can offer you an idea.”

She shifts and we’re nose to nose.
Fuck
. Just an inch, maybe less, and I could bite down on her lip, draw it into my mouth, and suck on it. I’m not sure I’ve wanted anything this badly since the first time I kissed her.

“Cooper, please don’t,” she croaks.

My eyes flick back up to hers, wide and somber. “Ems, come outside and talk to me.”

She shakes her head gently. “I don’t want to talk. I can’t.”

“Then listen, damn it. Thirty seconds. That’s all I’m asking. You are making us both fucking miserable for no reason.”

“You’re miserable?” The astonishment in her voice pisses me off.

“Of course I’m miserable. You’ve been MIA for three fucking days, Emerson. You won’t give me the opportunity to explain anything.”

Apparently I should have stopped at ‘of course.’ Her nostrils flare, but instead of commenting on what just came out of my mouth, she focuses back on my previous statement. “No reason?” she mocks, her voice cutting out on the second word, her face pinking with anger.

Okay, anger’s good. At least she’s talking.

“I
saw
you. Half naked
with my sister
. What? She decide one brother isn’t enough, she needs both? And you, you just go right along with it? Both Fitzpatrick boys, letting her drag you around by your dicks—just like in high school when you’d both show up to take her to the dances. God, she’s married now, Cooper. How could you do that to Miles? I thought you were better than that. And how does your brother feel about sharing his wife? Which is funny, by the way, because I thought you didn’t share.”

Dante sucks air through his teeth. “Daaaamn. Round two—fight.” I ignore him, my own anger fueling me. She wants to do this here with an audience, then fine. Let’s do this.

“What you
saw
was an I-will-always-care-about-you-and-we-will-always-be-friends-but-nothing-more-because-I-have-deep-emotional-and-extremely-carnal-feelings-for-your-little-sister hug goodbye. I have no idea how my brother feels about that, nor do I give a shit. And the only person who can lead me around by my dick is you.”

“Your shirt was off,” she utters.

I throw my hands up in frustration. Did she not hear a word I just said? Like the part that I have feelings for her? “My shirt was soaking wet from the rain. It was off when she knocked my door, which I thought was going to be you or I would have found a new shirt before I let her in. Christ, Em. I turned her down. Because of you.”

She shivers and it takes everything in me not to pull her against me. We need to straighten this out ASAP and get to the making up part. If I can’t kiss her soon, I might completely lose my mind.

“Turned her down? She went there to—what? Ask you to
be with her
?”

I press my palms into my eyes. Why that question? I don’t want to tell her this part. It’s done and buried. But I’m not going to lie to her. Can’t I just kiss her?

“I don’t know,” I say. “It never got that far. She told me how she felt and I told her how I felt. About you.”