Something More Than This (10 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nine years ago . . .

I had been waiting on the swings for Conner for what felt like hours. But it really was only a few minutes. He’d said he would be here at dusk when I called him earlier. At first he’d seemed hesitant to meet me. Which made sense since we hadn’t been hanging out together as much lately.

Since Conner was a senior in high school and approaching the end of his time here before heading off to college, he’d been even more busy than usual. We had barely spoken to each other in the last few months. What with prom, his new friends, and packing for college, it was next to impossible to spend any time together.

But that didn’t lessen the feelings I had for him. They were growing more and more each day. And on the rare occasions that we were together lately, my nervousness around him made it impossible to act like myself. My mind was consumed with Conner.

I was in love with him.

I had been since the day he carried me off the soccer field at tryouts a couple of years ago. When I look back, I think that maybe I had been falling in love with him a little bit each day before then. But that one day changed everything.

Because I suddenly understood what all those stupid love songs were about. How one look, one breath, one touch could change your life forever. How one person could be
the
person for you and you could forget everyone else.

That’s how I’d been.

I was sixteen years old and had never even been kissed. I’d come close, but couldn’t do it. In my heart and soul, I wanted Conner to be my first kiss and first . . .

My heart started to thump away in my chest, thinking about him being that close to me, wanting me as much as I wanted him. I felt as if I’d just received a shot of adrenaline as I pictured myself being on the receiving end of Conner’s affection. The affection that I knew for a fact he’d already given to a couple of girls. Older girls . . . more mature girls.

But that night, after much thought on my part, I’d decided that I’d finally tell him how I’d been feeling. That he’d see for himself how much I’d matured and how much I wanted this to happen. I needed to do this now, before it was too late and he was gone.

Absentmindedly, I pulled the letter I had spent the better part of three days writing out of my back pocket. The paper felt heavy in my hands. I’d known that seeing Conner face-to-face tonight would be difficult enough and that saying the words out loud would have been next to impossible. So I’d decided to put pen to paper instead. He’d read the letter and know everything.

Every little thing I wanted to happen between us. And every little thing I’d been feeling about him.

Anticipation and anxiety gnawed away at me as I heard the familiar groan and squeak of Conner’s brakes somewhere in the near distance. There was no turning back now. This was it. Within seconds he’d be standing right in front of me and I’d hand him the letter.

What if he laughed at me?

I tossed that thought out of my head as quickly as it materialized. There was no way the Conner I knew would laugh at me. I just needed to stay calm and stop doubting myself.

Hurriedly, I stuffed the letter back into my pocket when I heard his footsteps getting closer in the near darkness of the park. With each step he took, my heart beat faster and faster until my ears heard nothing but a steady hum of white noise. And then he was there, standing a foot or two away from me.

He was much taller now. He might have been even taller than the last time I saw him. Even in the dimly lit park, I could see a small smile slowly pulling at the corners of his mouth. His handsome, strong jaw had a little more scruff than usual, and it made him look older than his eighteen years.

“Hey there, Shadow,” he said.

“Hey.”

Inwardly, I winced at the nickname. In the first few years of our friendship, it had been cute and kind of funny to hear him refer to me by it. But lately, I’d wanted him to call me by my name. And for a second or two I thought I’d made a huge mistake by asking him to meet me here. Because I was afraid that he’d never see me as anything other than his shadow.

Conner took the empty swing seat beside me, studying me at the same time. He noticed that something wasn’t quite right and stayed quiet as I lazily dragged my feet in the dirt beneath me. I was trying to work up the courage to say why I had asked him to meet me here. But instead, a fear so strong took hold of me and kept me from talking.

He cleared his throat and started to swing, kicking his legs and using his weight to make himself get higher. The swing set rocked with the force of him and he started laughing. Then, as he swung backward so fast he was like a blur in the night, he said, “Come on, Shadow. Let’s see who can go higher for old times’ sake.”

A part of me wanted it to be like it was when we first met and just swing away all night with him. But I couldn’t let myself go back there. So I stayed where I was and watched him until he slowed down and finally came to a stop.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You haven’t said two words since I got here.”

“I . . .” I paused, nervously searching for the right words. “I need to talk to you.”

Conner’s eyebrows knit together. “So something is wrong? What happened?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong. I promise.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes searched mine for a hint that I might be lying. “Did you get in trouble or something?”

I shook my head and managed to smile at him. And I knew in that instant that the words would not come, that the letter would have to do the talking for me. So without much fanfare, I reached for it and pulled it out of my back pocket once again. It crinkled in my hand as I held it between us. His hazel eyes, which looked almost green in the moonlight now, shone brightly as he looked from the letter to me.

