If Cooper was my boyfriend and we were legitimately together and he won the World Series, I think I would have a moment of public hysteria where I leaped into his arms, planting kisses on his face and giving him a blowjob on home plate.

Of course, he isn’t my anything.

But damn, last month, when we came together, I swear he was my everything.

Of course, I’m not going to mention it to the man who hit a home run in game 7 of the World Series, securing the Yankees as the 2017 World Champions.

Of course, not.

Besides, I have my book to finish.

My book that has omitted any mention of a professional athlete. While applying to doctoral programs, I have written my explorative memoir, with the working title of Kinky Resolutions: What Happens When Women Take Charge of Their Sexuality, into a firsthand account of my past year.

I don’t mention Cooper by name and I don’t even mention that my sex-guru is an athlete or even my neighbor. I refer to him as a willing participant. Nothing more, nothing less.

The chapters alternate between my sexual exploits and researched based takeaways for the modern woman.

Basically: Have sex. Try new kinky things. Don’t hide it from your BFF. And make it as no-strings-attached as possible.

Why the final caveat?

Research shows most women struggle to rein in their emotions when they have casually slept with someone more than three times without any level of commitment.

Which I can speak to. Because I’m having a hard ass time keeping my heart in check.

Cooper was in a freaking parade in NYC after the World Series. He wore his sexy baseball uniform, strutting for every woman to drool over and I want to grab him by the collar and lock him in my bedroom.

The thing is, Cooper hasn’t once asked me out aside from our List. But part of me is wondering if that is solely due to the fact dating me would screw up the integrity of the list.

I think it might. He knows how important this list was to me. Is to me. And I wonder if he thinks asking me out for real would mess with that.

Which is just crazy talk.

We are talking about Cooper freaking Bentley.

For all I know, he’s going sign a huge contract in Texas or Seattle. There is no reason to think he’s going stay around NYC. Maybe for the Yankees, but surely not for me.

And I’d never ask him to.

I’m in the hall getting my mail when he walks in the apartment building. The season is over and all his commitments have ended. I know this because I started stalking him on Twitter.

“Coop, look at you, you’re so tan,” I say, pulling him into a hug. “I swear I haven’t seen you in the building in weeks.”

“I know, right?” He shakes his head, duffel bag over his shoulder. “After the appearances the team was committed to, a bunch of us went to Miami for a week.”

“That sounds fun,” I tell him, not admitting that Bridget told me this days ago. Because Gabe told her.

They aren’t even sleeping together and she knows more about Gabe’s logistics than I do about Cooper’s.

Granted, he could be dating other women. He could have been with other women in Miami.

Eleven months have passed and I’m right where I started.

Except that these feelings for Cooper have nothing do with the lust I felt back in January.

No.

My feelings are real now.

“So, the last item on the list needs to get checked off,” he says, opening his mailbox.

“Yep.”

He grabs his mail and closes his box. “We need to get on it. I’m leaving for my parents’ for the month.”

“All month?”

“Yeah, Thanksgiving until after Christmas. This might be one of the only years I have that luxury.”

“Wow. So.” I shove my hands in the pocket of my parka. “Are you keeping your apartment?”

He nods. “At least until I sign somewhere.”

“It’s crazy. You could be gone, for, like, ever.”

“You’re not getting rid of me just yet, Gracie. How about tomorrow night? The final resolution?”

“Okay,” I say slowly, hesitating, knowing I’ve been under the weather all week, unable to shake whatever I have. Keeping any food down has been a chore. “But do you remember the last item?”

He nods.

“Okay. So like, do you have a,” I lean in closer, “a fantasy?”

He smiles. “Gracie Lithe, the good-girl-next-door wants to know about my fantasies?”

I roll my eyes. “Cooper, do you, or don’t you?”

“What, you don’t have any burning fantasy you want to act upon?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“Well, that’s okay. I’m in control, remember?”

I nod.

“So, I’ve got you covered. One fantasy coming up. Tomorrow night. My place.”

* * *

The next night I’m in Cooper’s bathroom, zipping up the front of the cheesiest costume I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I call out to him, adjusting the hat on my head. “This is seriously your fantasy?”

“Let me see, Nurse Cupcake. Come take my temperature and tell me if we should stay in bed until I get better.”

I crack a smile, feeling ridiculous, and do my best sexy saunter out the bathroom door into his bedroom.

“How do you want me to take your temperature?” I ask coyly. “In your mouth or up your ass?”

“When you say temperature do you really…”

“I mean temperature,” I deadpan.

“But I don’t feel well,” Cooper moans, doing a terrible job of being a patient in need of medical attention. He’s in a pair of low-slung grey sweats, his hair in a sexy man bun, which is a thing – I promise, you just need to see him – and his abs are chiseled to perfection.

“I can make you feel better,” I tell him, stepping toward him in my white uniform, nurse’s cap, and a stethoscope around my neck.

“What kind of prescription are you giving me?” he asks, trying hard to take me seriously in this get-up.

Before answering, I feel a wave of nausea pass over me. It’s irritating considering I have been on a saltine and water diet since last week.

Trying to compose myself, I try again. “I am giving you a dose of your own medicine.”

I start to unzip the front of my dress, but before I can even get the zipper past my breasts, I start heaving.

Vomiting all over Cooper’s bare feet.

Throwing up all over Cooper’s fantasy.