Changing the Rules (Richter Book 1)(33)

Jax sat back, crossed her arms over her chest.

“You know when I’m flirting, you’ve seen it. Remember Blane in the stacks at Richter? That was flirting. And Steve last year in Vegas? That was flirting.”

“That’s a flower calling a bumblebee to mate. It’s called getting laid, not what you and Cooper are doing.”

Claire couldn’t believe her best friend was calling her out. “We’re friends. And last night he ruined that by telling me he’s had a thing for me since we met. Told me he left sunny California for dreary London because I was too young and naive to handle him when I first got here.”

Jax narrowed her eyes. “Is that really how he said that?”

Claire’s headache was coming back. “No. He said I was a child.”

“A child?”

Claire stood up from the couch, started for the kitchen. “He kept repeating that I was eighteen back then.”

Jax followed behind. “Which is true.”

Claire yanked open the fridge, pulled out a beer. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours. Always. But I just don’t see where all the fire is about this. Cooper owns up to the flirting comments and puppy-dog looks he gives you, and you’re pissed because he walked away six years ago. Walked away because you were barely eighteen and he was what? Twenty-four, twenty-five? Think about that, Claire. We’re back in high school, the kids there . . . Do you look at any of them and think, Well, maybe?”

She shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Okay . . . but what if you did?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“So fast-forward six years, you see that guy again . . .”

Jax was starting to make sense.

“It’s different.”

“Why?”

Claire twisted off the cap of her beer, took a sip. “Because Cooper and I are friends. He was the only one on the team that treated me close to an equal.”

Jax grabbed the beer from Claire’s grasp and took a drink. She handed it back and said, “That’s because you’re the closest in age. And guess what, you’re not eighteen any longer. He’s not too old, and you’re not too young. There is zero ick factor to the two of you getting together.”

Like picking a lock, the pieces slid into place and finally started to click. “But he’s my friend.”

“Trying to say you’ve never thought of him as more?”

“No.” Her denial was quick.

Jax started to smile. “You’ve never checked out his ass? The guy can fill out a pair of jeans.”

Some of the anger she’d harbored all day eased. “That’s true.”

“And that smile. When he’s belly laughing he has the tiniest dimples.”

Claire closed her eyes, pictured his smile. She hadn’t noticed the dimples, but now that she thought about it . . . She opened her eyes to find Jax staring at her.

“Sounds like you have a thing for him,” Claire said.

“Wouldn’t matter if I did, and I don’t, by the way, but it wouldn’t matter. The guy can’t stop looking at you.”

Claire put her beer down, leaned against the kitchen counter. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jax moved across from her. “Where did you leave things last night?”

“I was shocked. The man uprooted his whole life because of me, and I had no idea. And here I thought I was the smart one.”

“Okay.”

Claire looked up. “I ran. I didn’t know what to say, so I bolted.”

“What about today? You saw him at track.”

Claire found a smile for the first time that day. “I ran again. Only he was holding the whip.”

“What?”

“Claire Porter got into some trouble. Well, not trouble so much as showed off for a couple of teachers. I bragged about being hungover, then shoved Eastman’s algebra equations down his throat. Petty of me, but it felt kinda good. Then in Dunnan’s class, I did it again. Which probably worked to my advantage since I’ve already made my connection with Elsie in that group, and should move on.”

“So what did all that have to do with Cooper and a whip?” Jax asked.

Claire let out a laugh, the first one all day. “Coach Bennett told Cooper to run the attitude out of me.”

When Jax started laughing, Claire caught the giggles.

“Cooper must have been dying.”

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, thought of the look on Cooper’s face when he said he had to make her work hard. “After the first mile, which none of the sprinters like to do, I passed him and asked if he was enjoying himself.”

“Ouch. Now you’re acting like an eighteen-year-old.”

The mention of the age brought the humor out of the conversation. “God, what am I going to do with him?”

“I don’t think you have to do anything. It’s not like he asked you out and you said no and now it’s awkward.”

“You’re right. It’s worse than that.”

“You’re overthinking it.” Jax pushed off the counter. “You know what, let’s gussy up a little and hit a proper happy hour. We’ll talk in German and pretend we don’t speak English and shamelessly flirt. All this high school crap is making us act like we’re truly back there. Time to remind ourselves that we’re grown-ass women who are kicking butt and taking names.”