10. Cooper

CHAPTER 10

COOPER

I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting, showing up at Lucas's practice. Part of me wanted it not to matter, that we weren't supposed to be hooking up or even 'fraternizing' outside of the stuff for Queering Sports. I'd had a tiny little daydream about him running over, stretching up on his toes to kiss me... Though, to be fair, in that daydream, no one else had been on the field, and we'd made excellent use of the bench under the bright stadium lights.

I lingered as the cheerleaders filtered out. Their coach waited, arms folded and eyes narrowed on me until it was just the two of us. "I know you're working with Lucas on his projects," she began without preamble, "and I know the inherent drama in this whole forbidden relationship bullshit, so I'm not gonna tell you to mind your step with him."

"I have the same stipulation in my contract," I pointed out mildly. "No cheerleaders, support staff, other players..."

"Yeah, but who do you think would get fired if this came to light? You, with your high-dollar contract, fan base, and valuable skills that might help the team get to the bowl games, or Lucas, the cheerleader whose career has a short shelf life and can be replaced before preseason even begins if push comes to shove? It gets out that the two of you are... canoodling," she said, rolling her eyes at my huff of laughter, "it won't be you getting shit in the media. You might get a few jokes, some late-night talk show host still hanging in there might use you as a punchline for a week or two, but Lucas will be slut-shamed, name-called, and blocked from the industry. He could lose his job at the studio if enough parents get huffy about the relationship."

"I get it, I get it!" Raking my fingers through my hair, I couldn't help the glower I sent her way. "We're just... seeing what's what," I admitted. "That's it. And it's really no one's business but ours."

She nodded, still eyeing me warily. "Lucas means a lot to us. Not just me but the team. And to Queering Sports. He has a huge amount of potential if he just..." She sighed, shook her head, and seemed to deflate. "If he just lets himself dream a bit bigger."

"What are you saying?"

She shook her head again, glancing back down the tunnel where the squad had gone. "He's an amazing cheerleader, but sometimes people forget that's not all he is. It's an uphill battle for him, you know? People want to pigeonhole us into the whole airhead pretty bimbo sex kitten fantasy, but he's out there fighting for us to be taken seriously. For himself to be taken seriously..." Her gaze drifted back to me, and that stern expression slipped back into place. "So don't fuck things up for him, okay? If you're going to see where this goes , make sure you're sure before letting anything out of the bag."

She gave me a sharp nod and turned away, grabbed her bag from the end of the bench, and disappeared down the dark tunnel. I was left on the field with the distant figures of two security guards pretending not to watch. My phone buzzing startled me out of my moment of what the fuck . I grabbed it to see Lucas's name on the screen.

Lucas: Hey, meet me at my place? It's too hot, and I'm too gross to stand out here for long.

Lucas: And most of the squad's finding reasons to linger and it's creeping me out.

I smiled at the screen like a giant dork and sent him a reply, agreeing to meet him at his place in half an hour.

Lucas opened the door with a waft of sandalwood and mint, his hair damply curling behind his ears and feet endearingly bare. "Hey," he said, distracted. "Come on in. Want a drink? I have tea—hot and cold, water, beer but it's my sister's, so it's some weird hoppy mess she's into, juice if you're feeling fancy..."

I followed him into the kitchen. "Water's good."

"Better living through healthy choices," he sing-songed, mimicking an after-school PSA that had been popular about ten or twelve years ago. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with ice before glancing back at me. "You're looking at me weird."

"I can't help my face."

"Ha. You know you're hot. That's like ninety percent of the reason the whole social media thing went bananas when you got linked to Queering Sports. We had to jump on that."

"We all have our strengths," I agreed, nodding solemnly. Lucas snorted, handing me my water and heading for the living room. I followed, taking up a perch on the overstuffed ottoman. He set up on one end of the sofa, tucking his legs beneath him and grabbing his laptop from the coffee table. "Right to work, huh?" I teased.

"The next fundraiser is in early August. That's barely six weeks away. Between now and then, you've got preseason starting, I have training four days a week, classes to teach, volunteering with the nonprofit..." He trailed off, suddenly very interested in whatever was on his computer screen.

I seized the opportunity, scooting close on the narrow sofa. "What's going on?"

He hesitated for a long moment before sighing gustily. "Just had a lot on my mind lately. My Titi—auntie—she's always on me to go back to school since, in her words, I wasted my potential by going into pro cheer instead of becoming a dancer like my cousin. She and Mom, they were prima ballerinas in Cuba, back when they were younger."

"Holy shit, that's awesome." I smiled down him before his words sank in. "Wait, your aunt is making you feel like shit because you didn't go into ballet? Dude, you have two freaking degrees! You're working for a nonprofit, teaching, and doing professional cheer! What's disappointing about any of that?"

