4. Cooper

CHAPTER 4

COOPER

"You got yourself a fan," one of the guys called out from across the gym. "He's peepin' on you!"

I didn't look. "This is a private workout facility," I grunted instead. "He can talk to security."

"I don't think they're gonna bug him," Rye noted. "It's your cheerleader."

The plates hit the base of the squat machine with a clang, momentarily silencing the rest of the guys. Then a wave of catcalls and laughter burst free as I got to my feet. Sure enough, Lucas was peeking through the window in the weight room's door, eyes narrowed until he spotted me. He raised his hand to give me a wave, then mouthed something I couldn't make out. "Huh?"

"He said I'll wait, " Anders supplied helpfully. "What? I'm good at reading lips!"

That led to a cavalcade of crude commentary about Anders's private life as I reset the machine. Giving Lucas one more glance, I resumed my workout. I did my best not to get distracted, but it was nearly impossible, knowing he was on the other side of the door, waiting for me. Every once in a while, I'd allow myself a peek between sets. He'd moved to lean against the wall, looking down at something and grinning. Was it his phone? Why was I jealous that someone else was making him smile like that? I stretched a bit further, just on the verge of making my hammy cramp, and felt a mix of relief and affection when I saw what it was. He was holding a romance novel with two guys on the cover, classic shirtless hot dude pose.

I wondered if I should tell him about my secret stash I carried to away games and the box my sister set aside for me once in a while whenever she got new consignments at her shop?

I moved over to the bench for flutter kicks, giving me a better view of Lucas. He glanced up then and met my gaze, his eyes going wide. When I waved, he ducked his chin, but I couldn't miss the quick flash of a dimple and a smile.

Cutter, our assistant trainer, stopped by the bench to critique my form. "You're not paying attention," he scolded. "At this rate you're going to give yourself a ruptured hamstring before the season starts."

I tore my attention from Lucas and gave Cutter a nod. "Sorry. Just got sidetracked."

Anders, nearby and concentrating on his own squats, snorted. Cutter gave him a quelling glance before turning back to me. "It's important to have a life outside the team," he murmured, squatting to correct my positioning, "but you can't bring it in here."

"Sorry. Lucas is working on a project I got involved in and?—"

"I heard," he said dryly. "He's one of the cheer team, right? Then he knows not to interfere with training."

Before I could stop him, Cutter was up and out the door, talking to Lucas, who nodded in response. Rather than leaving, he settled back against the wall. Cutter sailed back in and headed over to talk to Rye.

Lucas didn't look up from his phone—at least he didn't seem to—for the rest of the hour I was in the weight room. When the guys and I headed for the showers, he hung back, out of the way, giving me a small nod when I muttered hey in passing.

"I'll wait here," he said, shoving his phone in his pocket.

"I won't be long."

I rushed through the shower and changing, ignoring the ribbing from the guys before slipping out and hurrying back. Lucas was still fiddling on his phone. "You could've come down to the lock room hall," I said. "There's benches."

"It's also for team only," he pointed out, tucking his phone away again. "And I didn't have a way to get hold of you, and Cait wasn't really keen on handing out your contact info so here I am."

"You just happened to know the team's weight room schedule?" I shrugged my duffel bag higher up my shoulder. His cheeks turned a sweet shade of pink, making a handful of freckles stand out as he tipped his chin defiantly. "I'm teasing. I know it's posted at the practice field."

"Marisol knows it," he muttered. "Her pet project is getting the squad access to a better gym, and she's been pushing for using this place when y'all aren't."

"Where do you go?" I asked, motioning for him to follow me. "Want to grab some lunch? There's a place not far from here we can walk to if you want."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. And we go to Bodied, this gym near the university. We get a discount membership." He shrugged. "It's alright. Small, but we can do what we need to usually."

Frowning down at him, I stopped in my tracks. "Seriously? Y'all have to pay to use the gym? Even though you're training for the cheer squad? They should be paying for a membership, at the very least."

He gave me a weird look, brow scrunched and lips curled into a half smile even as he shook his head. "You are unbelievable. Where's this place? I'm starving, and I want to go over this shit with you before my shift at the studio starts."

