2. Cooper

CHAPTER 2

COOPER

"Whoooo-eeeee! It's Mister Spokesmodel!"

"Oh my god, shut up," I muttered, ducking my face as the guys laughed. It wasn't quite the preseason yet, but more days than not had been spent working out. Getting ready for getting ready basically.

It sucked.

I loved it.

Except for days like today when the guys decided to take the piss. I knew they meant no harm, but I felt bad this time. Mostly because of the look on Lucas's face when Byrne cornered me and lionized me for Lucas's hard work.

"Come on, you're telling me you're not proud of this pic?" Rye asked, holding up his phone. There I was, grinning like a doofus, at the top of the page on Austin News Now's sports page.

Shoot.

"Whatcha smilin' at?" Wyatt teased. "Lookin' at those cheerleaders?"

"Shut up," I grumbled, reaching for the clean shorts I'd shoved in my bag that morning. Even after the showers, I felt gross and sticky. I couldn't wait to get home and take a long soak in that massive tub I'd splurged on. Maybe some bubbles.

"Thought you were queer," one of the other guys called out. I didn't recognize him immediately, so it had to be one of the reserve players who came out for training with us.

"You thought right," I said.

"Oh, you checking out that little twink then?"

One of the other reserve players groaned. "Oh my god, Harris! You can't say twink. You're straight."

"What?" he yelped. "Who says?"

Wyatt chose that moment to saunter closer, still holding his phone where I could see the picture. "Seriously, man, you keep staring at him like that, he's gonna catch on."

I shrugged. "Who said I was looking at Lucas?"

"Dude."

"Dude," I mimicked, pulling a clean shirt. "Look, this," I flicked his phone, "is bullshit. I'm just the flavor of the month for these media guys. Soon as the season starts, they'll all become armchair quarterbacks again, and I'll be old news until I fuck up mid-game or something."

Wyatt shoved his phone in his shorts pocket. "I was there on Saturday," he reminded me with a small smile. "I saw how you were eyeballin' him. And I know you were pretty pissed off about this Byrne situation."

Nodding, I swallowed hard. "It's bull. I had nothing to do with the event other than just showing up. Everyone with Queering Sports was singing his praises, and now I look like the asshole who tried to take credit."

Whistling low and long through his teeth, Wyatt shook his head. "What does Caitlin have to say about all this?"

I winced inwardly. Caitlin Cole was the team's PR go-to and protective as all hell, but she also didn't take nonsense from anyone, including us. Especially us. So far, I'd been on her good side, but I'd heard some stories about her running guys who screwed up through the wringer. "No freaking idea, man. I haven't heard anything from them, but I let my agent know what's up, and he's not happy." Neither was the cheer team's PR person. From the looks of things after the event, she'd been mad enough to shoot sparks. She hadn't said anything to me directly, and I'd hoped it was because she knew I had nothing to do with Byrne and Green's shenanigans.

She seemed like someone I didn't want to get on the wrong side of.

"Look, I don't really know Lucas at all. I've seen him at a few PR events and obviously at the games, but for the most part, us and the cheerleaders?" He made a slicing motion with one hand, cutting something down the middle. "Two separate entities. They do their thing, we do ours, and we stay out of one another's way. But from what I do know? Lucas isn't a doormat. If you've pissed him off, you're gonna find out sooner rather than later."

"Hey, Wy, you coming?" Rye called.

"Later, Coop," Wyatt said, giving my arm a shove. "Talk to Caitlin."

Turned out I didn't need to go track her down. As if summoned by Wyatt's suggestion, my phone flashed with an incoming call. "Welp."

Wyatt shot me a sympathetic glance and tight smile. "Make it right, man. We're giving you shit about it, but you know how much it sucks to have someone diminish your accomplishments, right?"

I nodded, numb, and grabbed my phone before it could roll over to voicemail. "Hello?"

"Howard," she sighed. "What the hell, kid?"

The meeting at Caitlin's office was squeezed in just after three, which meant I had enough time to run back to my place, shower, grab a pretty tasteless but balanced prepared meals the team nutritionist had arranged for us, then turn right around and zip back into town. The team's PR office was in an imposing older building in central Austin, one of those really Eighties office towers that screamed oil money built this . Inside, the place wasn't as dated, all decked out in a modern, minimalist style making me afraid to touch anything in case I left a smudge.

Security buzzed me in with barely a glance, and the receptionist offered me a smile, waving me past with a flick of his wrist. "Everyone's upstairs already. They're running early, so don't worry! You're right on time!"

"Everyone? Who's everyone?" I paused at his desk, glancing up at the ceiling as if I could see through the intervening floors into Caitlin's office.

He shrugged. "I don't know all of their names. She's ready for you," he added, glancing at his screen. "She says they're waiting."

Shit .

Thankfully, the elevator was the fast sort. Usually, they made me queasy, but today, it meant less time to dwell on what I was about to walk into. It couldn't be that bad, right? Sure, it was a pain in the ass, and I felt awful Lucas had been given short shrift, but maybe we could issue a statement, I thought. Something official from me, not the team, about how I was proud to be invited to take part in the event and how Lucas had done an awesome job...

