5. Lucas

CHAPTER 5

LUCAS

In the hour between my sister and nephew leaving and Coop arriving, I did a last minute "Flight of the Bumblebee" tidy-up (entirely unnecessary but kept me from fidgeting), arranged, then rearranged the throw pillows on the sofa four times, changed my shirt from a snarky pop culture reference tee to a button-up then back again, brushed my teeth, tried to watch TV... Generally lowkey panicked until the buzzer chimed, letting me know someone needed to be let in downstairs.

I fumbled with the access code and, a moment later, received a text informing me Your Guest Is On the Way! Thanks For Living At Bluebonnet Tower!

Cooper was here. At my apartment. Alone. And even though I knew it was for this project, I couldn't stop the rush of excitement spinning through my core and spreading through my extremities. "Just because the project is huge and it's a major step," I muttered, rubbing my damp palms on my jeans. "Get it together, Lucas."

Then he knocked, and all my cool, such as it was, flew out the window.

He's a player. Just like Jimmy. And you know how that went.

When I opened the door, Cooper was smiling like the sun. "Hey. I'm not too early, am I? It didn't take me as long to get here as I thought."

I shook my head, words stuck in my throat. He'd showered, his long hair still damp, the bright auburn muted to a deep red-brown for the time being. As I stepped back and motioned him in, the tang of citrus mellowed by sandalwood enveloped me, a stronger version of the scent I'd picked up from him before.

Unf .

Damn it. Guys who smell good were my Kryptonite.

"Nice place," Cooper said, making me realize I'd been too quiet for too long.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, thanks. I share it, but it's just us tonight." I'm not sure why I was hesitant to tell him I lived with my sister and nephew—I mean, it wasn't hard to see a kid lived in the place. Maybe a bit of embarrassment from being my age and sharing with not just a roommate but family?

Or maybe I merely didn't want to think about my sister and nephew while a very sexy man I had no business thinking very sexy things about was standing in front of me.

Cooper's brows crept up, a small smile on his lips. "Just us."

I reached behind me to lock the door. "Yeah..." Shit, did that come out breathier than I wanted? Judging by the smirk on Cooper's face, it damn sure did. "So! I, um, set up my laptop in the living room. I'll show you what I'm thinking, what Liesel and the board are aiming for, and then we can talk about your part."

He nodded, but when I started to walk past him, I noticed he was staring at something over my shoulder.

Del's picture.

"Who's that?" He peered closer, his smile fading. "That's not you, is it?"

"Ha. No. Del was much taller than me. And blond. And Swedish," I added on a chuckle. "He's my brother-in-law. That's my nephew he's holding."

Cooper nodded slowly. "You're not a dad then?"

I nearly choked on my laugh. "Not even close. I love being an uncle, but I'm nowhere near ready for kids. Come on."

Cooper followed me the short few feet into the living room. "So you don't want kids?"

"I never said that," I retorted. "Just that I'm not ready now. Hell, even if I had a partner, I'm working two jobs just to get by. Never mind living in a state that's not exactly friendly to queer guys adopting or fostering."

Sighing, Cooper made a sort of fair point gesture with one hand. "I keep telling myself that's a problem for Later Cooper, but I can't deny I think about it from time to time. The whole white picket fence and a partner and kids and maybe a dog."

"Ah, sorry, can't be me then," I sighed dramatically, dropping onto the other end of the couch with a practiced sort of fold, tucking my legs under me. "I'm a cat guy. Desmond is my ride or die, BFF, OTL, all that jazz."

Cooper tipped his chin. "I can absolutely be a cat dad."

"I'm sorry, did you just say cat dad ? Nope, I can't do this. I'll figure out someone else we can use. Get out of my apartment."

Cooper laughed as I tried to shoo him away. Downright giggling, really. I swatted at him, his mirth pulling me in. We don't have to dive in right away. "What's wrong with cat dad?" he demanded, swatting back. Our fingers brushed. For just a fraction of a second, his giggling stopped, and his breath sharpened.

Or maybe I was imagining it, I decided. Because if he'd really had that reaction to touching fingers, his flirting was more serious that I wanted.

Remember Jimmy. His flirting was serious too, until it wasn't.

