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Say something to him, Cooper thought. Say anything at all. But he was horrible at this. Couldn’t tell when men might be interested in him, didn’t know what to say when they were. He was an actions-over-words type of guy, and the metro stairs was no place for getting any action. He glanced to the side and was surprised to catch the man still looking at him. Cooper made a startled, nervous sort of noise that was something between an exhale and an awkward laugh, and came out like a honking sound. Okay, say anything but that.
The leather seats, the tantalizing coffee in the cup holder, Park’s own smell of spring and fresh linen. Mud and detergent, Cooper corrected himself.
“I’m done,” Cooper said, as if he had done shit-all since they’d got here. He glanced at Park, who was already looking at Cooper. His eyes seemed slightly lighter than before. An almost yellowish color in the rapidly fading light. Cooper was surprised more people didn’t suspect the truth about wolves. Here, deep in an ancient forest, there was something otherworldly about him, almost magical.
“Same bratty little brother. You would not believe how annoying this guy was back then. Always trying to stick his nose into everything, get everyone to play with him, read to him, carry him around. Such a middle child, oh my god. And then his little lip would get all trembly when you told him to go away.” Park cleared his throat. It was the first time Cooper had seen him look distinctly uncomfortable. “I think you’re confusing me with one of my younger brothers.” He glanced at Cooper so quickly he may have imagined it. “Nope. That was definitely you.” Jenny grinned slyly. “The way I hear it,
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“Should have known you were a cat person.” “Why, because I don’t like you?” Cooper muttered as Park left the trailer. Park called over his shoulder, “Because you’re an antisocial asshole.”
“She’s not my type because I’m gay.” The silence was sharp. Vaguely Cooper was aware his mouth was hanging open. He shut it quickly. Then opened it again to say, “Oh, that’s nice.” That’s nice? Good job, Dayton. Christ, so much for getting better at picking up on the little clues. Did that mean... Could Park actually have been interested in him back at the metro? Cooper couldn’t think of what else to say and went with the next thing that popped into his head. “Me, too.” “Is that so,” Park said, though he didn’t look surprised.
But something about Park calling him lonely had cut deeper than he thought possible, and like an animal with his back against the wall, he’d wanted to fling the same back in his face.
“C’mon, you bastard. Show me your super hearing. Asshole Park. Huge alpha Park. Big, strong, muscular Park. Amazing Ass Park. Pretty Eyes Park.”
Had Park checked him out? Was he interested in him sexually? Was this a reasonable time to be thinking about it? Probably not seemed to cover all three.
“You’re not a very pleasant damsel in distress,” Park remarked. “And you’re a shitty Lassie. Timmy never had to wait this long when he fell down a well.”
“My name’s Oliver. Though if you want to call me Pretty Eyes Park again, I promise I’ll still come running.”
It physically pained Cooper how easily Park could hand over control like that. Not a hint of struggle in him. The utter self-confidence of easy passivity.
“I got you,” Park murmured into his mouth, as if he could taste the doubt. “I know,” Cooper said. “I know.”
Murder was like getting a tattoo. The first one you carefully ask yourself why; each one after you ask yourself why not?