The walk to Spur's Deli wasn't far, and the hole-in-the-wall diner wasn't very crowded as we took up a booth in the farthest corner. Almost as soon as we were seated, we both ordered sandwiches and drinks. The server sped back to drop off our order before heading for another table.

"Okay, so here's the thing," Lucas started the moment we were alone. "Cait and Cass had a good plan. A solid one. But," he held up one finger to hush me when I started to say see, you just had to think about it for a bit and likely shove my entire foot in my mouth. " But it wasn't big enough. It would've been a quick bandage, you know? They weren't seeing the opportunity to make this work . And I admit that I wasn't either, at first." His smile was a little nervous, a lot excited. "I talked to Liesel last night, and she's been on FaceTime and junk all morning with the board for Queering Sports. This isn't final, but they plan to leverage this into something long-term for the organization." He caught his lower lip with his teeth, nibbling gently as he eyed me with speculation. "And you're gonna be part of it. A big part, if this works out. And if you consent."

He was damn near sparkling . It made my heart do a funny little flip. I wanted to lean in close and touch him, feel the vibration of joy coming off his skin. Be part of it somehow, show I was interested not just in his plan but him .

Damn stupid crush was going to get me in trouble. "Explain it to me. And keep in mind I'm kind of hamstrung by my contract when it comes to what I can and can't endorse." It sucked, but it was part and parcel of getting endorsements. Phil weeded out the bullshit from genuine offers, and we worked with my lawyer to parse those down further into things I genuinely wanted my name, face, and sometimes body attached to.

Not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping one day I'd get offered a Joe Namath pantyhose level contract. For now, I stuck to pre-workout, shoes, and workout gear with the occasional local commercial thrown in.

We paused as the server set down our food and poured more water for us both. I thought Lucas was going to burst a vessel, waiting for her to go to the next table. "So here's what I'm aiming at. Right now, Queering Sports's name is out there in a bigger way than before, and a huge amount of donations got dumped on them this weekend, but less than one percent of the new donors are sustaining donors. That means?—"

"I've seen enough PBS telethons to know what a sustaining donor is."

He snorted softly at that before snagging a fry. Chewing, he scrolled through his phone and turned it so I could see the screen. "Our goal is to increase sustaining donors, expand social media presence, secure more volunteers, attain corporate sponsorship, and finally implement the programs Queering Sports has wanted to start for almost three years now."

"Five." I held up one hand with my fingers spread wide.

"Huh?

"That's five goals. Four more than you said you had." Grinning, I took a sip of my water as he blustered in annoyance.

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

Was that a quick little smile I spied as he ducked his chin? Maybe. I'd take it.

"I do."

He glared at me while I took a big bite of my vegan Ruben sandwich. His frown deepening, he stared at my mouth. "Do I have something on my chin?"

He startled, his glare slipping, replaced by something that made me think he might be nervous. Before I could ask, he waved me off. "The point remains," he ground out, "the plan in place currently does nothing other than steer into the skid and leaves us with absolute dick when it's over."

I started to say something, but his sharp glare cut the words off before they could finish forming. I might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. As we ate, I let him go on about his tentative plan, about the numbers and the projections. The plates were cleared, and I ordered pie for both of us, but he barely noticed. At least until the slice of blackberry with a side of vanilla ice cream was set in front of him.

He stared at it, then up at me, then back at the pie. "Seriously?"

"It's not like we won't burn it off," I pointed out. "We're both active, and I don't know what your squad's nutritionist tells you, but?—"

He laughed. "I can't eat it because I'm lactose intolerant. And we don't have a nutritionist. Everything we do, we either pay for ourselves or has minimal subsidy. Like the gym membership? We're required to have it and to keep in shape and practice our routines. But we have to pay for it ourselves. If we want a nutritionist? Same deal. Beauty treatments to look good on the field and on camera? We pay for it. Our uniforms? We pay for those too."

