It’s the first time I’ve vented all this out loud. The first time I’ve let anyone into this part of me. I mean, yeah, I’ve confided in Preston plenty of times, but not so unfiltered. The two of us come from the same sphere. It’s normal to him, and he has no complaints about his lot in life. And why would he? He’s a man. He gets to run the family empire someday. Me? I have to keep my aspirations on the down-low so my parents don’t realize I have no intention of being a quiet housewife when I finally grow out of “my teenage trifles.”
They think my websites are a complete waste of time. “A passing folly,” as my mother kept referring to it during the gap year I had to fight tooth and nail for. When I’d proudly told my dad that my bank account had officially reached seven figures, he’d scoffed. Said a million bucks was a drop in the bucket. Compared to the hundreds of millions his company nets every quarter, I suppose my earnings seem pitiful. But he could’ve at least pretended to be proud of me.
Cooper regards me in silence for several long beats. Then, as if a daydream evaporates in his mind, his intense eyes refocus on me. “Alright. I’ll grant you that having emotionally absent parents isn’t much better than physically absent ones.”
I laugh. “So where does that leave the scorecard in the tournament of childhood trauma?”
“Yeah, I’ve still got you beat by a mile, but you’re on the board.”
“Fair.”
We exchange knowing grins at the futility of such arguments. It wasn’t my intention to turn the discussion into a competition—I’d never make light of the pain Cooper has suffered—but I guess I was holding in a bit more frustration than I’d realized. It all sort of spilled out.
“Hey, you got any plans tonight?” he asks as he gets to his feet.
I hesitate. I should check with Preston, see if he’s doing anything with the guys tonight.
Instead, I say, “No.”
Because where Cooper’s concerned, my better judgment has gone to hell.
His gaze rakes over me in a way that elicits a hot shiver. “Good. I’m taking you out.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
COOPER
“I’ve always wanted to do one of these,” Mac says, grabbing my arm and tugging me toward some spinning monstrosity a hundred feet in the air.
Is this chick serious? I roll my eyes at her. “If I wanted to get dizzy and choke on my own vomit, I could do that on the ground.”
She spins on me, eyes wide and shining in the multicolored lights. “You’re not chicken, are you, Hartley?”
“Never,” I say, because the inability to back down from a challenge is one of my personality defects.
“Then put your money where your mouth is, chicken man.”
“You’re gonna regret that.” I warn, gesturing for her to lead the way.
The annual boardwalk festival is a highlight of the fall season in Avalon Bay. It’s supposed to commemorate the founding of the town or something, but really, it’s become an excuse to throw a party. Local restaurants bring out their food trucks and vendor stands, bars sling signature cocktails from carts, and midway games and carnival rides cram the boardwalk.
Evan and I used to smoke a bowl with our friends, get smashed, and jump from one ride to the next to see who lost their lunch first. Last couple of years, though, I guess we’ve gotten tired of it.
For some reason, I feel compelled to be the one to introduce Mac to the festival.
The boardwalk is crowded. Carnival jingles compete with live bands playing at three stages spread out through Old Town. The aromas of corn dogs and cotton candy, funnel cakes and turkey legs, waft on the breeze. After the Wave Flinger and Moon Shot, we go down the fifty-foot Avalanche slide and tackle the Gravity Well. All the way, Mac is skipping around with a huge grin on her face. Not an ounce of trepidation. She’s an adventurer, this one. I dig it.
“What next?” she asks as we’re recovering from her latest ride selection. I wouldn’t call myself a wimp, but the daredevil beside me is definitely giving me a run for my money.
“Can we do something chill?” I grumble. “Like, give me five seconds to readjust to gravity.”
She grins. “Something chill? Gee, Grandpa, like what? Should we sit quietly on the Ferris wheel or board that slow little train that goes through the Tunnel of Love?”
“If you’re going into the Tunnel of Love with your grandpa, then you’ve got a whole new set of problems we need to talk about.”
She flips up her middle finger. “How about a cotton candy break, then?”