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He looks over at me. “I have not.”
“You have. Ever since the night your parents brought up the postnuptial agreement. I thought we were okay.”
He sighs and then threads his fingers through his hair. “We are. I just…I just hate it.”
“Hate what?”
“Hate that you feel like you have to sign that shit. It just feels wrong. I didn’t go into this not trusting you.”
“I mean, we didn’t know one another when we got married, so it’s fine if you didn’t. I know that it took time for me to trust you. I was skeptical about you when this first started.”
Coop seems agitated by this, and I fear I’ve made this worse, always sticking my foot in my mouth. But then he chuckles lowly. “I mean, I get it. I admit, I did worry for a hot minute there that you were marrying me to take me to the cleaners.”
“No. I don’t want your money. I really don’t.”
“I know that,” he says and then snuggles into my side. “I know you don’t. I hate that my parents said all that. It makes me angry at them, and I haven’t been in ages.”
I lean up and kiss him, reassuring him with my mouth that it’s all okay. That I’m fine, that I don’t mind signing anything for his peace of mind, for his parents.
“Let me put your parents’ minds at ease. I want them to like me, Cooper. I want them to support us.”
He sighs and then nods, telling me that he’ll make an appointment with his lawyers first thing.
But the tension between us has been soothed, the distance between us evaporating with my reassurance. I don’t want something as silly as my signature on some paperwork to come between us.
We’re more important than that.
On Friday, he picks me up from work and drives me to his lawyers’ office, a fancy place in Laguna Hills with views of the ocean and leather furniture. It’s there that I’m handed the postnuptial paperwork, the lawyers droning on and on about what this means for me and for Coop.
I’m barely listening, just watching as Coop glowers and makes snarky comments to anyone who will listen, but I hope it’s one step closer to making a good impression with his parents. And with him as well. I don’t want him thinking that I’m in this for the wrong reasons.
I may not know what the hell I’m doing, but I want whatever Coop is willing to give me. Anything except money.
I don’t want any of that.
“Are you okay?” I ask as soon as we’re done and walking out of the offices.
Coop scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m fine.”
“Coop,” I say, but he just purses his lips and heads to his car, not even linking his arm with mine.
“It’s fine, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But we should. We should talk about it.”
He stops and turns toward me, his hands on his hips. He looks angry and fiery, and it only makes me want to kiss him more.
“Fine, you want to talk about it, let’s talk.”
He glowers at me and I cock my head, trying like hell not to laugh. I should definitely not laugh. He’s upset, but fuck, he’s so cute.
“Can I kiss you?” I blurt and his body stutters, the anger on his face slowly dissipating.
“Yes, you’re allowed,” he says very snobbishly, but it doesn’t deter me. I just step into his space, angle his jaw up, and then press my lips to his.
He melts into me, his hands grabbing on my shoulders as he holds me against him. The past few days we’ve done nothing but cuddle and kiss, even blow jobs haven’t been initiated by him or me.
We don’t need it.