"Whoa, what?" I leaned back, disbelief coloring my words. "No way. That's gotta be hundreds of dollars a year." I paused, doing rough calculations. "Jesus...More than hundreds..."

"Thousands." He stabbed at the pie without taking a bite. "Unlike y'all who get paid millions in some cases to play a literal game that fourteen-year-olds are out there doing, we get paid less than minimum wage and have a laundry list of rules we have to follow. Rules for our hair, our bodies, our social media, our social interactions. Some squads even have to follow rules about which grocery stores they shop at, which clothing brands they wear, what color their hair is. There was scandal a few years ago when one of the women on the Tulsa squad dyed her hair honey caramel instead of honey butter. Ugh. I want caramel now.

"But the big rule is," he pointed at me with his fork, "not fraternizing with players. Which makes this whole thing a bit of a pain in the ass on a few levels."

I shook my head, reeling a little from all of those rules. "We've got our own set to follow, mostly about workouts and keeping our mouths shut near hot mics, but we do get told to stay away from the cheerleaders," I admitted. "For most of the guys, that might be a problem."

Lucas looked up from the tracks he was making in his ice cream with the tines of the fork. "Not you, though? Good to know."

I hesitated. "I've been known to be wrong," I murmured. "Take a bite of your ice cream before it melts."

He broke away from my gaze and glanced down at the plate. "I'm lactose intolerant —why are you laughing at me?"

"It's vegan. This whole place is vegan. No dairy, no lactose."

His jaw dropped, and a soft huff of laughter jumped in his chest. "Huh." I watched him take a bite, then do a happy wiggle. "This doesn't suck."

"Glad you approve," I chuckled, taking a bite of my own, mixing the pie and ice cream together.

Lucas flashed me a real grin then. "I haven't had ice cream since I was a kid. I've tried some of the lactose-free stuff, but it just wasn't the same. This is really good, though."

And the conversation drifted. Ice cream, favorite deserts, favorite foods. Finally, his phone chirped, and he groaned. "I need to get going. Shit. Look, can we meet later? Like... lowkey? Cass is talking with the team and shit to make sure this," he motioned between us, "doesn't get my ass fired, but until I get the all clear for fraternizing , I want to keep this quiet."

I nodded, standing as he did. Lucas dropped several bills on the table, joining the ones I laid out by my water glass. "Let's trade numbers?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, that'll be easier than trying to track you down all over Hell's half acre."

"I haven't heard that phrase since my grandma died," I chuckled, putting my number in his phone and naming it Best D .

For defensive player , of course. Cough cough.

Lucas smirked. "Think highly of yourself, do you?"

When he handed it back, I glanced at my phone. "Just Lucas ?"

"Just Lucas is all you ever need, babe," he snarked, flipping imaginary long hair and scooping up his bag to sashay out of the diner with an exaggerated sway of his hips. I couldn't help the laughter bubbling up, nor the warm rush when he glanced back at the window, giving me a wink before he disappeared down the sidewalk.

Lucas didn't call or text me that evening. Or the next day. Or that evening either. By day three, I was getting antsy, and it showed.

"Dude, what the fuck man?" Anders demanded, scowling when I dove for my buzzing phone, narrowly missing his drink. "I just got this house—don't fuck up my carpet!"

"Sorry, man," I muttered, fumbling to check that last text.

Heloise.

I loved my sister more than life itself, but I couldn't help the disappointment I felt at seeing her name. As bummed as I was, Anders was interested. "Oooooh, the sister," he sing-songed. "Is she still single?"

"Not for you," I growled, grabbing my phone back when he tried to open the lock screen. "She doesn't play around, man."

"You're her brother. Of course you wouldn't think that," he chuckled. "Hey, Yowie! Get yer feet off my table!" Anders pushed himself away from the sofa and stalked over to give Yowie hell about scuffing the mahogany. Anders was house proud about his new place in Hyde Park, a combination of adorable and annoying. Before leaving, I had the urge to smudge up a few windows and see how long it took him to notice. It'd only be fair, I reasoned—he'd clogged the toilet when I moved into my new place and didn't say anything, leaving me to find it after he left.

