“My siblings are single. Did you know that?”
“Haven’t really kept tabs on them. All I know is Ford is leading the charge with the family business, and Palmer spends most of her time overseas, blogging about it.”
“That’s incredibly accurate,” he answers. “But my parents never bother to ask them why they’re not with anyone.”
“Do you think it’s because they don’t spend Friday nights in dive bars with Peggy and Martin?” I joke.
He chuckles. “Possibly.” He sips his drink, this time not downing it. “But what’s humiliating is that I think my parents believe I’ve got nothing going for me, that since I’m divorced, there’s no future for me. And they’re trying to make up for that.” He moves his hand across his jaw. “I think they see me as the loser son.”
“Oh my God, Cooper, you can’t possibly think that. I’ve known your parents for a good deal of my life, and they would never ever consider any of their children losers—despite the trials and tribulations they’ve been through.”
“Hearing you say that makes sense, but in here”—he taps his heart—“it doesn’t feel like that. They’re worried about me. They think the only thing that’s going to make me happy is being with someone.”
“Is it?”
He shakes his head. “No one, single individual should ever be responsible for someone else’s happiness. Your happiness is all dependent on you, no one else. Being with someone is not going to bring me happiness. Even if it’s the right person.”
“Well, that’s very enlightened,” I tease. “So, what will bring you happiness?”
He scratches his cheek. “Still trying to figure that out.”
“But you’re trying to figure it out . . .”
He nods. “I have some thoughts on the matter.”
“Then it seems like you’re not as bad off as you’re claiming to be, like maybe you’re just playing the Debbie Downer card for attention.”
“Excuse me?” he asks, brows raised, humor in his eyes. “You think I’m playing the Debbie Downer card?”
He’s playful. I always thought he was stiff, possibly unapproachable, when he was with Dealia. But seeing him here in the bar, whiskey in hand, a light tug on those sexy lips . . . I’m totally into this right now.
I uncross my legs and lean forward. Holding my hand out, I tick reasons off with my fingers. “You’re acting like, ‘Woe is me, my parents wanted to hang out with me tonight.’ You’re saying you’re humiliated. You say you think your parents think of you as a loser, but . . . lo and behold, you have a solution to all of that—you claim you’re creating your own happiness. So tell me, Cooper, which is it? Are you playing morose so you can pick up the ladies? Or are you truly in a devastated slump and attempting to get out of it? If it’s the former, I will tell you right now, any woman would find it more enticing to be set up by a pair of meddling parents than offer pity to a man who just wants some attention.” I fold my arms over my chest and hold back a smirk as he sits taller in his seat and blinks a few times.
God, that look, right there . . . he has no idea what to do with me, and I’m totally loving it.
Tonight is turning out to be so much more fun than I anticipated.
Chapter Five
COOPER
I’m not sure I’ve been this speechless . . . ever.
I always have a retort, a comeback. I pride myself on being quick on my feet.
But Nora just stumped me. I think she read me like a book—a book I had no idea I was even writing.
She’s fucking right.
I’m playing the morose asshole, the one that people get sick of rather quickly.
The Debbie Downer.
And that’s even more depressing than the idea of my parents acting as my wingmen.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Nora presses. I can see she’s trying to hold back her smile—it’s evident in the twitching of her lips and the devious glint in her eye.
How could I not remember this about Nora, her up-front personality? Her ability to tell it like it is. I don’t recall any instance where I’ve been subjected to such brutal honesty, and yet, it doesn’t bother me.
I actually find it thrilling, the way she’s calling me out. Dealia would always bottle everything up, until one day the bottle would burst and a litany of my faults would pour out of her mouth. It was a vicious cycle that only made me defensive, unable to listen to what she was trying to tell me.