Barely Breathing (10 page)

His cheeks creased around his broad white smile as he examined me curiously. I closed my eyes and cringed, realizing I'd just inadvertently told him he was hot. This was going
great
.

"You're just like her," he mused, studying me. "I mean, you don't look like her at all, and she talks a lot more when she's nervous, but you're just like her. She spilled coffee on me the first time we met."

"And probably apologized a hundred times while trying to clean you off," I grinned, thankful he skipped right over my comment.

"I don't think I've heard someone talk so fast before," he laughed. "At first, I thought she was speaking a different language."

I laughed, easily picturing it. "So you met in a coffee shop?"

"No," he corrected. "We met at work. I work for an architectural firm who collaborates on projects with her engineering firm. We met about six months ago, but we didn't go out until just recently. She refused to go out with me for the longest time.”

"Really?" The shock in my tone was heavier than I intended.

"The age thing," he explained with a shrug. "She kept saying I was too young."

"Right," I nodded, remembering her dilemma when she first spoke of him.

"But it's not a big deal, right?'

"Nope." I shook my head. "Age shouldn't matter."

He looked right into me and grinned. I could feel my cheeks changing color again, and I wanted to dump the water over my head to cool them off. I felt like an idiot. I still couldn't hold his eye for more than a second when he spoke to me. I'd never had anyone focus on me so intently before, but I wasn't sure he intended to do it. My mother
had
said he made her feel like she was the only one in the room when he looked at her―and I guess I didn't want to feel that way.

"Have you decided what you'd like to have this evening?" the server asked, setting Jonathan's drink down. She glanced at both of us, but her bright smile reemerged when Jonathan looked up at her.

While he was deciding, I glanced around the room and realized she wasn't the only one who couldn't stop staring. I was slightly amused by the women adjusting their chair positions ever so slightly to get a better look.

"And you?" she asked, barely making eye contact with me. Every other glance flipped back to Jonathan to see if he was looking at her, but he was obliviously watching me, waiting for me to decide.

"I'll have the rib eye, medium-rare," I ordered, closing my menu and handing it to her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, reading me so easily.

"You attract a lot of attention, huh?" I stated honestly.

Jonathan grinned abashedly.

"Sorry," I floundered. "That was internal dialogue that should have stayed
inside
of my head."

"You're funny." He chuckled.

"Unfortunately," I groaned.

"They recognize me from the ads," he admitted averting his gaze. He was visibly uncomfortable as he took a sip from his glass.

"Ads?"

"I did a shoot for jeans when I was in college, to earn some money for school."

"Oh," I reacted. "You think the reason just about every girl in this restaurant is staring at you is because they saw you in a magazine ad, like what, five or six years ago?"

Jonathan looked up at me with an embarrassed grin.

"Wow, I did it again, didn't I? I can't seem to keep from saying the most―"

"Honest," he interrupted. "You're being honest. It's pretty funny, really."

"I'm an idiot," I admitted, sinking in my chair. "How's that for honesty?"

Jonathan laughed again. I was definitely giving him plenty to laugh at.

"Okay," he said, trying to sound serious. "We're supposed to be getting to know each other. Tell me something about you."

I stared at him blankly, like he'd just asked me to recite the capitals of every country in the world.

"Okay," he soothed. "Play any sports?"

My shoulders eased up and I nodded. “Yeah, I’m playing basketball right now.”

“Are you any good?”

I released a breathy laugh. “I’m decent.”

“You’re better than decent,” he challenged.

“Why would you say that?” I questioned, my cheeks peaking in color.

“You laughed, so you’re not comfortable talking about yourself, meaning you’re probably really good.”

I shrugged, my cheeks igniting as I adjusted my position in the chair. His ability to read me like a book was a bit disarming.

“Okay, let’s put it this way. What would the papers say about you?”

“Umm… I guess they’d say that I’m the co-captain and point guard of the first place team in our division. That I average twenty points a game and was All-American last season.”

“That’s impressive,” he admired with a slow nod. I shrugged sheepishly.

