“Then this thing between us is over,” he said roughly. “Either we’re a couple, or we’re not. And I mean a real couple. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d like the woman I’m with to greet me with a big smile and a big fucking kiss when we see each other on the street.”
Guilt dug a crease into her forehead, and her pulse throbbed in the aristocratic column of her throat. “It can’t be tomorrow night,” she finally said, her voice wobbly. “My family and I are having dinner at the Lockharts.”
Cooper waited, but after several seconds ticked by, he stopped holding his breath for an invite.
Lexie must have seen the hurt and anger in his eyes, because her voice grew desperate. “A family event isn’t the place to announce our relationship, Coop. It’ll already be tense enough with the Lockharts there. My dad and Tanner Lockhart can’t stand each other half the time.”
He let her spout excuses, then drew in a calming breath and looked her square in the eye. “Invite me to dinner, Lex.”
Her lips tightened in dismay.
“Invite me to dinner,” he repeated, his tone containing a dose of barely-restrained anger.
She opened her mouth. A shaky breath flew out. Then, “I can’t.”
He didn’t anticipate the blast of agony that slammed into his chest. He hadn’t realized just how badly he’d wanted her to say yes.
Trying not to choke on the pain burning his throat, he said, “And if I tell you I love you? Will that change your mind about inviting me?”
Shock filled her face. “You…love me?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “Probably makes me a total fool, but I do.”
The silence that resulted was so deafening he could hear the frantic pounding of Lexie’s heart. His own pulse raced just as fast, his palms unusually damp as he waited for her to say something. To say anything.
But actions spoke louder than words, and when she took a backward step, he knew he’d lost.
“I…I can’t do this right now,” she whispered. “I need to…think.”
His jaw went stiffer than a two-by-four. “All you do is think. You think and nitpick and analyze. For once in your life, can’t you just feel?” A hot wave of frustration set fire to his insides. “How do you feel, Lex? About me? About us?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice sounded very small and forlorn.
“Yes you do,” he snapped. “You know exactly how you feel, but you’re just too chicken-shit to admit it. To face it.” Cooper’s breaths came out in sharp pants. “Go.”
Her gaze flew to his. “What?”
“Go,” he repeated. “I’m not gonna stand around listening to you think. We’re done here.”
“Coop—”
“I don’t know how else to say it—I want you to leave, princess.” He stalked to the door, pausing only to shoot her a dark look over his shoulder. “And here’s a heads up—when a man tells you he loves you, the correct response is I love you, too. But I guess I was a real fucking idiot for thinking you’d have the guts to say it back, huh?”
“Coop—”
“Goodbye, Lexie.”
Chapter Nine
Jake couldn’t believe he was doing this. Dinner with the Lockharts. And the Prices. In Bree’s fancy-ass mansion. And he was wearing an honest-to-God suit.
Jesus.
As he parked his truck on the circular driveway in front of the Lockhart mansion, he had to wonder if maybe he’d seriously lost his mind. Maybe the mission gnawing at his insides had gnawed away a few brain cells too. When he’d bid on Bree at the auction, he’d been looking for sex. A good time and a nice distraction. Instead, he felt like he’d gotten a solid thump on the gut with a baseball bat. Somehow, over this past week, he’d stopped thinking of Bree in terms of how many bone-melting orgasms she could give him, but of how many times he could make her smile. How many times she made him smile.
The hot rush of emotion swimming in his chest was completely unfamiliar. So was this sudden eagerness to please. Both Owen and Maddie had teased him mercilessly when he’d come by to borrow that suit—thank God for identical twins with identical measurements. As he’d put on the monkey suit, Jake tried convincing himself that it was no biggie, that dinner with the Lockharts didn’t mean a damn thing. It was just a way to appease Bree and persuade her to continue the affair once she returned to Denver.
But he was kidding himself. This didn’t feel like an affair. When he was with Bree, his chest felt so light it was a miracle he didn’t float away. When she looked at him, she didn’t see one of the bad boy Bishop brothers. And when he opened his mouth, she actually listened, acted like he had something truly worthwhile to say.
Which made him wonder if the reason he didn’t talk much was because deep down he believed nobody cared about what he said. Was clamming up a protective instinct? Keep your mouth shut so nothing potentially stupid could come out?