Shakily, I said, “I wrote you a letter.”

“Shadow,” he said with a chuckle, “you know I’m not leaving for college until the end of the month, right? I think that’s when you’re supposed to start writing me letters.”

“Just take it.”

Conner was still smiling when he reached out and took the letter. He immediately went to shove it into the back pocket of his jeans.

“I want you to read it right now,” I said. “Please.”

The serious tone in which I said this must have been enough, since Conner nodded and took the letter in his hands. Carefully, he unfolded the creases and held it in front of him. In this area of the park it was a little difficult since it was now almost pitch-dark, but he finally managed to see enough that he could start reading.

I held my breath as he read quietly. I tried unsuccessfully to not look at him too. His face was smooth of emotion. He gave away nothing as he continued reading. And when he turned the page over, knowing exactly where in the letter he was at that point, I could feel my stomach drop to around my ankles. I sneaked another glance at him as he neared the end and read what I was asking of him. He just kept staring at the paper in his hands in what looked like disbelief.

And I knew right then that he didn’t feel any of the same things I felt for him. I knew that I shouldn’t have done this and that our friendship was never going to be what it was. Worst thing of all, I couldn’t take any of it back.

After a beat, he handed me back the letter and said something that I’ll never forget. “I wish you hadn’t written this, Shadow.”

My heart already breaking, I felt like it splintered in my chest into a million pieces. I struggled to maintain eye contact with him and failed. Those eyes of his would always read me like an open book. So I wondered how it was that he hadn’t seen this coming. How he couldn’t see that this girl was in love with him and had been saving herself for him. It was as if he refused to see me as anything other than his sidekick. And it hurt me deeply to know that it would always be that way between us.

I crumpled the letter and stood up. The hurt I felt bubbling underneath the surface broke as tears started to fall from my eyes. But I managed to say one more thing to him. In fact, it was the very last thing I ever said to him before he left for college.

“You know what, Conner? I wish I had never written you this letter too.”

I meant it as much as I didn’t. I mean, I never meant for us to literally just stop talking to each other. But I knew that it wouldn’t have been the same, what with me having offered him my virginity and my undying love. Ashamed and hurt, I quickly walked out of the park and farther away from him. I could hear him calling after me. But I didn’t dare turn around.

It was done.

And I would have to live with the consequences.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

W
ith my deadline looming, I’m occupied for the next couple of days.

I barely have time to say a quick hi and good-bye to Mimi when I leave the apartment in the morning and come home at night. Thankfully, she’s used to my schedule by now and doesn’t hold it against me. Plus, she’s busy with bartending, design school, and her mystery man, so she has plenty on her plate to juggle.

But once Wednesday afternoon rolls around and I’ve confirmed all my sources for the umpteenth time and have done a revision followed by another revision of the article . . . I’m finally happy with it. I press Send on my iPad and off it goes to Dylan’s inbox for review.

After I submit an article to Dylan, I always pop my head up to look across the newsroom into his office. If the windows that face out to the bullpen are open, I try to read his expression. It never really works from this far away, but it’s a habit at this point. When I glance toward his office now, I see that the blinds are drawn for privacy, but the door is open. And this time, I find Rachel’s back to me, leaning with purposeful casualness against his door.

My excitement is quickly replaced by . . .

Shit.

Nope, I’m not feeling any twinge or even the slightest hint of jealousy. Not going to give in to the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins right now while the very clear image of me kicking Rachel’s shins flashes across my mind.

I cannot be jealous. This really can’t be happening. I’ve never felt anything like this when it comes to Dylan before. Since I’ve known him for so long, I’m well aware of the women he’s dated or had flings with . . . and never once, in all of that time, have I ever felt like this.

Right then, Rachel giggles at something he must have said. I know this because I’m still staring like a hawk with laser eyes. As I continue to pretend-shoot her with laser beams, I find myself saying things under my breath like, “Really?” “Seriously?” “Oh, now you remember that your top button isn’t buttoned. How convenient.”

That last one happens when Rachel realizes that her blouse is missing a button or something. She looks over her shoulder in fake embarrassment and down to her breasts. Then she turns around and, before the rest of the newsroom, proceeds to button not one, but two, two buttons! She giggles one more time—I think I’m going to be sick—and then turns around to continue whatever the conversation was before her boobs were flying out of her top, giving Dylan a very extensive view.

That’s it. Not being able to take this torture any longer, I head to his office. My intention is to interrupt them so that she will scurry off to her upstairs cubicle and hopefully not come back down until the next millennium.

I’m almost right behind her when I hear Phoebe’s lifeless and no-nonsense voice break through my senses.

“May I help you, Ms. Lewis?”