A tiny—slightly more selfish than I'd like to admit—part of me imagined Lucas smiling up at me as I gave this fantasy statement to one of the team's pet reporters. In my little daydream, Lucas's eyes were crinkled with amusement and maybe a bit of admiration. He leaned into me, those full lips of his curved in the most damn adorable smile and?—

The doors slid open to reveal his scowling face. Not a single dimple to be had.

The carriage dinged, and the doors started to slide shut before I shoved my foot out, making them bounce back and open once more. "Please exit the elevator," an automated voice ordered. "Please exit the elevator."

I stood there, uneasiness bubbling behind my ribs. Past Lucas, Phil, Cass, and Liesel sat in the plush waiting area. Caitlin's door was shut, but she had to be in her office unless she'd decided to take off for the afternoon and leave us all to duke it out.

Which, judging by the look on Lucas' face, I'd likely lose.

"Oh my god," Lucas muttered. He made an exaggerated come here motion with both hands. "Step away from the elevator."

Phil gave me an up nod, ignoring Lucas entirely. "Hey, Coop. Sorry to ruin your afternoon plans. How'd workout go?"

"Uh, fine," I muttered, slipping away from the carriage and striding towards the waiting area. It was hard not to look at Lucas—I wanted to offer my apologies again, but a slight widening of Phil's eyes and a tiny, almost invisible, shake of his head put me off that idea for the time being. "Really...sweaty."

Lucas snorted softly. "In this heat? Gee, imagine that."

Cass made a quelling sound and muttered, "Lucas. Remember what you promised."

Pressing his full lips into a thin line, he gave one sharp nod in response.

"Sorry," Liesel muttered, looking very sheepish as she offered her hand.

I smiled. We shook hands and did the standard awkward small talk. I was rescued from having to think of another way to mention how hot the weather was when Caitlin flung open her office door. She gave us all a broad, expectant grin. "Well, this is gonna be a thing, huh?"

"Cait," Phil sighed, standing to give her one of those bro-y, professional hugs. "Thanks for getting us together on short notice."

"Well, you know me. Nothing I love more than cleaning up messes."

I winced, my face going hot. "I really didn't intend?—"

"Bup bup bup!" Caitlin shushed me, holding up one hand. "Let's get comfortable. Then we'll talk."

We filed into her spacious office like baby ducks, taking up our perches around her desk in the comfy chairs. The size, accommodating of players' huge frames, made Lucas look like he was lost. He frowned, sinking back into the large leather club chair and tucking his feet up under his thighs. Like me, he'd dressed casually but nicely for this meeting. Where I wore light colors—a pale blue Polo shirt and light khakis—he was in dark red and black, with sharp-toed boots and a thin leather strap around his wrist.

He looked fierce.

Sexy.

And a little annoyed.

"Dude, stop staring," he muttered under his breath while the others started verbally posturing to assert dominance or whatever. "You're weirding me out."

"I like your boots," I blurted, maybe a shade too loud because Phil shot me a slightly confused look before returning his attention to what Liesel was saying.

Lucas eyed me warily. "Thank you?"

I shrugged. "They're cool. I could never wear something like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Fuck. How did I mess this up already? "I dress boring, you know? Sneakers, loafers, the one pair of dress shoes I drag out if I have to be in a suit or something. And I have huge feet, you know." I held out one leg to demonstrate the fact. "If I wore pointy boots, cool as they are, I'd look like a cryptid." I offered him what I hoped was a charming smile. Judging by the look he gave me, it was less I want to get to know you better and more it puts the lotion on its skin .

"Wow." He stared at me, wide-eyed. "Wow."

"Gentlemen," Caitlin said sharply. "Are you quite ready?"

Lucas straightened in his chair, swinging his legs down and folding his hands on his lap, giving Caitlin his full attention.

Or pretending to. I know a kiss-ass when I see one. The little smirk and side eye he shot me didn't hurt either. I couldn't help the snort bursting from my chest, a barely strangled laugh that drew the glare of Phil and Cait both. "Sorry, I just thought of a picture of an angry cat, and it made me laugh."

Lucas's eyes narrowed.

"Okay," Caitlin drawled. "I'll keep this short, then, so you can get back to your feline fancying."

She did a lightning-round version of the events from the weekend, mostly to confirm what she'd been told already. Neither Lucas nor I had anything to add, but he sure appeared like he might want to. He shifted in his seat, twisted his fingers together, did his damnedest not to look at me the entire time.

"I don't blame you for being mad," I said suddenly. "I mean, you busted your butt for the event, and there's some news guy giving me credit for your work. And that's BS—pardon my language," I added, nodding at the others. "I was thinking maybe I could make an official statement about things, say I was misquoted or something?"

Phil made a seesaw gesture with one hand. "That could work, or it could come off as you trying to seem too humble. Or trying to draw more attention."

Liesel cleared her throat, leaning forward, more than a little embarrassed. "The thing is... attention isn't a bad thing."