“What about you? Did you play any sports?” I was pretty certain I already knew the answer.

The server arrived, placing our plates in front of us.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked Jonathan.

"Emma, do you need anything?" He purposely diverted her attention to me.

"No, I'm fine," I answered, trying to keep from smiling. She walked away with her shoulders slumped.

"What were we talking about?"

"What sports you played," I reminded him.

“I played football.”

I nodded, pretty much predicting it based on his thick neck and broad muscular build.

"Don't nod like that," he shot back, "like you knew I was going to say that."

"Well, come on," I rebutted, "look at you." He rolled his eyes. "Fine.” I continued, “What would the papers say about
you
?”

“The papers wouldn’t mention me at all; I spent most of my time on the bench.”

I laughed. “Really?”

"You don't have to
laugh
," he feigned offense. "I was second string receiver. I just wasn't as good as the starter." He paused before blurting, "Okay, fine, I sucked. I couldn't hold on to the ball to save my life."

I laughed again.

“But I swam. Still do when I can.”

“Would the papers mention
that
?”

“I guess they would,” he admitted modestly. “I swam on the team at Penn State. It helped pay for my tuition.”

“So you were really good, huh?” I noted, impressed.

He shrugged with one shoulder.

"Wait, I thought modeling helped with your tuition?" I grinned.

"Yeah, that was a onetime thing, and it really didn't pay that much."

I nodded, taunting him with a smirk on my face.

"Shouldn't have told you that, huh?"

"Sorry," I laughed. "I just think it's funny that you're immune―"

"Hi," my mother greeted excitedly before I could finish. Jonathan stood up to greet her with a hug and kiss―which made me suddenly interested in the food on my plate. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was dating, and I wasn't quite ready to handle seeing it. I knew I needed to get over it... fast. Especially when she sat down with us and kept a hold of his hand throughout dessert, dominating the conversation in her nervous rush.

I watched as Jonathan hung on to her every word, every so often calming her enough so she actually sounded coherent.

It was evident that she was enthralled with him and he really cared for her. By the time we were ready to leave, I was... okay. She was happy. And that was all that mattered.

I pulled out my phone to check the time. "Um, I have to go," I said, interrupting my mother's story about the time she accidentally uploaded a YouTube video of singing cats for a presentation. "Thank you for dinner."

"What do you mean?" she questioned, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Evan's supposed to be meeting me at the house in twenty minutes."

"Do you want to come back to the house?" she asked Jonathan, completely taking me by surprise.

"Sure," Jonathan responded, signing the check.

Hellooo?! What's he like?
was waiting on my phone when I entered the car.

He's nice
, was all I texted back to Sara before driving home.

Evan was waiting for me when I pulled into the driveway.

"Sorry," I grimaced, as I hurried up the walkway.

"I just got here," Evan assured me.

I unlocked the door as my mother and Jonathan pulled in behind me.

"How was it?" Evan asked before they entered the house.

"Okay," I responded with a shrug. Evan eyed me curiously, knowing how nervous I had been about the dinner. "He's nice," I opted, providing him with my canned response.

"Evan," my mother greeted happily. "How are you?"

"Great. Thanks," Evan replied, hanging up his jacket. He paused for a moment with the hanger in his hand when Jonathan walked in. Then he took my jacket from me and hung it as well.

“Jonathan, this is Evan,” my mother introduced. Jonathan held out his hand with a broad smile.

“Nice to meet you.” Evan shook his hand in return.

“You too,” Jonathan responded. There was a strange silence while we all just stood there in the foyer looking at each other.

“We’re going upstairs to study,” I finally announced, taking Evan by the hand.

“That's him, huh?" Evan said, closing the door behind us.

"Yup," I said, sitting down on the bed. "That's him."

"Not who I was expecting," he stated.

"Who were you expecting?" I countered, surprised by the contemplative look in his eyes.

"I don't know," he said dismissively, sitting next to me on the bed. He leaned down and was about to kiss me when we were interrupted by a knock at my door.

