stomach with both feet. Either that or a very small dolphin was head-butting him.
“What the hell? What are you doing?” He cartwheeled his arms through the water, putting some space between them.
“I’m looking for your uterus. Cammie was right. You have turned into a girl.”
Coop slapped the water hard, geysering it straight into Brad’s face. “So my sisters are talking to you about me, and they’re talking to me about you.” Cammie, Courtney and Caroline could play armchair psychiatrist as much as they wanted. He was done. If Brad wanted to self-medicate by scoring with the pretend P.I., more power to him. “What do you say we agree to ignore all of them and drop this conversation?”
“Deal.”
The lifeguard blew a series of short bursts through his whistle. No lightning in the sky. Must be a riptide warning. Everyone swam for shore. Coop made sure he and Brad brought up the rear, catching a wave that flopped them right onto the beach. They sidestepped around a trio of middle-aged women. Already tanned crisper than Sunday morning bacon, the three sat in low slung chairs right at the surf, the tail end of each wave rushing over their feet.
“But seriously, what’s with holing up at the beach?” asked Brad.
What happened to dropping the navel gazing? Coop hustled the last few steps to his towel and threw himself belly down. He pillowed his cheek on his hand. “It’s summer in Maryland. Everyone comes to the beach.”
“You’re dodging the issue faster than Floyd Mayweather dances away from a left hook.”
Brad shook his head, spraying water all over Coop’s back. Then he took his time settling in. Straightened the towel, pulled on his shades and hat, opened the bag of ranch tortilla chips. Coop wanted to think he’d given up. But he’d shared interrogation rooms with his cousin. He recognized the long silence for what it was—a way to lull him before socking him with the big question. Sure enough, the minute Coop closed his eyes, Brad went for the kill. “Don’t you want to be back on the force?”
Fuck. What with the waffles and flirting with Darcy, he’d been having a pretty great day. Now a dark cloud the size of Camden Yards darkened Coop’s mood. It blanketed all thoughts of the sweet and sassy brunette that had been on a constant loop in his mind. “Depends. Are you asking as a representative of the entire barracks, or as my cousin?”
“Flip a coin. I’ll take whatever answer you’re ready to spill.”
Coop wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot. He wasn’t ready to think about it, or talk about it. And if he didn’t think Brad would just follow him to keep pestering, he’d run straight back into the ocean—riptides be damned—to avoid answering. He rolled over and sat up. If Brad was going to be this annoying, he damn well didn’t get to hog the chips. A quick grab netted him the bag.
Fine. Brad wanted an answer? Coop would shovel one out. “I’m grateful the MSP allowed me the opportunity to pursue training with the Secret Service. After taking some long-overdue banked vacation, I look forward to rejoining the force, and utilizing my new skills to serve and protect the people of Maryland.”
“Is that the email you sent the captain?”
“Word for fucking word.”
“So you don’t want to talk about why your mom is convinced you want to quit the force?”
A football speared into Coop’s shin. He reversed the trajectory and saw a circle of high school kids who hadn’t even outgrown their acne. Two of them threw a towel over a six-pack when they saw him looking. Great. Escape from Brad and the opportunity to let off a little steam. After picking up the ball, he squared his shoulders and stalked over to their group.
“Thanks for, um, bringing our ball back,” said a boy in too-big board shorts almost to his ankles. He grabbed for the ball. Coop held it overhead, about a foot out of his reach.
“Huh-uh. I’ll give you the ball when you give me the
“What the hell? What are you doing?” He cartwheeled his arms through the water, putting some space between them.
“I’m looking for your uterus. Cammie was right. You have turned into a girl.”
Coop slapped the water hard, geysering it straight into Brad’s face. “So my sisters are talking to you about me, and they’re talking to me about you.” Cammie, Courtney and Caroline could play armchair psychiatrist as much as they wanted. He was done. If Brad wanted to self-medicate by scoring with the pretend P.I., more power to him. “What do you say we agree to ignore all of them and drop this conversation?”
“Deal.”
The lifeguard blew a series of short bursts through his whistle. No lightning in the sky. Must be a riptide warning. Everyone swam for shore. Coop made sure he and Brad brought up the rear, catching a wave that flopped them right onto the beach. They sidestepped around a trio of middle-aged women. Already tanned crisper than Sunday morning bacon, the three sat in low slung chairs right at the surf, the tail end of each wave rushing over their feet.
“But seriously, what’s with holing up at the beach?” asked Brad.
What happened to dropping the navel gazing? Coop hustled the last few steps to his towel and threw himself belly down. He pillowed his cheek on his hand. “It’s summer in Maryland. Everyone comes to the beach.”
“You’re dodging the issue faster than Floyd Mayweather dances away from a left hook.”
Brad shook his head, spraying water all over Coop’s back. Then he took his time settling in. Straightened the towel, pulled on his shades and hat, opened the bag of ranch tortilla chips. Coop wanted to think he’d given up. But he’d shared interrogation rooms with his cousin. He recognized the long silence for what it was—a way to lull him before socking him with the big question. Sure enough, the minute Coop closed his eyes, Brad went for the kill. “Don’t you want to be back on the force?”
Fuck. What with the waffles and flirting with Darcy, he’d been having a pretty great day. Now a dark cloud the size of Camden Yards darkened Coop’s mood. It blanketed all thoughts of the sweet and sassy brunette that had been on a constant loop in his mind. “Depends. Are you asking as a representative of the entire barracks, or as my cousin?”
“Flip a coin. I’ll take whatever answer you’re ready to spill.”
Coop wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot. He wasn’t ready to think about it, or talk about it. And if he didn’t think Brad would just follow him to keep pestering, he’d run straight back into the ocean—riptides be damned—to avoid answering. He rolled over and sat up. If Brad was going to be this annoying, he damn well didn’t get to hog the chips. A quick grab netted him the bag.
Fine. Brad wanted an answer? Coop would shovel one out. “I’m grateful the MSP allowed me the opportunity to pursue training with the Secret Service. After taking some long-overdue banked vacation, I look forward to rejoining the force, and utilizing my new skills to serve and protect the people of Maryland.”
“Is that the email you sent the captain?”
“Word for fucking word.”
“So you don’t want to talk about why your mom is convinced you want to quit the force?”
A football speared into Coop’s shin. He reversed the trajectory and saw a circle of high school kids who hadn’t even outgrown their acne. Two of them threw a towel over a six-pack when they saw him looking. Great. Escape from Brad and the opportunity to let off a little steam. After picking up the ball, he squared his shoulders and stalked over to their group.
“Thanks for, um, bringing our ball back,” said a boy in too-big board shorts almost to his ankles. He grabbed for the ball. Coop held it overhead, about a foot out of his reach.
“Huh-uh. I’ll give you the ball when you give me the
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