Coop
He’d placed the bag of takeout on her coffee table, a salad from Molly’s for him and the grilled cheese he knew was her favorite for Calle. He’d also bought soup and tea, both seeming like the type of comfort food a pregnant woman would want. Of course, in probably stupid fashion, he’d asked Brit what Calle’s favorites were.
Yes, talking to Brit might have been a mistake.
Just inquiring about her favorite foods from Molly’s was going to have the gossip train leaving the station, chugging through the locker room as speculation went wild with what was going on between them. But Coop was also done with tiptoeing around. He’d begun with pushy and persistent, and he was going to see it through until he’d made his way through that tough outer layer Calle wore around her like a shield. Which was why he’d made some calls the night before, discussing the potential of him and Calle with Bernard and then PR-Rebecca.
After they’d given him the fifth degree, Bernard especially, Coop had discovered what Calle had meant when referencing her contract the day before.
Apparently, Bernard thought he was doing them both a solid by clearing the way with legal, HR, and the board. Coop still couldn’t quite believe that his coach had been playing matchmaker, but he had, ensuring a clause was put in Calle’s contract that protected her from any fallout from dating him. Bernard had also made it clear that if things continued the way they’d been going, and Coop’s agent finalized the deal they were working on, that same clause would be included in his offer.
So, one crisis avoided.
The next was what the blogs and sports shows would say.
But PR-Rebecca was the shit. She’d handle whatever storm blew their way. Which meant that the only roadblock in his way with Calle was Calle herself.
And he didn’t think he was wrong in knowing it would be the hardest to overcome.
Still, she’d agreed to give him a chance.
That was something.
Unpacking why she’d make him promise to tell her when his feelings began to change was a whole other issue.
One he was going to tackle on another day.
“I should change my clothes,” she began to say. “Put on something that’s not sweats—”
He snagged her hand when she turned back to the bedroom, tugging her over to the couch and the coffee table. “You don’t need to change,” he told her. “We’re staying in.”
“I—um—” A shake of her head that sent brown hair skidding over her shoulders. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
Coop thought it was the best idea he’d ever had, holding Calle captive so she couldn’t avoid him. Being in her condo also had the side benefit of giving him the ability to kiss her whenever he felt like it.
Though, holding her captive probably wasn’t the best term.
Either way, he’d shown up for their date, had found the door unlocked, and had made his way inside, and since they’d been on their own for a good half hour now and no police had shown up because a scary black dude had entered a white woman’s condo, Coop figured they were safe from busybody neighbors.
Though, now he needed to have a conversation with her about locking her doors.
Figuring that would probably go over as well as him suggesting they date in the first place, he decided to put that conversation off for the moment and focus on plying Calle with carbs.
He pulled out her sandwich and handed it to her, along with a cup of whatever magical homemade soup Molly had put together.
“Eat,” he said, shoving them at her.
Since the soup had bacon and a shit ton of cream and cheese in it, Coop had satisfied himself with only a smell.
It definitely wasn’t on the diet plan.
And his torture at passing over the soup without taking a taste seemed to make Calle relax when nothing else could.
“It’s killing you to not eat this, isn’t it?” she asked, scooping up a large mouthful.
Her moan, when the spoon slid between her lips, made his cock harden. Just like that, just that easy, skipped right over chub and went directly to granite.
God damn.
“You’re evil.”
She smirked and took another bite. “I’ve never been so glad to not be a player any longer than when I realized I didn’t have to follow that food plan.” She set down the soup and picked up her sandwich, taking a huge bite. “Don’t get me wrong, Rebecca does an amazing job and I know it’s working. I’m . . .”
“Just glad you can eat whatever you want?”
“That.” Her lips twitched. “Well, with the exception of alcohol and more than one cup of coffee and ibuprofen and—”
Her sandwich was there, right there, just a few inches from his face and teasing him.
So. Not. Fair.
He bent and took a nibble.
Just one bite wouldn’t gain Nutritionist-Rebecca’s notice, right?
Hell, who was he kidding? She’d take one look and know exactly what he’d done wrong. But Coop found he couldn’t summon a damn to give, not when Calle gasped and snatched the sandwich back then nearly toppled off the couch. He lurched forward and snagged her around the waist while she fought to keep the sandwich away from him. He was pretending to gnaw at her arm, teeth snapping at the grilled cheese, as giggles exploded from her chest.
Those giggles were the best thing he’d ever heard.
They were a hundred times better than the crowd cheering when he scored, even better than hearing his name called when he’d been drafted.
Because they were pure Calle.
And that meant they were solid gold.
At the end of their struggle, they ended up in a heap on the carpet, Calle sprawled across his chest, the nibbled-on sandwich still gripped in her hand. “I win,” she said proudly, lifting it up like she was hefting the Cup.
Coop took advantage of her distraction and shot up to sitting, hands coming to her waist to keep her in place as he dropped his mouth to hers.
“No,” he said when he pulled away. “I’m the one who’s won, sweetheart.”
Or at least the first battle, anyway.
Operation Out-Stubborn continued the next day when he waited until Calle was seated in the back of the plane, fully buckled in at the window seat. Excellent (cue Mr. Burns fingers here). Coop got up, walked down the aisle and seated himself directly next to her.
“I have some questions,” he said, fighting a grin and totally failing.
Because . . . fuck, he just liked being around her.
He’d stayed later than he should have the night before, considering the travel day they both had and the extra rest she should be getting.
Coop had plowed through one pregnancy book to learn that.
And had six others on his kindle.
Fuck, pregnancy seemed like a shitty hand to be dealt—nausea, vomiting, no alcohol, shit she couldn’t eat, and then at the end of it, Calle got to push an eight-pound watermelon-shaped object out of her—
“What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed.
“Sitting with the woman I’m in a relationship with,” he said, nonplussed.
“We’re not—” Her mouth opened and closed a few times. “A relationship— No, that’s not—”
“Last night, you were in my arms and agreed to give us a shot. Did you change your mind?”
Her gaze dropped to her hands and for the first time since he’d started down this path, Coop felt a bolt of fear. Had she changed her mind? Fuck that, he wasn’t going to let her change her mind—no fucking way.
Chocolate eyes drifted back up to his. “No,” she whispered.
Everything in him settled, and Coop knew his plan was working. He had to keep moving forward, keep pressing until he was so ingrained inside her that she wouldn’t be able to picture a world without him.
“Good,” he said, leaning down and brushing his lips over hers.
Which meant that instantly the cabin of the plane was filled with chattering, the gossip train chugging right along as those who could see them were informing those who couldn’t that he’d just kissed Calle.
In front of everyone.
Coop figured it was easier that way.
Everyone now knew and they could move on, not having to hide behind curtains or in the showers, al la Gabe and Nutritionist Rebecca and Stefan and Brit, respectively.
He loved Calle, no way was he hiding it.
He. Loved. Calle.
A bolt of shock hit him in the gut before he settled. Because, of course, he loved Calle. If he didn’t, would he have gone through all of this trouble? Would he have pushed and pressed and been obsessed with anyone less than the woman he loved?
Fuck, no.
Coop didn’t court trouble.
But he sure as shit was going to court Calle.
Until she fell in love with him right back.