Page 67 of Craving Cooper

— I guess I’d better stop missing you and go shower, or I’ll be late for work. x

— Your boss won’t mind. He’s likely to be late for work himself. x

— Is there a reason for that? x

— Yeah. He’s thinking about his girlfriend taking a shower, and it’s very distracting. x

— Girlfriend?

There’s pause of no more than ten seconds, and then my phone rings. It’s Cooper and I answer straight away.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” he says, sounding concerned. “Or is it too soon for labels? Have I got that wrong? Don’t you want to be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, I do. And stop panicking. You haven’t got anything wrong. I was just thinking that sending early morning texts is the kind of thing boyfriends do.”

“Oddly enough, I considered myself as your boyfriend as far back as Saturday afternoon,” he says. “I wondered if I should have come after you when you ran away with your fake headache.”

“Oh, God… don’t remind me about that.” I came too close to losing you.

“Okay, but what I don’t understand is, if you’ve been thinking of me as your boyfriend, then why are you so surprised I called you my girlfriend?”

“Because we haven’t talked about it.”

“Do we need to talk about it?”

“I guess not.”

“Then let’s consider it as settled, shall we?” I hear him sigh. “I’ll let you take that shower, and I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and by the way… don’t get too used to receiving early morning texts from me.”

“Why not? I like them.”

“I know, but I won’t need to send them when I can just turn over in bed and kiss you good morning.”

The line falls silent. “Cooper?”

He’s hung up, but I can’t help smiling as I put down my phone, because I like the idea of sleeping with him… and waking up beside him in the morning, too. I particularly like the idea of being kissed good morning.

So, who needs text messages?

I don’t. What I need is a shower… and a coffee, and to feed Saffron. Not necessarily in that order. The cat seems to think she should come first, as usual, and rather than put up with her getting under my feet, I feed her, then head for the bathroom.

I shower, although my need for coffee stops me from lingering too long. I’ll admit my need for Cooper is a factor in that, too, and when I’m done, I wrap myself in a towel and make for the kitchen.

I can’t face breakfast. That’s probably a mix of anticipation and those two large glasses of wine I drank last night… which, as Cooper correctly surmised, is more than I’ve ever drunk before. I don’t feel hungover. Not in the way I’ve heard other people describe a hangover. But I don’t feel like eating anything, either.

The coffee is very welcome, though, and I take it back to my bed, sitting on the mattress while I style my hair. There’s no way I can do anything as sophisticated as the waitress in the hotel last night, but I don’t need to worry. Cooper wasn’t interested in her. He’s interested in me, which makes me smile as I loosely braid my hair, tugging out a few strands to frame my face. I only apply a little makeup, although I take great care with it, and once I’m satisfied, I put on some underwear. Black lace feels appropriate for my state of mind, but I’ll be wearing a white blouse, so I pull out a white lace bra and matching thong. They’re fairly similar to the ones I wore last night, and I take them to the bed, adding a simple black skirt, and one of my many white blouses. There’s nothing unusual about any of this. It’s how I’d usually dress for work, but I take extra care in putting it all on, making sure I look as nice as I can before I step into my heeled pumps and finish my coffee, my stomach churning with nerves and excitement.

I’m not due to start work for another fifteen minutes, but I can’t see any harm in going down now. With luck, Cooper will already be there, and we can have a little time to ourselves.

Saffron’s asleep on the couch, and doesn’t even look up as I gather my things, and open the door, closing it behind me.

I’m surprised I can walk, but I put one foot in front of the other, and make it down the stairs, checking around in the lunchroom, and sighing out my relief when I find that Greta isn’t here yet. There’s no sign of her coat, or her, although I can hear someone moving about in the surgery. It must be Cooper, and I can’t help smiling as I wander back to my desk and deposit my things, straighten my skirt and walk over to the surgery door, knocking on it, just once.

It opens, and Cooper smiles down at me, the air between us crackling with sexual tension before he reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me into the room, and into his arms, kicking the door closed as he dips his head and kisses me.

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