Page 10 of Tumbling the Cornerback

I nodded, barely able to suppress my smile. “Desmond. He’s a flame point Siamese I adopted from someone who knew someone who was friends with my great grandma.”

Cooper’s eyes lit with a childlike excitement, his entire posture perking up like the golden retriever he was often compared to. “I love cats. I want to adopt one, but I travel too much, and, when I’m not on the road, I’m training, I’m doing promo, I’m trying to be a good brother and kid...” He sighed. “Well. That’s my trauma dumping. I’m sorry I did that and made you listen.”

Cooper very seriously stirred his straw around in his tea, watching the slurry of sugar at the bottom of the glass. “Caitlin and Liesel were very certain their plan would work,” I finally said. “It pissed me off because they were reducing everything I’d done over the past many months to some early 90’s sitcom bullshit.”

His expression, usually warm and open, shuttered. Rolling his tea glass back and forth slowly between his palms, Cooper shrugged. “It’s not a terrible idea. I can see the appeal. Even if it meant you’d have to be nice to me for longer than passing one another in the stadium corridor.”

The bubbles in my ale were nearly gone. I should be wrapping things up now—We had a drink; it’s time to go. No hard feelings, have a great one. Instead, though, I gingerly reached out one foot and poked his shin. My annoyance and frustration still simmered below the surface, and a perverse part of me wanted to nurse that feeling. Cooper was a football player. His ego had enough boosting on the daily from not just the team but fans as well. He might not be the most famous guy on the team, but he was definitely well known.

He’d seemed pretty oblivious to it, too. The glances that weren’t very covert, a few hollers about good game or critiques of his playing last season shouted from passer-by and, in one case, an Uber. But he’d just shrugged it off with good humor, like these were folks he knew in passing and not people who watched him every week, some probably paying ridiculous sums of money for the opportunity in person. Even the fans bold enough to approach him for one-on-one conversation hadn’t triggered some preening, cocky star attitude like I’d come to expect from players. Coop been genial with some teenaged fans who’d stopped us as we walked into Cherry Bo Berry. He’d smiled, signed, asked some questions about what they were up to, then deftly extricated us and waved the kids off while they did their best not to squeal aloud. And the entire time, he’d looped me into the interaction.

It’d been weird. Nice. But weird. The cheerleaders had fans, sure, but most of them were either aspiring cheerleaders themselves or people with absolutely zero boundaries who thought porn was an accurate depiction. Being introduced to randoms like I was somebody important had been... Well. Nice. Really freaking nice. Cooper Howard doing it had also been nice. More than. And I hated myself for being excited.

He was making it too easy to let this slide, to fold into the PR plans for all the work I’d done. There, there’s the anger. Nice to have you back again.

“Look, I get that this would be great for Queering Sports, but I’m going to be up front with you here... I’ve been working myself to the bone with this group for two years now. I know you understand why they’re so important, yeah?” He nodded, and I kept going, not giving him a chance to interject. “And I won't begrudge them the boost in donations, the huge spike in media attention, the requests from all these famous athletes about supporting them... It’s wonderful.”

He watched as I took a more careful sip of my ale, waiting until I was done to say, “You sure as hell don’t sound like you think it’s wonderful.”

“The part that’s not wonderful is the thing y’all seem to be missing in gushing over the proposal. All of these events coming up this year, every single one of them, I made happen. Between me and Liesel, we organized six whole fundraisers between now and December. The women on the squad have really pitched in to help when their day jobs and school allow, but?—”

“But,” Cooper interrupted softly, “you feel like your work’s being swept under the rug.”

My nod was short, jerky.

I rolled my bottle back and forth between my hands again, watching the label flake with moisture. A few more people wandered in, eyeballing Cooper hard. At least one of the kids he’d spoken with must have made a social media post or maybe told a friend who told a brother or dad because they were doing that thing, trying to act casual but obviously staring. I snorted softly, taking one more sip of my drink to finish it off. “The important thing is the organization is getting notice, yeah? They’re getting funding.”

“And you’re getting lost,” he murmured, leaning just a little closer. “Listen, this is important to me, too—it was before I heard all of the awesome things they do, but after Liesel gave us the full rundown of the organization?” He shook his head, leaning back and taking that soft, spicy scent with him. Damn it. “I honestly had no idea how deep their roots are, Lucas. I don’t think anyone does unless they’re working with them, you know?”

I sank down in my seat. Another guy joined the two looky-loos at the bar, all three pretending not to stare at Cooper. Great. An audience was forming.

I could do audiences. I knew how to perform and look happy and at ease even if my day was shittastic. “I’m not always going to be a cheerleader. There’s a time limit on how long this will last for me. You know how it goes. Our bodies are only going to perform at peak for so long. Eventually, injuries and age catch up to us. Hell, every year when it’s time for our annual audition, I stress about making the cut. There’s gonna be a year when I don’t. I planned to transition from cheering and teaching to teaching and hopefully working with a nonprofit.” I shrugged, staring at the bottle again. “Maybe go back and get my master’s in social work or something so I can help more.”

“I don’t see how this is stopping you,” he said, frowning. “Was this some sort of a test for you? And now you’re not going to get the job working with Queering Sports?” A tiny divot formed between his brows as he gave me a considering, confused look. Damn it, why did he have to be so freaking cute? I wanted to hate him, and it’d be way easier if he was one of those no-neck, high-and-tight having, dude bros who talked to me like I wasn’t able to parse big words and had cotton for brains.

“No,” I groaned, pressing my face into my hands to muffle a growl of frustration. “It’s more than that. Or maybe not more than, but... ugh. This fundraiser, and all of the ones I’ve helped line up for the rest of the year? Those were supposed to be proof I could do this, you know? Proof I’m more than the perky little twink who can toss Tori into the air and never miss a beat. I’m trying to build a portfolio so when I have to stop cheering, I have something to pivot towards.”

Cooper sipped the last of his tea, his gaze thoughtful. A few more guys came in, one wearing a Howard jersey with his number on it, trying to act casual. They were circling, though, getting braver as they realized Cooper wasn’t going to wave them off. “Don’t you need some training or something to work for nonprofits? Like a college degree?”

I scowled. “What makes you think I didn’t go to college? I have a bachelor’s in business administration with a certificate in nonprofit management, and a bachelor’s in performance with a specialization in dance education.”

Eyes gone wide, Cooper let out a low whistle. I felt a tingle of pride under his appreciative, impressed gaze but did my best not to let him see how his reaction gave me the warm fuzzies. “Two degrees? Jesus. When’d you start college? When you were twelve?”

“How old do you think I am?” I laughed. “And I did a bunch of dual credits in high school, then double majored. Worked my ass off with summer classes and accelerated programs so I could graduate by twenty-three.”

“So, you’re twenty-three,” he said, nodding. “I’m twenty-four.”

“I’m twenty-five,” I corrected, wishing I hadn’t finished my beer. I needed something to do other than pick at the soggy label. I needed to go was what I needed to do. Just leave and call this done. Show up for the photo op next week like Caitlin proposed, smile and nod and just go with the flow like Cass gently suggested. Use Cooper as our big draw. Bring him along to the events. Put him front and center.

Push him as the main attraction, not actually supporting an awesome, desperately needed organization working to make it easier for queer kids to be involved in sports.

Jesus.

“Oooooh, an older man,” he chuckled. “I’m in trouble.”

He leaned back in his chair and ran his thumb over his lower lip, wiping away a stray drop of tea.

Teasing me.

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