I didn’t get it. He didn’t owe me anything. We’d agreed to the rules, it was true. And the rules were important to me. I really did believe him before he’d emptied out his contacts.

I guess I might have believed him a little more after that, though.

I reached into my bag and pulled out Stardust, laying it out in front of me.

He glanced over. “What are you reading?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be that guy. Didn’t you know that talking to someone while they’re reading a book ups the likelihood of you getting stabbed by like four hundred percent?”

“I think I read that once,” he said with a laugh and turned the page. It was a large spread, a detailed illustration of a dark street, all shadows with streaks of light from the lamps, Batman in the shadows with just enough light on him to catch the details of his silhouette.

“Pretty sure there’s a statistic about reading over shoulders too.”

I chuckled, not realizing I’d been leaning to get a better look. “Sorry. I don’t read a lot of comics. It really is beautiful.”

“It is. And the stories … there’s just something elemental about them. Good versus evil. Balance. Justice. And none of the characters are perfect. Sometimes the good guys lose and the bad guys win. But you keep turning the pages because they don’t stop trying. Neither side gives up.”

I bumped him in the shoulder. “You’re a big ol’ softy, Coop.”

He smiled at me, eyes on my lips. “Don’t tell anybody.”

I smiled back. “Deal.”

He leaned in for a kiss, and I backed away laughing. “Rules! You are such a liar. This is a date, which means I should go.”

I tried to get up, but he grabbed me, pulling me back down. I fell, caught off balance, laughing when my back hit the ground. I was half in the grass, looking up at him. The sky was so blue behind him, the cherry blossom branches, heavy with flowers, framing his face.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be good. It’s not a date. Because what romantic date would involve books?”

“Uh, I’m thinking all of them should. I’m just saying. Books are sexy.”

“Even comic books?”

“Sure. If you’re fourteen.”

He made a face. “How is Batman not sexy?”

I laughed, and so did he. He was propped on one arm, eyes soft as he reached for my hair. I might have stopped breathing. When his hand reappeared, there was a cherry blossom between his thumb and forefinger.

At that point, I was pretty ready to say fuck the rules myself.

But Cooper proved to be a man of his word. Behave himself, he did. He leaned away and turned his attention back to his book, and I lay next to him to open mine once more. I had to read the same page four times before I finally calmed down enough to actually absorb it.

Cooper was just being Cooper. I wasn’t special — he was like this with everyone, I was sure. This was his normal, even if was my extraordinary.

HYPNODICK

Cooper

“PERFECT, COOPER. HOLD IT RIGHT there.”

I hung off the ropes of my ship, staring off into the distance with Manhattan stretched up behind me. We were anchored just off Governor’s Island in the middle of a gorgeous sunset. The sky had shifted from crisp blue to golds and pinks, exploding in color against the clouds.

Five women and one dude stood on the deck — the photographer, her assistant, a stylist, a makeup artist, and editor, and a journalist. I’d changed clothes twice, had my hair retouched half a dozen times, answered fifty questions, had about a kabillion photos taken of me, and was in desperate need of a drink.

The camera clicked away as the boat rocked gently. The photographer lowered her lens and smiled. “All right. Can you do that thing with the rope again? Like, undo it and redo it again.”

I chuckled. “Sure.” I grabbed the mainsail’s halyard and pulled hand over hand to lower it.

The journalist, Elena, jotted in her notebook from where she sat on deck, leaning against the rope guardrail. “What are your favorite vacation spots?”

I unhooked the halyard and untied the stop knot before reversing the process. “Greece and Istanbul. There’s more culture and beauty in the Mediterranean than anywhere else in the world.”

“Have you ever sailed there?”

“I’ve sailed the Mediterranean, yes, but I haven’t crossed the Atlantic. Not yet, at least.”

“Why not?”

I smiled at her over my shoulder. “Because I don’t know if I’d ever come back.”

Everyone chuckled. I retied the knot and slipped the halyard in the groove, then grabbed the rope and hoisted the sail again.

“You know,” Elena said with a dramatic air, “you almost weren’t considered because of your connection to Astrid Thomas.”

“Is that so?” The sail hit the top of the mast, and I tacked it off. I hung my hands on my hips and looked up to make sure everything was right as the shutter clicked.

“It is. Our sources determined it wasn’t serious, though.”

I shot her a sardonic smile. “You’d know best, I’m sure.”

“The tabloids love to speculate about the women you’re seen with who aren’t Miss Thomas. A bit of a player, are you?”

“That’s what the gossip magazines say, so it must be true.”

She looked a little embarrassed.

I smiled at her, shooting for comforting, but she pressed on.

“It’s an easy assumption to make, wouldn’t you say?”

I shrugged. “It’s all about perspective, I suppose.”

The photographer lowered her camera and looked back through a few pictures. “These are great. Can I get you to take your shirt off, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” I reached behind me and grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling it over my head.

The camera clicked so many times, I didn’t know how she had any memory left on her card.

I tossed my shirt into the center of the deck and ran a hand through my hair. “Where do you want me now?”

The photographer’s assistant wet her lips and pushed her glasses up her nose.

She glanced around, coming to rest on the cockpit. “Come over here and stand at the wheel.”

I climbed off the deck and got behind the wheel, and the photographer lay in front of me.

Elena turned the page of her notebook. “So you received a degree from Columbia. Any plans for what’s next, career-wise?”

“Not if I can help it.”

She laughed and shook her head. “The heir to a billion-dollar fortune has no job aspirations? Your father doesn’t have big plans for you at Moore & Co?”

“No plans for now. Would you be an investment banker if you didn’t have to be?”

“No, but I’m terrible at math.” She jotted in her notebook. “So, are things with Astrid Thomas serious?”

I bristled. “Astrid’s a private woman, and I respect that. I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like to live in the public eye.”

She nodded, seeming to let it go. “Fair enough. So, what’s stopped you from settling down for good?”

“I guess it’s just never been the right time before, the right girl.”

“But there have been a lot of girls.”

I glanced over at her, smiling. “Yes, there have.”

“I mean, with so much time on your hands, I’d guess you’ve had girlfriends all over the world. If those know-it-all gossip mags have any truth to them, you’ve got one in every major city on every continent.”

“And a dozen kids, a secret Russian wedding, and a plastic surgery mishap.”

She snickered and switched directions, seeming to take the hint. “So, tell me about your dream girl.”