Love Sex & Other Games: Part 3 Read Online Free Page B

fueling our own game. Each time I fork a piece of roasted potato into his mouth, Rosie winces a little, causing Cooper to start singing, which in turn makes both Miles and Rosie look thoroughly confused, definitely uncomfortable, and a little like they want to disappear. It’s become an endless cycle. Oh, and also, I’m fairly certain Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick think we’re on drugs.
    Regardless of all the collective discomfort in the room, I’m still having fun. The fact that I shouldn’t be makes it even funnier somehow.
    “You are aware he can feed himself, right?” Miles asks, rolling his eyes. Cooper chuckles, shamelessly amused, opening his mouth for another bite, which I feed him because I have to. The more annoyed Miles gets, the more I have to annoy him. It’s the most ridiculous—yet hilarious—situation I’ve ever been in.
    Who would have ever thought I’d be having a good time aggravating Miles after crushing on him all these years. For the first time in my life, I’m enjoying playing the part of irritating little sister.
    “I think it’s cute,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick says. “I wish you were sweet to me like that,” she tells her husband. He grunts, shoveling a bite of pot roast into his mouth.
    “So,” my sister starts, then stops to clear her throat. “When did you two, um, start seeing each other?” She’s addressing me, but Cooper answers her—in song.
    “Just in time,” he sings, turning in his seat to look at me. “I found you just in time. Before you came, my time was running low.”
    Oh, my god.
    He’s serenading me. With an old love song. And he sounds thoroughly perfect. I know I’m staring at him, slack-jawed and stunned, and most likely a little dreamy, but oh. My. God. The man can croon.
    “I was lost. The losing dice were tossed. My bridges were all crossed. Nowhere to go.” He grins at my expression, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, miraculously turning this voyeuristic moment intimate. “Now you’re here. And now I know just where I’m going. No more doubt or fear. I’ve found my way.”
    “Awe,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick sighs, clapping her hands. “I love Nina Simone.”
    “That’s Tony Bennett,” Mr. Fitzpatrick argues.
    “Frank Sinatra,” Cooper corrects, eyes still on me. He inches closer, brushing a feather-light kiss on my cheek before sliding up to my ear. “Don’t forget to take your panties off before we leave.”

 
    THE CONFESSION
     
     
    Emerson
     
     
    On my way out of the bathroom where I did as Cooper instructed—removing my panties for the car ride home—I'm surprised to find my sister waiting. It's clear she's here for me and not the restroom.
    Rosie's leaning against the wall, arms folded across her chest. To anyone who doesn't know her well, the posture might appear defensive. And in a way it is. Rosie does this when she's trying to protect herself, she has done this her whole life. Whatever she's going to say is difficult for her. Which means it’s probably going to be difficult for me. Because it’s probably about Cooper. My stomach churns, threatening to expel the meal we just ate.
    “I tried calling you,” she says, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I left you messages. A lot of them.” She stares down at her shoes for several long seconds Pale-pink flats—a contrast to my faded black Converse. But I don't think she's waiting for me to reply. It looks like she's gathering her thoughts. So I let her, taking the opportunity to collect my own.
    I never listened to her messages. I didn’t listen to Cooper’s either. I deleted them—all of them—choosing to leave it in the past and focus on the now. But I should have called her. I’m not really sure why I didn’t.
    “The other night...” She lifts her head, meeting my gaze. “When I went to Cooper’s house… Nothing happened.”
    I nod. “I know. He told me.”
    She nods now. “I figured. But you still didn't call me back.”
    She doesn’t state it as a