I drew back, my own smile fading. "Let me go over this with you. Cass and Liesel are keeping Cait in the loop, but this is apparently my baby." My jazz hands were weak, but he had the good grace to give me an encouraging nod, smiling at my feeble attempt at levity.

As Cooper scooted closer, I opened my laptop, explaining what Liesel and the board had concocted, future plans, and how things stood with my input now. "So this is all contingent on your acceptance, of course, and this will have to involve legit paperwork and contracts and blah blah blah, but ideally, we want to seize the moment here, really leap on the chance to build out and increase the sustainability of Queering Sports, instead of plastering your pretty face on some posts as a social media handjob."

Cooper went still, eyes wide as he stared back at me. "I'm sorry, a what now?"

"Handjob," I muttered with far more confidence than I felt. "Quick, fun, momentarily satisfying but, in the long term, not really what you need."

Cooper shifted a little closer. Not quite close enough to touch, but close enough I could feel the heat of his body through our layers of clothing.

Maybe the A/C was on the fritz, I thought. Maybe I was having a stroke because I was not thinking about Cooper Howard's bare leg, how the rough hair might feel under my hand, how those hard muscles would fit in my palm, in the curve of my grip.

"I think you might be getting the wrong kind of handjob," he said, voice the tiniest bit gravelly. "They can be very satisfying."

How did we get closer? His leg pressed against mine, his hand close enough all I had to do was stretch my pinky one iota in order to touch him. To feel the sinew and ridges of the back of his hand, the vein between the bones, how warm his skin would be...

"Bait!" I blurted, sitting up straighter. Cooper jerked back, huffing a breath, both relived and frustrated. "We'd use you as bait."

"So first I'm an unsatisfying handjob and now I'm bait?" he asked skeptically. "You really know how to flatter a guy, Lucas."

A small smile tempered his words, but it didn't reach his eyes. I licked my lips, heat prickling my neck as his eyes tracked the tip of my tongue. Get it together, Ortiz! "I just mean we can use your participation in this set of campaigns, between now and December, as an example for other athletes, to attract them to the programs and hopefully get their support."

Cooper eyed me thoughtfully, his gaze no longer hyperfocused on my lips. "So I act like a good boy for you and you'll be happy?"

My voice came out a rasp. "That's... that sounds a lot different than what I intended."

"Does it, though?"

I don't know which of us moved first. One moment we were leaning and the next, his lips were so close to mine I could feel the ghost of his breath across them. "What are you doing?" I whispered—barely whispered, really. The words were more sigh than sound.

He shook his head minutely, denim-blue eyes fixed on my mouth. "If you don't know, I'm not sure how to explain it," he said, throaty and low. "I can show you, though."

The kiss was butterfly-fast, a bare brush of lips before he withdrew only enough for us to say we weren't touching. The tiniest shift would bring us together again.

"Are you still mad at me?"

I shook my head the smallest bit. "Maybe."

His smile filled my vision, transforming his face, making my heart lift and take flight. "Which is it?" he murmured, leaning slowly, slowly, slowly nearer. "No or maybe?"

"Do we have to talk about it?" I whined. Giving in, I reached for him, one hand going to that hard thigh I knew would feel like granite under my fingers. The other crept up to his shoulder, almost touching the copper-gold strands escaping from his low ponytail.

This was ridiculous, I scolded myself. Giving in to attraction—not even lust just attraction! —and putting my plans, my professional standing in jeopardy...

Remember Jimmy?

He leaned in. "Soon. We'll talk soon," he promised.

Then he was kissing me, or I was kissing him, and it was nothing like I expected, nothing like I'd even remotely thought it could be. For long moments, we were only connected at those few points: the kiss, my hand on his thigh, on his shoulder, the tentative brush of his fingers on my wrist.

Then I sighed. Or maybe it was him.

With that soft breath, everything shifted. He moved, leaning back and pulling me with him, startling a laugh and gasp out of me. He seized the moment, dipping the tip of his tongue just past my lips. Deepening the kiss, we settled back, me on his chest and him against the arm of the sofa. I pulled away enough to take a breath, letting him nose against my jaw, working tiny kisses against my chin, my throat, down to the curve where my neck met my shoulder.

Any remaining rational thought dissolved like sugar in the heat of his attention. "Fuck, Lucas," he muttered against my skin. "Fuck."

The single syllable, so rough and low just below my ear, sent that remaining bit of reason soaring out the window.