Operation Prom Date (Tactics in Flirting #1)(10)
When I grabbed the boat and tugged, it was heavier than I expected. My foot slipped, unable to get any traction in the slimy sludge, and I fell backward, all my momentum now working against me. As squishy as the mud was between my fingers, it sure was hard on the butt.
Cooper’s laughter came out sputtered at first, like he’d made an attempt to stop it, but then he laughed full out, the boat rocking as he folded over. I flicked mud at him, but it barely hit his legs, which was hardly satisfying.
Once he semi-recovered from his laughing fit, he took a large step and jumped onto the dry part of the shore. Show off. He tugged the boat up next to him, then extended a hand to me.
“I like how you took care of the boat first,” I grumbled as he grabbed my clean hand.
“Well, it doesn’t have feet. It’s hardly fair to expect it to climb onto the shore.” His implication was clear—he expected me to have that ability. He yanked me up, and I nearly bumped into him. My hands automatically went to his waist.
He gripped my upper arms. “Whoa. You steady?”
Suddenly, I didn’t feel steady at all. My stomach did a sommersault, and my skin tingled underneath his large, warm hands.
I must just be lightheaded from standing up so fast—that was it. I shook off the momentary dizziness, and glanced down. My muddy hand left a big smear of brown across his T-shirt and the top of his jeans. “Oh shoot, I got your clothes messy.”
He shrugged and his voice came out low. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”
My gaze shot to his. Apparently I was the one with muddy hands and dirty thoughts, but then dawning crossed his features.
“You thought I was giving you some line, didn’t you?”
I shook my head. “No. Of course not.”
“Mmm-hm. Guess you’re not quite as serious as I thought.” He tipped his head toward his truck. “C’mon. Let’s get you home before the rest of your thoughts drift into the gutter and you offend my delicate sensibilities.”
I opened my mouth to tell him he was the one who put them there, but luckily I stopped myself just in time. No way that wouldn’t come out sounding inappropriate, and then he’d get the wrong idea and think I was crushing on him or something and run in the other direction.
That’d leave me with two social disasters on my hands, because I’d never pull off my goal to land Mick without Cooper by my side.
Chapter Seven
Cooper
I knocked on the door to Kate’s house Friday night and then kicked a stray rock off the cement block that acted as their porch. We’d gone for our usual practice on the lake this afternoon, but right as we were getting into a good groove with our pacing, Dad called to remind me I was supposed to meet him at his office.
So we’d cut it short, and I was still reeling from the news that Dad arranged an internship for me with his firm over the summer when Kate called me in a panic. “It’s been four days!” she’d shouted into the phone, loud enough I’d yanked it away from my ear. “And I still haven’t even talked to Mick, and now it’s the weekend…”
Honestly, after that, I didn’t catch many more actual words. Let’s just say she was freaking out.
So I’d offered to come over to talk strategy. It was better than dwelling on my planned-out future that was suddenly starting sooner than expected, and the suffocating feeling the internship news had brought on.
The guy standing in the yard next door bent over the hood of an RV, a tool in his hand, and I saw not just plumber’s crack, but most of his grand canyon.
The door swung open. “Oh good, you’re here.” Kate grabbed my arm and yanked me inside so fast I almost tripped on the threshold. “I hope you have a plan, and this one better be more foolproof than your last one.”
“You mean my one about starting a conversation with him?”
“Technically, that was my goal first, you know.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
She threw up her hands. “It’s not. I need more than you telling me to try to talk to him. I need the actual conversation fed to me.”
“I hear that that’s bad for you.” I gave a dramatic sigh. “All empty calories, possible link to diabetes…”
She tilted her head and shot daggers at me. And she wondered why people assumed she was serious.
“I thought you were going to go with the football angle.” We’d discussed as much yesterday on the lake.
“Yeah, but then I realized that’d work if, like, I’d just watched one of the games last weekend and could bring up what’d happened during it. But it’s not football season anymore, and if I mention that I’ve seen him playing after school, doesn’t that sound totally stalkerish?”
Oh, hell. She’s giving me that deadly determined look. The one that says she wants me to actually answer. “Not if you word it right,” I said, hoping I’d worded my response correctly. With her, questions I assumed were rhetorical weren’t, and honest answers weren’t always appreciated, either.
She ran a hand through her hair, switching the bulk of it to the other side. Several strands fell in her face and I had the urge to brush it back for her and see if it was as silky as it looked.
“It’s just so hard to approach him when he’s got all his friends around, or worse—all the girls,” she said. “How is someone like me supposed to have a chance when every other girl in the school is practically throwing herself at him?”