The Love of My Afterlife(63)
“Like, incapacitated or something, would—”
Cooper leans back, an amused twitch lifting the corner of his mouth. “Why on earth would you be incapacitated, Delphie?”
I tut. “It’s hypothetical, okay? I just want to know that if anything should happen to me, then someone will take care of Mr. Yoon.”
Cooper fixes his gaze onto mine as if he’s trying to get a peek inside my brain. “You really care about him, don’t you?”
I look away and take another large sip of my martini. “I just want him to be, you know, looked after.”
“Okay. In the unlikely event of your incapacitation, I solemnly swear to make sure Mr. Yoon is taken care of. Of course.”
I meet Cooper’s eyes again, relief and vodka warming my limbs. “Really? You will? I mean…You would? In the, uh, unlikely event of my—”
“Mr. Yoon will be fine,” he cuts in. “It’s cool that he has you to look out for him.”
My shoulders unclench, although not as much as I might hope they would, given Cooper’s promise that Mr. Yoon will be looked after without me. The simple fact is that I’ve got three days left on Earth and I’m stuck with my admittedly not-quite-so-despicable neighbour instead of kissing my literal soulmate who has the power to save my life.
But then what would I be doing on my last three days alive if I weren’t in this situation? If I hadn’t been sent on this ridiculous mission by Merritt? I’d probably be at home in the flat I was born in. Staring at my latest sketchbook-and-pencils purchase, inventing any reason to avoid actually using them. I’d be watching true crime documentaries about innocent women being taken in by those they loved—a genre of which there is a depressing amount of content to choose from. I’d be seeing Mr. Yoon, of course. I’d go to work, probably still avoiding talking to Leanne and Jan beyond surface-level work bullshit. But mostly, I’d be on my own. Hiding. And my life would just roll on in a series of “typical days,” just like on Merritt’s DVD. There’d probably not be many more worst moments. But there definitely wouldn’t be any best moments either.
It hits me like a kick to the stomach.
I’ve wasted it.
I’ve wasted my life.
I excuse myself and take my phone to the ladies’ room to call Mum.
There’s no answer.
31
“No, no, nope. Absolutely not.”
The bartender looks around the pub, helpless. I follow his gaze, astonished that it seems to have filled up with people while me and Cooper were drinking in the corner. “I didn’t expect it to get so busy,” he says. “An oddly large amount of people got caught in the rain and nearly all of them wanted rooms. Are you two not a couple?”
“No,” Cooper declares.
“Absolutely not,” I say at the same time. “Hence why we asked for two rooms.”
The barman shrugs. “You’ll just have to share. The others have already paid now.”
“Damn it.”
Cooper suddenly chuckles.
“You think this is funny?” I cross my arms.
“This reminds me of…” He catches my fury and doesn’t finish. “Nothing. Don’t worry. It’s a double bed. We’ll top and tail.”
This situation could not get any worse.
“It’s a small double, yes,” the barman says with an apologetic cringe.
I stare hard at Cooper. “I’m not about to be that cowbag who makes you sleep on the floor, but you better not touch me, pal.”
Cooper takes a step forward so that his chest is almost touching mine. His gaze travels across my hair, then my eyes and nose, resting on my lips for a moment, before he meets my eyes again, a slight smile briefly crossing his face. “Not even if you begged me to, Delphie.”
The barman is grinning, looking between us, but stops when I give him my iciest glare. I hold my hand out for the key, which he plonks into my palm.
Inside the room I immediately see that “small double” was a generous description. This bed is barely bigger than a single. The decor is nice at least—fresh white cotton sheets and pretty silvery damask wallpaper. If I were alone, I’d be quite pleased at the thought of spending an evening in here. But I’m not alone.
“Shall I shower first, or you?” I ask, grimacing at my dirty feet and the still-wet dress which, while perfect for a fancy party, is going to be hellish to try to sleep in. I open the wardrobe, pleased to see a few extra sheets in there. I’ll just wrap myself up in one of those as a makeshift nightie, and then I won’t be in danger of scratching my eye out with an errant feather.
“Actually you go first,” I say. “I need to take my braids out.”
Without a word, Cooper disappears into the bathroom. I hear the hiss of the shower, clouds of fragrant steam billowing out from beneath the door. I get an unsolicited image of him in there. Ugh. The steam is making the room even warmer. I open the window. It takes three yanks to get the stiff handle to loosen.
I organise the pillows so that there’s one at each end of the bed, and then perch gingerly on the edge and wait impatiently for him to finish so I can wash this whole day off. When Cooper eventually emerges in a haze of steam, a towel slung around his hips, I gulp like a nervous cartoon character. His arms are huge and strong looking, and his torso is as muscled as I suspected, still glistening with water droplets from the shower. I’ve never seen a naked man up close and, oh holy heck, it’s disorienting. How can someone with the face of a surly English professor casually have the body of a Dothraki? I wonder what it must be like to wander through life knowing you had all that beneath your clothes. I bet that’s why he has so many women buzzing around his place—he wants someone to show off to, probably. I tut.