"Ask my mom and Tia," he muttered, lips crimped in an annoyed frown. "They don't care that I busted my ass through school for my degrees, that I got scholarships and grants and worked until I was hallucinating from lack of sleep to pay for it. They don't care that I have literal articles published under my name in professional publications. They're just mad that I threw away the family legacy and didn't make my name in dance like they were denied doing."

"Even though you didn't want to be a ballet dancer?" I asked quietly, fingers itching to card through his hair, offer him some physical comfort as he sank into his funk.

"I don't think they'd have cared much what kind of dance, so long as it was dance," he admitted, sinking in on himself. "Don't get me wrong—I seriously thought about it. I auditioned for some big companies when I was younger. Ballet, jazz, hip hop... " He shrugged, catching his lower lip between two fingers and pinching it worriedly as he stared at the cold, empty fireplace across from us. "I loved it, but it didn't love me, you know? Cheer and tumbling, though?" He let go of his lip and let out a low whistle. "That was love at first handspring."

His expression somehow both proud and uncertain, Lucas darted a glance up at me. "I figured out I was good at tumbling and cheer. Then I learned how to be great at it. But Lynda and Mom, they held on to hope I'd get accepted to one of the big companies or even go to school for a dance major and teach ballet or something, but..." He spread his hands. "Here I am."

"Not such a bad place to be, is it?" I asked gently.

He shrugged again, those fingers moving back to worry at his lip in a nervous tell. "Maybe. I don't know. I didn't expect to still live with my sister at this point in my life." He pointed to one of the pictures on the mantel. Pride of place in the center, it showed a dark-haired woman with the same wide eyes and pointed chin as Lucas standing beside a tall, grinning man with an open face and a riot of sandy curls. They held a tiny baby between them, wrapped in one of those white hospital baby blankets and looking pissed as hell, little Winston Churchill face squished up and a silent shout caught for all time on film.

"I moved in when she was pregnant with Bas. Allegedly, to help out since it was a rough time for Renata and Del's job was super demanding." He scooted a bit closer to me, our knees barely touching now.

Still, I felt the point of contact like a brand. My hands itched to be on his skin, but my mind knew now was not the time. Still, it simmered there beneath the surface, my fascination with Lucas. Everything about him drew me to him, so much more intensely than when I first saw him a few years before. It wasn't merely a crush with a dash of lust, I realized, watching him reflect on that photo. It was turning into something more. Something tiny and fragile but hopeful. Possible.

Lucas shook himself, the tremor small and fine, before turning to face me, resting on one hip. The move shifted him away a little, but he caught one of the escaped locks of my hair between thumb and forefinger, giving it a gentle tug and slow twirl. "Del died when Bas was a few weeks old. Undiagnosed heart problem," he added, voice soft and a shade rough. "Renata found him on the bathroom floor one morning. I... I'm never gonna forget that scream."

"Jesus..." I reached for him, cupping his chin in my palm. The very faint rasp of a day's growth tickled as he turned into my touch, exhaling roughly.

"I moved in to get out of the house. I was in my junior year at UT, just starting out with pro tryouts. Things were just insane at home. Mom and Lynda were furious I was throwing it all away , and Dad was just trying to stay out of it, so Renata suggested I come stay with them. Del was cool with it—totally big brother vibes, you know? Anyway. When he died, I stayed with Renata. Mom and Lynda backed off, but I guess my statute of limitations is coming up. Bas is starting pre-K in the fall, so there's no reason for me to stick around and help out, according to them."

I moved closer, guiding his head to my shoulder. Sighing, Lucas melted against me, his arms slipping around my neck in a loose hold. "This is nice," he whispered against me. "I'm so tired, Cooper."

"Rest a bit then," I offered. "We've got some time."

"Not nap-tired," he protested, shifting disconsolately. "Just tired of a million things happening at once. Working my ass off, barely scraping by on my own, the changes to the project, Jameson—" He stopped talking so fast I heard his teeth click together. "Just tired," he finished quietly.

"Jameson?" I shifted, bumping him a little with my shoulder so he'd sit up. "Jameson Creel? The former Copperhead?"

Lucas chuckled, but it sounded weak. "Something like that. Hey, no offense, but it's late, and I know we both have full days tomorrow. Can we sort out some of this stuff before we have the meeting and maybe get some rest?"

I raised a brow. "Why, Mr. Ortiz, are you inviting me to sleep over? I didn't even pack my jammies!"

His snort was closer to humored than not. "Nope, I actually need sleep tonight, mister, so no slumber parties."

