Kiss Off

Chapter 22

Cooper isn't nearly as ridiculous of a dancer as Chloe or Devon. Actually, he's pretty decent. He keeps his hands secured at my waist, he makes sure there's a foot of distance between my face and his, and he continually asks if I'm having fun or if I need a break. Frankly, he's been the perfect date: respectful and concerned and, well... boring.

Boring?

This isn't the Cooper I've been friends with for years. This isn't how a friend treats a friend. No, this is a boy who is completely out of his element and fumbling to appear normal. When Cooper's eyes divert from mine every time I catch him watching me, or when he clears his throat every few minutes like he's about to say something but then doesn't, or when he keeps removing a hand from my waist to run it down the leg of his pants, I realize something disturbing:

Cooper Jones is nervous.

Maybe I should be flattered. But I'm not. I can't be. I don't want Cooper to have these feelings because they make everything weird. How am I supposed to hold a normal conversation with someone who's struggling to maintain eye contact? His fidgeting is making me uncomfortable and I start feeling that unease creep into my chest again. It's like a hand constricting around my ribcage and the only way to relieve it is to flee from it.

I want to run.

But then I glance to my right and find Bryson several couples over, his arms draped around Claudia's waist and her head gently rested on his chest. They look nothing like Cooper and me. We're stiff and awkward, like two people forced together against our will. Bryson and Claudia look so natural and, dare I even say, cute.

I pull my eyes from the dancing couple just as I feel Bryson turn his attention toward us. Cooper is staring down at me when I look up and I watch as he glances at Bryson and offers a nod of acknowledgment.

"Sorry," he mumbles, dropping his gaze to my left shoulder before meeting my eyes.

"For what?" I ask dumbly.

I'm not an idiot. I know where this is going, but for some reason—call it the stereotypical girl in me—I feel like playing dumb so he has to spell it out. I refuse to assume what he might be sorry for. I need to know.

"I'm sorry I'm not him."

I turn my head upward, lips puckered as I glare teasingly at him.

"Don't be," I berate. "You'd look ridiculous as a brunette."

Cooper chuckles, dropping his head to laugh into the space between us. I want to laugh too. I want to find humor in the moment, but I don't. Instead, my chest burns. My veins feel like they're nearing explosion. I pinch the bridge of my nose, offering Cooper a quick smile when he sees the action. He doesn't comment on it and doesn't even seem to realize something's off with me.

I fight the need to take another peek in Bryson's direction because I can still see him glance our way every few minutes from the corner of my eye. I'd hate to accidentally catch his attention and have to pretend like I'm okay with the position he's in. I want to be okay with it. I don't want to feel this fuming, achy sensation every time I see the two of them together, but I do. Because I know he likes her and it's only a matter of time before he wins her heart. I don't want to be watching when that moment happens.

"Ready for a break?" I ask Cooper, tilting my head up to look at him.

"Uh," he glances around the dance floor, watching as people show off their less than impressive dance moves for each other, and then shrugs. "Sure."

We push past oscillating dancers, some getting a little too frisky with each other, and I make a beeline for the snack table. I'm thirsty again, probably because the flames licking their way through my body are devouring every drop of liquid. I didn't know I was like this. I'd never had a reason to be blindingly jealous before. For all seventeen years of my life, I thought I was relaxed, easily able to brush off bothersome emotions.