Page 62 of Her Greatest Adventure

“If I’m so old, you probably shouldn’t be letting me into your bedroom.”

“Maybe I have a thing for older men.”For one older man, to be exact.

He comes to an abrupt stop in front of me, just inches from my bedroom door. I collide into his back, my hands gripping his arms to steady myself.

“Scared after all?” I ask, giving him a shove.

“You have absolutely no filter.” The words are deep, rasped.

“Is that why you froze? I promise I don’t actually seek out old men.” I wince.

He shakes his head and steps inside the room. “No, I know you don’t do that.”

“So, did your knees lock up or something?”

“I don’t suppose you’ll just let this go.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“Preferably.”

Heading straight for my closet, he pulls open the doors and looks inside before closing them again. There are not many hiding spots in my bedroom, and after another minute of looking around, he appears to deem it safe.

I sit on the edge of my bed and ask, “Spill.”

His eyes bounce around the room, looking at everything from my makeup vanity to the collection of skateboards I have hung on the wall beside my beanbag chair. I push further onto the mattress and cross my legs in front of me.

When he finally moves that lazy gaze to rest on me, I inwardly swoon. If a look from someone could be a compliment, the way Cooper’s staring at me would be the most flattering one.

“I don’t like the thought of you with other men.”

It’s a brutally honest answer. And one that threatens to undo me.

“Ever? Or just right now?”

His throat bobs with a swallow. “My Uber driver is still waiting for me. I don’t want to have to call another one.”

“Come on, Cooper. Don’t be that guy.”

“What guy?”

I roll my eyes, straightening my back. “The one who can’t be honest about what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling. Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not playing games. I’m keeping the line drawn.”

“Fuck the line. I’ve never been a fan of being told where I can and can’t go.”

“Please, just let it go. We can talk about this when we’re not on a time crunch,” he begs.

Fatigue is the only explanation for why I wave him off, letting him get away with pussyfooting around what he’s really feeling. I push to my feet and walk right past him, toward the front door. He’s close behind me, but I don’t face him until I’ve grabbed hold of the doorknob.

“Thank you for checking my apartment for me,” I tell him, the words stiff with frustration.

Maybe I shouldn’t be annoyed with him, but I am. Of all the things we’ve shared with one another—all the things we’vedonetogether—this is where he draws the line? No, that doesn’t work for me.

“Adalyn.”

When he gets close enough, I pull open the door. “If your Uber is gone, I’ll call you another one.”

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