Yeah. I'd definitely smudge a few windows.

I checked Heloise's message—a reminder about Greggy's recital next week—and started to put my phone away when it pinged again.

Lucas .

Anders, Yowie, Matty, and Rye were setting up Scrabble (the life of a pro football player is one thrill after another; don't let anyone say otherwise) so I slipped into the kitchen. A few of the other guys stood around the huge island in the center, munching on snacks Anders had laid out. Not a single one of them paid me any mind, so I opened the message.

Lucas: Free tomorrow around 7 pm?

Me: I can be. Why?

Lucas: Three guesses and the first two don't count. Meet me so we can get the ball rolling on this.

The next text was an address on Fifth Street, an apartment.

He was inviting me to his place. Holy shit... I bit my lip, doing my best not to grin like a goofball at my phone while surrounded by people who would have zero problem giving me crap for the rest of my life about it.

Me: Should I bring anything?

Lucas: Like... pen and paper or something? I guess.

Yeah, I knew it wasn't going to be a date but couldn't blame me for trying, right?

Me: Like wine?

Lucas: *laughing emoji *You're adorable. Seven pm. Any earlier and you'll have to wait outside.

I shoved my phone into my pocket as Yowie and Anders tumbled into the kitchen, shoving at each other good-naturedly. "Football terminology only," Anders insisted.

"You can't play Scrabble with just football words," Yowie protested. "Coop, tell him."

"Hey, it's his house, his rules." I shrugged, saluting Anders with my beer. "Worried you don't know enough big word, Yowie?"

"Fuck off," he grumbled, reaching out to pinch my arm. We devolved into a juvenile slap fight that spilled out into Anders' back yard. The other guys trailed after us. An hour or so later, when we ended up with a small fire in the metal contraption Anders was so proud of and the tussling died down to shit-talking and rambling, I got my phone out again.

Me: Seven is great.

Lucas's reply was damn near instant, making my stomach flutter at the possibility he'd been waiting to hear back from me. Because apparently, I was still sixteen inside and wanted to squeal at the sight of my crush's name.

Lucas: Awesome! Can't wait.

I glanced up to see Anders watching me with an intent, curious stare. "What?"

"Wondering who you're talking to. Can't be your sister—no one looks like that when they talk to their sister."

"Ooooooh," Yowie teased. "You got yourself a fella? What's his name? When can we meet him? you know the team has to approve."

"Since when?" I laughed. "No way in hell am I letting y'all around anyone I'm dating. And I'm not dating anyone, for the record. It's a... a PR thing."

Rye sat forward, dropping his feet from where they'd been resting on the cooler. "A PR thing? There's nothing on the schedule for the rest of the month."

"It's his new spokesmodel gig," Jensen, one of the newer players and a second stringer, announced a little sloppily, waving his beer in my direction. "Gonna go do a photo shoot for the queer kids thing, Coop?" He shimmied his shoulders and made a purse-lipped face.

"Cut it out," I snapped. "It's not like that. Yeah, it's for Queering Sports. Lucas Ortiz is helping organize some long-term fundraiser thing, and since I got pulled into the whole media thing about last weekend, Cait suggested I help out."

"Cait did, huh?" Yowie murmured, raising a brow. "And you're not fussing?"

"Why should I? We're in pre-season right now. I've got time between practices and shit." Another shrug. "Besides, Queering Sports is an awesome group, and they need more support."

"No denying that," Rye agreed. "Just kind of surprised you're okay with adding PR stuff to your plate. You know as well as any of us do—it's not exactly light work during pre-season."

He wasn't wrong, but still I persisted. "It's not a big deal. I'm not running the thing, just showing up for some photo ops or something from the sound of it." Though it really sounded like more, if our brief lunch meeting was anything to go by. Still... "And if Cait's cool with it, then it won't be that heavy. She knows our schedules and understands the higher-ups will lose their shit if we get overbooked and it interferes with training."

Rye didn't appear convinced, but he tipped his chin in acknowledgement and sat back. "Just be careful."

Returning his nod, I leaned back myself. "I'll be fine."