have done without knowing that information, Coop. Thanks.
Coop: Wanna know a secret?
Me: Does it involve the words I, jack and off?
Coop: No, but now I’m sorta wishing it did.
Me: What’s your secret, Coop?
Coop: I’m afraid of confined spaces. Fucking hate them actually.
Me: And yet you’re preparing to live on a tour bus for three months.
Coop: Guess there will be lots of trips to the bathroom. Hold my hand?
Me: You wish.
Coop: Actually I’d prefer you held my cock, but I suppose I can settle.
Me: You’re disgusting.
Coop: And you’re stalling. Bring me my beer, wench woman.
Me: Fuck you.
Coop: Well, I really didn’t want any of them to win that bet, but okay. Be here in twenty mins.
Me: You’re serious?
Coop: As a heart attack.
Me: About which part? The beer or the fucking?
Coop: Both.
I sag back against the couch and groan. What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me that I’m actually entertaining this idea?
Me: I’m not coming over, and I’m not ever going to sleep with you.
Coop: Now who said anything about sleeping?
Me: I’m thinking you should take a leaf out of Zed’s book and become real familiar with your hand. I’ll see you in the morning.
My phone buzzes again. I look at my messages but it’s coming up with an “image not received” message. A second later there’s another text from Coop
Coop: Well, where’s my picture?
Me: What are you talking about?
Coop: I just sent you mine; now send me yours.
Me: You sent me what? I can’t see pictures on my phone.
Coop: WTF? You didn’t get a new phone when I told you to?
Me: Nope. I told you I don’t like being told what to do.
Coop: I’m beginning to see that, so I’ll say this nicely. Please send me a picture of your tits.
Me: OMG, you’re a fucking pervert.
Coop: Yes, yes I am. Now … tits, please.
I shake my head and throw my phone down on the coffee table, preparing to sleep, but it won’t stop beeping. I open my messages one last time and see his replies that have all gone unanswered.
Coop: Soooo … can I get my tits now please?
Coop: Ali?
Coop: Allllllli?
Coop: Come on, Ali-Cat.
Coop: You know if you can’t take a picture and send them, I can just come over. It’s probably better that I see them in person. I mean a picture is nice and all, but nothing beats the real thing up close and personal.
Coop: Ali?
Coop: Okay, clearly you’re ignoring me.
Coop: Will you show me on the plane? Just to keep me from thinking about us plunging to our deaths.
Coop: If we were on a deserted island, would you show me your tits then?
Coop: What about if we were the only survivors? I’d totally get an all-access pass, right? I mean we wouldn’t want to be the only people on that island forever. Eventually we’d need to repopulate, build our own little colony while we waited for rescue, like in the blue lagoon.
Me: First of all, we can’t build a colony. Our children can’t fuck one another. That’s called incest, you dumb fuck. Secondly, I was considering showing you my tits on a plane, but really now it just sounds like a bad porn version of that Samuel L. Jackson film. Thirdly, it’s the worst idea ever for you to be seeing my tits again. I’m not going to sleep with you, or Levi. No one is winning that bet. Now, it’s late. We have a plane to catch and I need to sleep.
Coop: We can sleep on the plane. I’ll hold your tits for you.
Me: There is something really wrong with you .
Coop: Yes, you’re right, there is something wrong with me. It’s called lack of boob-it-is. I need a doctor, or at the very least a sexy redheaded nurse.
I type “call your ex” into the message box, but then I think about his face when Levi had mentioned her the other day outside the studio and I feel guilty for even entertaining the idea. Promptly deleting the message before I can accidently hit send, I turn off my phone. I cover my head with the pillow in an attempt to block out the noise from Zed’s room and I
Coop: Wanna know a secret?
Me: Does it involve the words I, jack and off?
Coop: No, but now I’m sorta wishing it did.
Me: What’s your secret, Coop?
Coop: I’m afraid of confined spaces. Fucking hate them actually.
Me: And yet you’re preparing to live on a tour bus for three months.
Coop: Guess there will be lots of trips to the bathroom. Hold my hand?
Me: You wish.
Coop: Actually I’d prefer you held my cock, but I suppose I can settle.
Me: You’re disgusting.
Coop: And you’re stalling. Bring me my beer, wench woman.
Me: Fuck you.
Coop: Well, I really didn’t want any of them to win that bet, but okay. Be here in twenty mins.
Me: You’re serious?
Coop: As a heart attack.
Me: About which part? The beer or the fucking?
Coop: Both.
I sag back against the couch and groan. What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me that I’m actually entertaining this idea?
Me: I’m not coming over, and I’m not ever going to sleep with you.
Coop: Now who said anything about sleeping?
Me: I’m thinking you should take a leaf out of Zed’s book and become real familiar with your hand. I’ll see you in the morning.
My phone buzzes again. I look at my messages but it’s coming up with an “image not received” message. A second later there’s another text from Coop
Coop: Well, where’s my picture?
Me: What are you talking about?
Coop: I just sent you mine; now send me yours.
Me: You sent me what? I can’t see pictures on my phone.
Coop: WTF? You didn’t get a new phone when I told you to?
Me: Nope. I told you I don’t like being told what to do.
Coop: I’m beginning to see that, so I’ll say this nicely. Please send me a picture of your tits.
Me: OMG, you’re a fucking pervert.
Coop: Yes, yes I am. Now … tits, please.
I shake my head and throw my phone down on the coffee table, preparing to sleep, but it won’t stop beeping. I open my messages one last time and see his replies that have all gone unanswered.
Coop: Soooo … can I get my tits now please?
Coop: Ali?
Coop: Allllllli?
Coop: Come on, Ali-Cat.
Coop: You know if you can’t take a picture and send them, I can just come over. It’s probably better that I see them in person. I mean a picture is nice and all, but nothing beats the real thing up close and personal.
Coop: Ali?
Coop: Okay, clearly you’re ignoring me.
Coop: Will you show me on the plane? Just to keep me from thinking about us plunging to our deaths.
Coop: If we were on a deserted island, would you show me your tits then?
Coop: What about if we were the only survivors? I’d totally get an all-access pass, right? I mean we wouldn’t want to be the only people on that island forever. Eventually we’d need to repopulate, build our own little colony while we waited for rescue, like in the blue lagoon.
Me: First of all, we can’t build a colony. Our children can’t fuck one another. That’s called incest, you dumb fuck. Secondly, I was considering showing you my tits on a plane, but really now it just sounds like a bad porn version of that Samuel L. Jackson film. Thirdly, it’s the worst idea ever for you to be seeing my tits again. I’m not going to sleep with you, or Levi. No one is winning that bet. Now, it’s late. We have a plane to catch and I need to sleep.
Coop: We can sleep on the plane. I’ll hold your tits for you.
Me: There is something really wrong with you .
Coop: Yes, you’re right, there is something wrong with me. It’s called lack of boob-it-is. I need a doctor, or at the very least a sexy redheaded nurse.
I type “call your ex” into the message box, but then I think about his face when Levi had mentioned her the other day outside the studio and I feel guilty for even entertaining the idea. Promptly deleting the message before I can accidently hit send, I turn off my phone. I cover my head with the pillow in an attempt to block out the noise from Zed’s room and I
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