Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(12)

“I’m not tainting The List with him.”

“What’s The List?” the girl asks.

Mia glances over and says, “Sorry, but this conversation is officially closed. There’s an open table near the door. If you want to continue to get your lattes without fear that I spit in them first, you’ll move.”

The girl practically trips over herself as she switches tables. I sigh as I look over at Mia. “Really?”

“The personal space bubble around a café table is sacred,” she says. “And you’re missing the point. You don’t have to like him; you just have to invite him to stick his head up your skirt. He’d be a great way to jumpstart The List.”

I pick at the coffee cake. It makes a certain amount of sense. Cooper Callahan is casual all the way. I doubt he’s ever used the word “girlfriend” in his life, so there’s no risk of messy feelings. And I’d rather wither away than give Dad even a whiff of what I’m planning to do with The List, so it’s not like he’d find out.

Despite all that, I raise my eyebrows. “I think you’re forgetting the fact that he’d run in the other direction the moment he realizes who’s asking.”

She just shrugs. “It’s not like you’re proposing to the guy. You heard the girl; she made her friend come three times. If anything, he’d fix your little problem, ah, arriving.”

My blush darkens. I can’t believe she’s talking about this so casually in public. “Mia!”

“What? It’s not like you can stay orgasm-less forever.”

I shudder. That’s not an option. “It can’t be him. It’s too complicated.”

Mia glances to the counter, where Will is currently fighting with the espresso machine. “Want me to get Will’s number for you? I know he’s just a baby, but he’s reasonably cute.”

“No!” I smack my hand over Mia’s wrist to prevent her from getting up. “No. I’ll find someone else on my own.”

She settles back in her chair, taking a sip of her coffee before opening her laptop. “And that’s a promise? No chickening out?”

I meant what I said yesterday; it’s time to take control of my own experiences. But that’s easier said than done, even with therapy and finally finding an anti-anxiety medication that doesn’t make me experience life like a zombie. I can’t promise it won’t be a disaster, but I know I owe it to myself to try. And while I’m not about to admit that Mia’s right, Cooper Callahan could be the perfect option—if I can woman up enough to ask him.

I stick out my pinkie as I reach across the table. “Promise.”





7





COOPER





The instant I walk in the door of Moorbridge Skating Center, I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia. The air is frosty, even outside the rink itself, and the ugly red carpet underneath my feet needs replacing. The faded banners hanging from the ceiling, the long rows of skates behind the front counter, the smell of popcorn and slightly burnt hot chocolate wafting over from the concessions stand… it’s exactly like every other skating rink, which means it feels like home. I might not want to be there—and trust me, the entire drive over I was mentally dragging my feet—but at least it’s comfortable. I’ll bet the benches are rickety and the Zamboni breaks down on occasion.

“Hello?” I call as I walk to the counter. I don’t see anyone around, but there were a couple of cars in the lot.

“One moment!” A woman hurries out of a door labeled “Office,” tossing her long hair over her shoulder. She’s in skinny jeans and a pink sweater that says, “Lutz do this!” on it in script. I’m terrible at guessing ages, but if I had to, I’d say she’s in her mid-thirties; her brown eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles, holding out her hand for me to shake. “Hi, I’m Nikki Rodriguez. Cooper, right?”

“Yeah. Lawrence Ryder sent me over?”

She smiles warmly. “And how’s Larry?”

I’m sure that Coach Ryder didn’t go into the details about why he wanted me to volunteer. She probably thinks I’ve been itching for something to add to my resume, instead of being forced to help her out so I won’t lose my cool the next time a guy chirps in my vicinity. “He’s good.”

“Good, good. Today’s lesson starts in just a couple of minutes, so want to get on your skates? Penny’s down there already.”

“It’s just ice skating, right?” I ask. I scratch at the back of my neck in embarrassment. I probably should have done some research on the website before I came over. I want to ask who Penny is, too, but I don’t want to sound like a total idiot.

“This class teaches ice skating and introduces the kids to ice sports,” she says. “Most of them are six or seven years old. This session just started, so they’re pretty much all beginners. Don’t worry, you’ll be great. Just help them keep their balance and learn to find their way on the ice.”

“I’ll try.”

“Larry said you were the best on the team.” She gives me a grateful smile. “I’ll be in the office if you need anything. Thanks, Cooper.”

This is the way to keep myself on the ice where it counts, so despite the squirming in my belly, I head down the stairs to the rink itself. The ice looks fresh and glossy, which is a good sign. I park myself on a bench and lace up my skates.