The Shippers(23)

He kept me clamped against him as he greeted my parents.

He was messing up my blowout. Monster!

“Cooper! Let go! Cooper!” I protested. Then, appealing to a higher power: “Mom! He’s messing up my hair!”

But I guess my mom was just as mesmerized as the rest of us.

“Cooper,” she said. “Were your eyes always this blue?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cooper replied.

Now I was thrashing around like a caught sailfish—but to no avail.

Cooper was bigger than he used to be.

“Where’s JoJo?” Cooper asked next, like he had no idea he had me in a headlock.

My parents thought this was hilarious.

“She should be around here somewhere,” my dad said, playing along.

“She’s not playing hooky, is she?” Cooper asked, clamping me tighter as I kicked at his leg.

“She wouldn’t dare,” my mother said.

Finally, I landed a good jab to the shin, and when Cooper flinched, I was able to bite him on the hip.

“Ow!” Cooper said, like I’d attacked him for no reason.

He released me, and I stood up, indignant—and then I punched him in the stomach.

“JoJo!” my mother scolded as Cooper doubled over.

But he recovered fast and stood back up straight to say, in my defense, “That’s our standard greeting, Mrs. Burton.”

I tried to give him a withering glare, but Cooper just started laughing.

“You look exactly like a rooster right now,” he said, reaching for his phone.

“Don’t take my picture,” I said, well aware of how ridiculous I sounded. “And don’t call me a rooster.”

Cooper shrugged. “Stop looking like a rooster and I’ll stop calling you a rooster.”

I flipped Cooper off and turned to my mother. “How could you let him mess up my hair? This blowout cost a hundred bucks!”

“Did it?” my mom said, wincing like I’d made a bad financial choice.

“It was an investment in my future,” I said, slugging at Cooper’s midsection again.

He darted back, and I missed.

That’s when Ashley and Brody showed up wearing matching T-shirts that read, in big scripty letters with arrows pointing at each other, I’M WITH MR. and I’M WITH MRS.

Cooper stepped forward to give the bride a civilized hug.

“Ashley doesn’t get a headlock?” I demanded, finger-combing my hair back into place.

“That’s our thing,” Cooper stated. “Plus, Ashley’s a grown-up.”

“We’re so glad you could make it,” Ashley told Cooper, grown-upishly.

“Me, too,” Cooper said.

Brody was older and hadn’t known Cooper in high school. He squinted, trying to figure out exactly who Cooper was. “Are you”—Brody glanced my way without making eye contact—“JoJo’s childhood bestie?”

“That’s me,” Cooper said, sounding oddly proud.

“That’s a tough job,” Brody said, like we could all agree I was a real pain in the ass.

But Cooper just gave me an affectionate look and said, “Yeah, but somebody had to do it.”

“The word in the family,” Brody went on, “is that you’re the only guy she’s never dumped.”

Oh, god. This again. “Cooper and I never dated, Brody,” I said, not hiding my annoyance. “So I never got a chance to dump him, did I?”

Cooper gave me a sly smile. “Missed opportunity.”

I was still mad about the rooster thing. “I’ll say.”

Ashley leaned toward Cooper, gesturing at Brody to explain: “Brody and JoJo dated in high school. Briefly. For like a week. But they never even kissed before she dumped him.”

“I remember,” Cooper said. Then he looked at Brody. “Still mad about it, huh, buddy?”

God. Where was my EJECT button?

Then I had an idea. “Hey,” I said to Cooper. “You aren’t trying to cut the line, are you?”

Cooper looked around. “I was just saying hi.”

But I was already rolling my suitcase his way. “Come on, pal,” I said, tugging on his arm until he grabbed his bag and followed me. “No cutting. Let’s move. All the way to the back.”





Nine


AT THE BACK of the line, where I intended to stay, I couldn’t stop staring at Cooper.

“What the hell did you do to yourself?” I asked, peering at him. “Last time I saw you, you were feral. And now you’re some kind of English lord?”

Cooper smiled and looked down.

My tone was pure outrage. “And not some old, fat, snaggletoothed English lord, either! A hot English lord!”

Now Cooper gave me a look like I was irresistibly absurd. “My apologies.”

“What’s with the pectoral muscles?” I asked, poking one with my finger. “You can see them through the vest.”

“Hey,” Cooper said, covering his chest protectively.

“And who told you to roll your shirtsleeves back like this?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

We both looked down. You could see everything below the elbow. Specifically, Cooper’s muscled, smooth, tauntingly naked forearms.