Beside me, Lucas went stiff as a board. "You okay?" I muttered.

He didn't even blink.

Cass patted the back of his hand gently. For the first time since I'd met her, Caitlin looked like she felt a bit bad about what was coming. Liesel pressed on. "Since Byrne's video hit YouTube, we've gotten almost half a million in donations. Half a million!" She turned a pleading expression on Lucas, who nodded once, still stiff and now a bit green around the gills. "And several other major sports teams in the state have reached out about 'doing something' with Queering Sports. It's huge for us."

This time, Lucas closed his eyes for a moment. A bit too long to be a blink but just long enough to hold back tears, I thought. When he spoke, his words were full of fake politeness so clear even Phil winced. "I get it. It's fine. I just put almost a year of work into this, and I'm pushed aside. Okay. It's fine. Because it's for the kids."

He stood, raking his fingers through his dark waves, turning his sharp glare on me. "I really do get it. It's not just me being nice so I don't get shit-canned by the squad for going off on you, Cooper. I've volunteered for the organization since college, so I know how big a deal this is. That donation." He jabbed a finger in Liesel's direction. She flinched as if he could reach her from across the room, sinking back in her seat a bit with a guilty expression on her pixie features. "It's enormous. Queering Sports doesn't see money like that in a year . But here we are." He smiled, sharp and feral to me but smoothed into something more businesslike, smaller and flat, towards the others. "So, what is it? Thanks, Lucas, it's been real, but we're replacing you with Mr. Football here?"

Liesel shook her head, but Cass beat her to the punch. "Sit down, Lucas, and listen for a minute. You're acting like a brat, and it's embarrassing you , not anyone else."

"Lucas, you know I'm not going to take your credit. Besides, if we let this go and ignore it, it'll be forgotten by the end of summer. I've got team PR stuff to do. I have some sponsorships to follow up on..." I shrugged weakly. "I'm not gunning for your project."

"Wait a sec," Phil sighed. "Coop, let Caitlin and Liesel talk..."

Lucas was fast as hell. I caught up with him in the parking garage, jabbing at a key fob and cussing under his breath as his car beeped somewhere deep in the level. "Hey, wait!"

"Don't talk to me right now. I can't... I just can't!"

Frustration thrummed through me, clenching my jaw and burning in my chest. "Lucas, look, I know this is awkward as hell and really annoying, but I don't understand why you're this angry about what's going on. I mean, it's not ideal, and it's gonna make my schedule suck too, but?—"

Lucas whipped around, giving up on his car search for the moment to glare at me.

And I was pretty sure I knew how the guy in Jurassic Park felt coming face to face with that raptor about two seconds before he got got.

Lucas stalked towards me, all five foot something of him, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. I've faced huge dudes on the field intent on causing pain, but I'd never backed away from a single one of them. Lucas Ortiz, though... The part of my brain that made good decisions kicked in and said move now.

One step, then another, then another, and I was pushed up against the parking garage wall, Lucas just inches from me, fairly vibrating with poorly suppressed feeling. "This is not about our fucking schedules. Jesus, how many hits to the head have you taken?"

"Hey! That's not even close to being funny," I growled. "What the fuck?" Anger hot enough to match the fire in Lucas' glare flared in my chest.

Something in his expression changed, flickered behind the anger, but it did nothing to soften it. Instead, he gave me a single jerky nod. "You're right. TBI's not something to joke about." His cheeks were flagged with red, his eyes glittering, but he didn't avert his gaze, letting me see his sincerity and embarrassment, not trying to hide it behind bluster or telling me I was overreacting.

It was my turn to nod. Slowly, though, warily. "So, I don't understand. Why don't you explain it to me then? Because upstairs, they're pretty sure they've got our lives figured out for us." And it was true, at least for me. The schedules made by other people dictated my life. I had an enormous calendar on my office wall at home with everything color coded and shit.

No one ever tells you playing pro sports involves so much paperwork. It kind of sucks.

Lucas closed his eyes, sweat dotting his brow and throat, a single droplet doing its level best to distract me by running down to the hollow between his collar bones, bare where his shirt lay open. I was staring so hard at that drop I almost missed his low, resigned words. "Fuck. Let's go get a drink or something. It's too damn hot to do this in an underground concrete box."

I jerked my chin up. "You want to get a drink with me?" Okay, maybe today wasn't sucking.

"I'm dying of heat. There's a place down the road that's not super touristy and doesn't think it's some artisan craft cocktail shit."

I nodded, brain going a little fuzzy. Lucas Ortiz wanted to go get a drink with me? Hell yes. I'd need to cancel plans with my sister and nephew, but I think they'd forgive me.

Lucas sighed again, ruffling his hair to fall in thick waves around his face. He glanced at me, then back into the depths of the parking level. "I have no idea where the hell I parked."

"I can drive," I offered quickly. Lucas raised a brow. "What? I know exactly where my car is."

His sudden, bright laugh settled behind my ribs, warming me down to my bones. "Come on then," he ordered, still smiling just a little. "Lead the way."