Page 31 of Cattle Stop

Cooper pulls out a bundle of asparagus and turns only far enough to point it at Whit. “Obviously.” Whit picks at his T-shirt where it clings to his chest, and Cooper goes back to rooting through the fridge. “I’m making pizza.”

“Obviously.”

“You around tonight, or are you going to your parents’?”

“My parents’?”

“I’m trying to encourage you to disappear.” Cooper pokes his head back into the refrigerator, like he really needs the Parmesan right this second and isn’t fighting a battle against ogling the drip of sweat rolling down Whit’s temple. “The nights you’re gone are my favorite if you’re looking for scheduling feedback.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Well, what else is new?” Cooper finds the block of Parmesan and peels back the plastic wrap. Drew probably made it last summer if it’s in the fridge now. And any that he makes this summer…who’ll even be around to eat it if he sells the farm? Will Drew just have to toss out all the wheels that haven’t finished aging, give the pigs a heyday of cheesy joy and shut the door on the cheese room, to never open it again?

Fuck. What an awful thought.

Cooper gently closes the fridge. “Never mind. There’s plenty for all four of us, anyway.”

Whit nods and when he goes upstairs, Cooper lets out a breath. Right. Look at them, they can get along. And maybe Cooper can find a chance to have some good old quality time with his right hand soon. He can work on forgetting about how Whit looks when he gets back from a run, which is only moderately more tormenting than how he looks when he gets out of the shower, and is only topped by the sight of him slipping into bed in just his boxers. Whit Morales, Cooper’s personal torturer.

The stairs creak once more and Cooper turns back to the mozzarella, because there’s Whit all over again, and this time walking toward Cooper, close enough to smell clean sweat and the dampness of fresh spring air still clinging to him.

“Your phone.”

“Just leave it.”

“It rang twice.”

“S’fine.” Cooper grates the cheese hard enough his knuckles are at risk of becoming a pizza ingredient. But Whit just keeps holding it out, like not answering a call is a greater affront than even replacing the damn gates, and Cooper sighs and grabs it from him.

“Is this Cooper Langston?”

“Yeah,” he says, turning his shoulder to Whit. Cooper can still smell him. That should be illegal, to come in after a run and stand so damn close. Farm reg eighty-three point what-fucking-ever, no tormenting Cooper.

“This is Cheryl. Cheryl Frederick from Frederick Dale Farms?”

Cooper brushes his hands clean on his pants. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”

“So great to catch you. How’ve you been?”

“Good, yeah, so glad you called.” Cooper turns farther away from Whit. The last time he’d talked to Cheryl, he’d been at his winter job up in Maine, sitting in his truck with the heater blowing and looking through the fogged windshield at the dreary gray and brown forest. Anywhere warmer in winter had been at the top of his list for his next job, as he’d watched ice crystals form on his window and held his reddened fingers in front of the air vent as Cheryl went on about her goats.

“Well, I have the very happy news that we’d love to check your references if you’re still interested in a job here.”

Thousands of miles from Whit? Fuck yeah. “Awesome, yes. References, I can get you some names.”

“I don’t tell most applicants this, but we’d really love to have you here, Cooper. I’m sorry for the delay in getting back to you over the last couple weeks, but I mean it, so the sooner you can send some names the better.”

“Yeah, soon, that’s no problem,” Cooper repeats. He should stop doing that, echoing her words. But it’s hard to focus with Whit’s attention on him, quite obviously listening and probably silently grading Cooper’s performance on this call.

And now he’s got his hand held out too. The phone, Whit mouths.

Cooper draws back and shakes his head. I’m talking on it, he mouths back.

Whit wags his fingers, like Cooper’s Sadie, and if he says “drop it,” Cooper will. And then Whit just steps forward and takes the phone from him, too quick to stop.

“I can be a reference,” he says into Cooper’s phone.

“No,” Cooper hisses.