Page 14 of Save the Drama for your Mama
Don’t go there.
I had a weakness in trying to help men with problems.
It was like I felt this urge to heal them or try to be their emotional caretaker. But my efforts had failed one-hundred percent of the time, with me always ending up heartbroken in the end.
You can’t help someone if they don’t want to be helped.
Lesson learned.
Drop him like he’s hot. Yikes. Is he ever . . .
Still, like a bad habit I just couldn’t kick, I glanced back over at Cooper to get a read on him, wondering how he was feeling.
He glanced away, pretending to focus his attention on a paperweight on his desk.
That was weird.
Had he been watching me?
And why in the world was there a motorcycle helmet on one of the book shelves? It was a weird place to keep it, plus there wasn’t a single motorcycle on the property.
Chad gestured to the middle section of the impressive wall of what must have been at least five hundred books, many in different languages. There were a bunch of strange items interspersed on the book shelf as well: a pair of gloves, eyeglasses, a server notepad, and an eyepatch, among other articles with no obvious connection linking them together.
“These are my mom’s novels here,” Chad said. “She was a prolific writer. The best. Many people have tried to emulate her style over the years, but all of them have failed like fools. There will only ever be one Sandra Galloway.” He wandered over to the reading nook in front of the window and pointed out to the backyard. “She would watch us through this very window while we played in the backyard.”
“That treehouse is righteous,” Chip said.
Dale studied it, nodding. “It’s good to have a place outside of the house for private affairs, if you know what I mean.”
I had no idea what he meant, and I would not ask.
Moving closer to the bookshelf, I ran my fingers along the spines, browsing the mystery novels from Cooper’s mother. One of them caught my attention.
The Curious Case of Cooper’s Cat.
Unable to help myself, I reached up and pulled the book from the shelf. Before I could glance at the cover, a hand grazed the top of mine and tried to slide the book away from me.
I spun around to Cooper and those dark, brooding eyes, his face just inches from mine. Both of our hands were still clinging to the book that was in what little space there was between our two bodies.
“Please refrain from touching the books,” he said in a low voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
“I just wanted to—”
Before I could finish the sentence, Cooper plucked it away from me. He ran his hand along the front cover, then the back, dusting it off with utmost care. With a delicate touch, he slid the book back into its proper place on the shelf.
I found myself fascinated by the way he adjusted the surrounding books, aligning their spines with meticulous detail, as if he they were his prized treasures. After he finished arranging the books, Cooper’s gaze lingered on mine before he turned and sat back down in his chair.
“Sorry,” I said.
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t reply.
Trying to lighten the mood, I pulled the black motorcycle helmet off the shelf and plopped it on my head. “IsThe Daredevil’s Redemptionoff limits as well? I hear it’s a bestseller. It must be fantastic.” I opened and closed the visor, making silly eyes each time.
Cooper didn’t even crack a smile, even though I was sure I looked hilarious. Instead, he quirked a brow at me. “That’s funny, because I hear it’s garbage.”
“About that . . .”
“Okay—I’m going to be late for my massage, so let’s head out to the garage before I take off,” Chad said, ushering me out of the library with Chip and Dale before I had a chance to smooth things over with Cooper.
