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I refuse to lean into him. Refuse.
A moment later, the doors open, leading into the hotel lobby, the bright light from outside forcing me to put on my sunglasses. Really, they should know better. The lights should be dim, goddamnit. People here have been imbibing all night long.
Coop is still on his phone, scrolling endlessly until we step outside. He pauses as soon as we do, his hand landing on my arm, and I can feel the burn of it zing up to my chest.
I don’t pull away though. I should, but I don’t. This is a recurring theme in my life and I don’t know how to stop the cycle.
“Oh, I found one. There’s a coffee shop two blocks away. Has good reviews. Sound good?”
I don’t give a fuck. “Sure.”
He nods and his hand slips from me, pressing against my lower back once more.
I should step away and force his fingers off me, but I don’t—just let him guide me through the crowds until we’re in line at a small coffee shop, the scent of roasted beans infiltrating my senses. It’s warm inside the small, cramped space, and I feel myself start to sweat.
“What do you want?” Coop asks. “Let me guess.” His hand slides up my spine and cups my neck. A shiver pulses through me despite the heat. “A black coffee because you’re a man.”
“No. Because I’m poor,” I retort, hating that I just admitted my truth to him. No one knows how bad it is. Not even Max. I haven’t breathed a word to anyone.
“Oh, well luckily what’s mine is yours, husband. You can get whatever your straight little heart desires.”
“Fuck you,” I murmur. “I can buy my own goddamn coffee.”
The woman standing in front of me turns around and glares at us, and I realize immediately that there’s a young girl holding her hand. I need to rein in my swearing in public.
“Tsk, tsk,” Coop says, and I nudge him with my elbow for being so annoying. Asshole. Likes to rile me up, I swear.
When we get to the counter, Coop tells me to order first, and since I don’t want to make a scene, I just tell the barista I want a cold brew with sweet foam, making Coop’s lips twitch up. He knows he won this one, but I’ll win the next. I’m pretty fucking competitive when I need to be.
As soon as our drinks are in our hands, I take a large gulp, sighing.
Coop is doing the same, both hands cradling his cup like it’s the Holy Grail.
“Never getting that drunk again,” he tells me between sips. “I haven’t felt this bad since college.”
“Yeah, same.”
“We’re old now.” Coop glances up at me. “And you know what? I should know how old my husband is. So let me guess? Thirty-six? Thirty-seven?”
“Fuck you. I’m twenty-eight.”
“Ah. You look older. Like a tired old man.”
I flick his nose, and he glowers at me. “I don’t even have any grays. So fuck off. And how old are you, rich boy?”
“Guess.”
“I’m not playing games.”
“But I love games, especially in the bedroom.”
A scoff leaves my lips, and I shake my head. “Of course you do. Nothing is ever serious with you. You’ve been handed everything in your life.”
“Don’t be mad I have more money than you. I can’t help it. My parents set up a trust for me. I didn’t demand it. It’s just there. And I’m twenty-six, if you must know.”
“Yeah, alright. So it’s not your fault you’re a spoiled brat.”
“Well, I didn’t say that. I am spoiled, but the brat is all me, baby.”