“Hi,” Sara burst in. Then she narrowed her eyes at our frozen posture and rolled them with an impatient breath. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” I replied quickly, struck by her annoyed tone. I slid up the bed to sit against the wall, distancing myself from Evan. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see the guy. Your text was pathetic,” she accused. “Holy hotness. He is beautiful. I mean truly beu-ti-ful. Like the kind of beautiful they build statues to worship.”

Evan looked at her in amusement. I shook my head with a roll of my eyes.

“How old is he, like twenty?”

“No,” I replied like she was insane. “He’s twenty-eight.”

“Well, nicely done, Rachel,” Sara stated enviously. "And just think, you'll get to see him like every day."

I widened my eyes, silently begging her to shut her mouth. Evan’s troubled looked returned. Obviously, he did not share Sara's enthusiasm.

9. Just Not Right

"I'm not sure what I'm doing." My mother stared out the window while leaning against the counter.

I waited, but she didn't continue. So I prodded. "About what?"

"Jonathan."

I waited again, but she wouldn't say anything else. So I prodded a little more. "What about Jonathan?"

And that opened the flood gates. She spun around and spewed, "I'm not sure I'm ready for this. I haven't really
dated
a guy in a
very
long time. What if he doesn't really like me? What if he's too perfect for me? Look at him. He's so gorgeous; I have no idea what he's doing with me. I notice how the girls look at him. They're probably wondering the same thing. I don't think I can do this. I can't do this. Forget it, I'm ending it."

I stared at her, stunned, wondering if she'd taken a single breath during that whole explosive monologue.

"Wait," I said, shaking my head to decipher her dizzying words. "Did you just convince yourself to break things off with him in ten seconds flat?"

She sighed in defeat.

"First of all, do what feels right. If you're not ready, then you're not ready. But don't end things because you think he's too good for you," I scoffed. "Besides, he doesn't give another girl a second glance when he's with you. It was obvious last night. He's into you. So give him a chance if you want to, because you like him. And don't walk away because you're afraid to find out
how much
you may like him."

She exhaled audibly. "Thank you. I can't believe I'm getting relationship advice from my seventeen year-old daughter." She laughed. I couldn't believe I'd just given my mother a pep talk on dating―apparently I'd taken a page from Sara's book of straightforwardness.

"Okay, so I'm going to do this." She was convincing herself more than me. "Do you think it would be okay if he spent the night some time?"

"Uh, sure," I stumbled, wondering how we'd gone from whether she should date him to when she was going to sleep with him.

"That wouldn't be too weird, right? I can make sure he leaves before you get up."

"It's okay," I answered slowly. Apparently she had no idea I’d already gone through this
weirdness
more than I cared to remember
.

The next night, Jonathan was over watching a movie with my mother when I arrived home from Sara's. I didn't stop on my way up the stairs, not wanting to interrupt them.

"Hey, Emma," Jonathan acknowledged, despite my best effort to be invisible.

"Uh, hi," I returned, not looking back.

I stayed in my room for the night, reading. Without consciously meaning to, I'd find myself listening for the front door, indicating Jonathan had left. But I never heard it before I dozed off.

“Is she okay?”

I froze at the sound of Jonathan's voice. Clamping my hand over my heaving breaths as I sat upright in my bed. I remained still. He sounded close, like he was right outside my door. My eyes flickered in the dark, waiting to see if he’d actually come in.

“She does that,” my mother explained apologetically. “Just come back to bed, okay? She'll be all right.” There were a few seconds of silence, and then his footsteps trailed off toward her room. I heard the distinct click of her door, and collapsed in my bed, feeling terrible that I'd woken them up. Which transitioned into an alarmed recognition that he had stayed the night.

I stared at the ceiling waiting for the sun to make its appearance, listening to the wind screech against my windows and finally succumbing to the realization that sleep had evaded me once again. I pulled the covers up to my chin, wishing I were in California, not stuck in this never ending winter and this ice box called a house.