"Not yet anyway."

Giving me a considering, heated look, Lucas cocked his head. "Not yet."

Everything was pretty straightforward. Lucas came up with a series of social media posts for me to make, and Liesel approved. He'd also gone over some talking points they'd worked on for me to slip into interviews where I could. He saved the doozy for last, though. "And here's something that's going to give us both hives," he sighed. "Liesel wants you to do another interview with Byrne. This one just about Queering Sports. She said she cleared it with Caitlin and Phil, but I'd double check if I were you."

"Don't trust Liesel?" I asked mildly, looking up from where I'd been making notes in my phone. "Why not?"

"I trust her. It's just she doesn't always get the ins and outs of our end of things. She was a college athlete, Division One basketball. But she never went pro, and she doesn't have a solid grasp of PR on a pro player's side of things. I mean, Ash—you remember him, right?" When I nodded, Lucas pressed on. "He's been helping out for a few years now and really busting his ass, but he's a retired player, so it's a lot fewer moving parts when it comes to contractual obligations and what he can and can't sign off on his own time."

"Do you think Liesel is going to mess this up?" I asked quietly. "Is that why you're so stressed about everything, Lucas?"

"It wasn't until just recently. I mean, she's been running this joint for several years now, but it's mushrooming, you know? And things are starting to happen that aren't in her scope. The board is doing its best, but I can't shake the feeling there's not enough support—wait, no, not enough of the right kind of support." He huffed, pushing to his feet to pace agitatedly. "And it's not like I can really do anything about it, you know? I'm a cheerleader and dance teacher with a bachelor's in nonprofit management, but that's not enough. I have zero real experience."

"That's what this is, isn't it? Getting experience."

He threw up his hands. "Yes! But if it all goes to shit, then I'm screwed. I have nothing to show for my work, the organization is boned, and with my name attached to any cockups, I'll be a laughingstock at any admissions office if I decide to get my MBA!"

"Lucas, breathe," I urged, getting to my feet. "One step at a time, yeah? My grandma always said don't go borrowing trouble, and that's exactly what you're doing." He let me pull him into my arms, his body still ramrod stiff. "Can I touch you?"

"You already are," he mumbled against my chest. "But... maybe more is okay?"

Tucking my chin atop his head, I stroked his back slowly, tracing my fingertips down his spine. Even through his t-shirt, I could feel the definition of his muscles, the strength hidden in his smaller frame. "One step at a time," I said again, softer.

His body relaxed in increments, first his shoulders and neck, then down his torso, until finally, he leaned almost fully against me, letting me hold his weight. Lucas slipped his arms around my neck again, and I moved my hands lower. On a whim, I lifted him under his ass until he was face to face with me. Wordlessly, though with a small, bemused smile, he wrapped his legs around my waist. "Okay?"

He nodded, resting his head on my shoulder. "Okay."

We swayed in silence, and then Lucas tipped his face back to look at me again. "One step at a time. First thing to do is those social media posts. I sent you some of the media pack from Queering Sports to your email the other day."

"I got it."

"Lemme down." He wiggled free, dropping lightly to his feet, and headed back to the sofa. "Enough whining," he sighed. "I need to get up at oh god o'clock and I know you do too so let's get this ball rolling, strike while the iron's hot, all that shit."

Was I disappointed we weren't going to get at least partially naked? Yeah, who wouldn't be? But the energy building as Lucas started walking me through what I needed to do was special—he was letting me see his world, beyond being a cheerleader. Letting me see his hopes and plans. And I felt honored, trusted.

"You're awful quiet," he noted after about half an hour. "Too much?"

I shook my head. "Just admiring how you've got this shit nailed down. If you decided to go into doing this full-time one day, I think you'd really ace it."

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Maybe. This is one thing, but I don't have the experience..." He trailed off, his smile turning inward. "Well. Enough of that spiral, right?"

When Lucas got down to business, it was impressive and a little bit terrifying. He'd give Caitlin a run for her money when it came to organization, his social media blitz planned with surgical precision. By the time we wrapped up just after midnight, I had three folders on the cloud with specific dates, even times, to post, talking points to memorize, and a list of names to expect calls from to set up interviews and appearances. "I'll talk to Liesel and get her to talk to Phil," he said, but I shook my head, cutting him off.

"I'll talk to Phil myself. I have a phone call with him tomorrow about a promo offer, so I'll work this in."

Lucas nodded cautiously. "Tell him to call me or Liesel if anything needs clearing up." He followed me to the door and, without hesitation, stretched up on his toes to kiss me. "Talk later?"

I kissed him back, maybe a little longer than I should have given the hour and how tired we both were, but I didn't regret it. "Definitely."