There was a bite to his last sentence, but I figured he was just trying to make sure I didn’t think he spent his free time hanging out with his dad or something like that. Remembering his family owned hotels, I said, “Well, at least you always have a place to stay!”
He chuckled and said, “Yeah, that’s true. I normally get my own suite... and room service doesn’t suck.”
That sounded so grownup and worldly to me. I couldn’t imagine hopping on a plane whenever I wanted and staying in my own hotel room. The only time I’d ever been on a plane was flying coach to Disneyworld where I was crammed into a double room at the Ramada with my father and brother for a whole week. Jeez, I remember thinking that was so cool!
Trip brushed by me and gave a knock on the bathroom door. “What the hell is taking him so damn long?”
When he got no response, he knocked again. “Yo, Coop! Whadja drown in there?”
Still no answer.
Trip gave me a concerned look before trying the knob. It was locked. “Coop! Hey, Coop, open up.” Bambambam!
Nothing.
We both started to worry. Trip took a step back and I half-expected him to pull a Cops and kick down the door. But he thought better of it and instead ran his fingers along the top of the door frame, coming down with a key. He jabbed it into the doorknob and within seconds, we were in.
There was Coop, on his hands and knees, with his face hovered over the bowl. He gave a groan and Trip breathed a heavy sigh. “Dude! We thought you were dying in here!”
Coop barely lifted his head. “I am. I’m dying. Ohhh...”
It sounds kind of mean, but we both started laughing. I think we were probably just relieved that Coop was okay. Besides, he did look pretty pathetic.
Trip crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “Alright, so what are we supposed to do with this sorry bastard?”
“Do you want to lay him down in one of the back bedrooms and then try to find out who his ride is?”
“Good idea.”
Trip leaned down behind Coop, put his arms around his chest and heaved him to his feet.
“Wait,” I said. “You think he’s, you know... empty?”
Trip peeked over Coop’s shoulder into the bowl. “Yeah, I think so. From the looks of it, the only thing he’s got left in here are his kidneys.”
“Ohhh. No, man. I puked out my kinees. Ohhh...”
I closed my eyes and flushed the toilet while Trip maneuvered Cooper out the door. Between the two of us, we were able to zombie-walk him down the hall into Mr. and Mrs. Rymer’s bedroom and get him flopped across the huge four-poster bed where he instantly fell asleep. He was lying on his back snoring away when I suddenly realized that save for a comatose third party, I was practically alone-in a bedroom- with Trip.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to put himself together after the ordeal, looking at me as if he was just realizing the same thing.
Like an idiot, I said, “Um... I still need to use the bathroom,” and darted off into the adjoining master bath.
When I came out, the last thing I expected to see was Trip still there, hunched over Coop with a black Sharpie marker.
I peeked over his shoulder to check out his handiwork: Coop was sporting a new handlebar moustache and unibrow.
I clamped my hand over my mouth and chastised the artist. “You’re awful.”
Trip capped the marker and tossed it on the nightstand. “No, I’m funny. Awful would have been if I used the razor.”
I had to agree with him.
We were both standing there, looking down at Coop-passed out and scribbled on-when Trip asked, “He your boyfriend?”
I stammered out, “Uh, no. God no. Why’d you think that?”
Trip raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know... Maybe because I saw him tonsils-deep in your ear a few minutes ago and yet he still has his balls.”
Crud. He saw that?
I don’t know where he got the impression that I was some kind of Amazon who would rip the scrotum off of an over-amorous seventeen-year-old boy, but maybe he falls into that group of every non-Italian outside of the tri-state area who thinks all Jersey girls are mafia princesses.
Just for the record? We’re not.
I ignored his “tough-chick” assessment and blurted out, “So, where’s Tess?”
Duh.
“She had another party to get to. Why?” His lips curled into a smirk after he said that and it was all I could do not to jump his bones.
“Oh, no reason. I just haven’t seen her. Hey, um, did you start that report for Mason’s class yet?”
That made him smile, probably because I’m the only girl to ever find herself alone in a room with Trip Wilmington who decided to use the opportunity to discuss homework.
But he answered my stupid question anyway. “No. You?”
“No.”
Then he said, “You think maybe we should work together on it?”
And I know I answered, “Yeah, sure. That’d be okay.” But I know I was thinking something more like, Yes! Of course! That’d be awesome!
“Great. I figure a girl’s perspective would be really helpful on it, you know? I never understand what the hell Shakespeare is talking about but girls always seem to get it. All that love story crap.”