I dropped the last piece of clothing I was holding in the basket and turned around, and when he opened his arms, I stepped right into them. Because this was Coop. This was my best friend. He was there through skinned knees and busted elbows and the first time I lost a tooth. He got into a fight for me, and I got into fights for him.
"Don't stop talking to me," he said. "Can you do that?"
Holding on, I rubbed my cheek against his shirt, and then I nodded. "I can try," I said. It wasn't quite a promise. "But I'm really hungry, and I need to go get my car."
Coop laughed. "Want to take a ride share with me, and then we’ll grab lunch after we get your car?"
You know what? I did.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad,” I warned him.
“Understood,” he said, his expression serious. “This is just refueling.”
I laughed. “Well, we do need to eat.”
“That we do,” he agreed with me, and then after a light squeeze, he released me. Turning, he snagged the basket. “I’m ready to go now, so let’s just drop this off and I’ll call the ride share?”
I gathered my stuff back into my backpack and eyed my leggings and tank top. I wasn’t really dressed for going out out. Hell, I didn’t even have a bra on.
“You look fine,” Coop told me. “If you’re scared of being seen in public, we can just get drive-thru and drive over to the lake and feed the ducks with the leftovers.”
I snorted. We hadn’t done that in years. “I still have a ton of homework to do,” I told him. “So food and then probably back here.”
He sighed. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“No,” I agreed with him. “I guess I can’t.”
His smile grew at that admission. “Good to know.”
Chapter Five
Forgiveness and Stuff
At the apartment, Coop waited outside while I carried the laundry in. It was still quiet. Apparently, I didn’t have to worry about bad meatloaf this morning. Leaving the laundry basket and backpack in my room, I snagged my wallet and sunglasses before I headed back out. Coop straightened, phone in hand to show me how far away our ride was.
“Six minutes,” he said.
“Cool.” I locked the door, and we walked down to the parking lot to wait. It was hard to miss my mom’s car, sitting there like a testament to the fact she wasn’t home.
“So I was thinking,” Coop said.
“That’s dangerous,” I reminded him, the retort as automatic as saying “bless you” or “gesundheit” when someone sneezed.
“I know, right?” He grinned, and before I knew it, I grinned, too.
“Anyway, you were thinking… and you should probably spit it out before it dies of loneliness.”
His chuckle warmed me from head to toe. “Keep it up, Frankie.”
“No, no. I’m good now.”
“No, seriously. Keep it up, because I want to be able to plead self-defense for zinging you back.”
Peeking up at him, I slid my sunglasses on and smiled. “I’m good now.”
“You sure?”
“At least for the next five minutes.” It was easy to settle into the banter. This was me and Coop, this was how we rolled. “After that, no promises.”