Rachel uncrosses her ankles and stands up straighter, adjusting her skirt before turning around to give me a look that if I didn’t know any better, would make me think that she was the love child of Phoebe and Satan.

From somewhere in his office, Dylan asks, “Katy, is that you?”

Seemingly, my impromptu intervention worked, because Rachel says good-bye to him, but not before she lets us
all
know—and by all, I’m pretty sure it is for my benefit only—that he should call her later tonight. Then, as she struts right by me, she whispers for only me to hear, “He’s all yours.”

“Ms. Lewis?” Phoebe asks once Rachel is completely gone.

I struggle to make my next move, so rattled with nerves and anxiety that I don’t respond. I stand there like a deer in headlights. Because what did I just do? More importantly,
why
did I just do it?

How am I supposed to act around him now?

Admit it, Katy, you’re officially jealous.

“I can’t be,” I mutter out loud to myself.

“Mr. Sterling,” Phoebe says. “I believe your friend is incapacitated at the moment. Please retrieve her.”

It’s like I’m there but not there. It’s as if I’m hyperaware that my body and mind are all connected like they teach you in grade school:
The knee bone’s connected to your thigh bone. The thigh bone’s connected to your hip bone.

The lyrics dance around in my head until Dylan appears in his doorway. I forget the song and focus solely on him and . . . Jesus, his eyes are so amazingly beautiful. Like two emerald pools to get lost in forever and ever and a day.

“Katy?”

I smile at him, trying my hardest not to let it show that what I did with Rachel was complete sabotage. The smile stretches on and on, making me feel like my face might split in two if I don’t stop anytime soon.

“Hey, so did you read the article?” I ask, pretending like nothing happened. Still smiling like a loon. “I sent it over to you.”

He adjusts his glasses while looking at the carpet and then back up at me, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I know you sent it . . . like two minutes ago. I was busy.”

“Do you mind if I sit in while you read it?” I ask.

He thinks about it for a second, then says, “Sure, come in.”

Dylan steps aside to let me walk into his office, where I sit in one of his leather wingback chairs as he closes the door. They’re closer to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line his office on the far side and overlook downtown Fort Lauderdale. The view is breathtaking, and I’m completely wrapped up in it while I hear him get settled behind his desk again. It’s enough to distract me from the overwhelming feeling that I’m coming across like an idiot and helps to calm my nerves.

After a few moments of silence, he says, “It’s good, Katy. Do you want to run it as is? Or do you want to add anything else to it?”

Still looking out the window, I tell him to run it as is.

Then I hear him stand up and walk over to me. He crouches beside the chair and waves his hand in front of my face to get my attention.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I think I’m really tired or something. It’s been a long few days.”

He stands up and then leans against the window, putting his hands in his pants pockets and crossing his legs at the ankles. This makes me cringe every single time he does it. Because I don’t care if they are the sturdiest windows in the free world, they’re freaking windows! They can shatter into pieces and down goes Dylan, flying to the ground.

I go back to staring out the window, keenly aware that he’s watching me. I search myself for the answer to what brought me over to his office in the first place. Is it that I’m truly jealous of Rachel? Or is it something more than that? Has Mimi been right all this time about Dylan caring about me a lot more than he’s let on? Hell, maybe she’s been right about me carrying some sort of torch for him too. Do I? I feel like the world’s biggest jerk, but I don’t even know if that’s true. All this time he’s been right there, always supporting me, always caring about me . . . and vice versa. How do I know where the friendship ends and something else begins?

The questions come one right after the other and not one answer is clear. Which scares me to death. Because if I lose Dylan . . . I don’t know what I’d do.

Out of nowhere, he asks, “Is it about Conner?”

“Huh?” I look up at Dylan. His face is expressionless, as usual. Which makes this all even more confusing.

“Does the way you’re acting have anything to do with Conner?”

“Why would you think that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t talk about him easily with me. You’ve never been that way before.”

Is that true? If it is, it’s not intentional. In the past, I’ve been able to talk about exes openly with him. Although with my last boyfriend, Bailey the dream killer, it became a little difficult toward the end of our relationship. Because Dylan didn’t care for Bailey one bit, I purposely withheld a lot of details from him, knowing that it would only make him upset. But even I have to admit that the timing of Conner’s visit is a bit too much for me to handle. Even though I’m usually able to compartmentalize each part of my life, this predicament is making it nearly impossible for me to think straight half the time. As evidenced by the Rachel debacle a few minutes ago. The normal Katy wouldn’t toy with the idea of doing something so crazy as purposely keeping her from him. Who in their right mind would?

Then, for whatever reason, I decide to test the boundaries with Dylan. It’s not my finest moment, but something in me wants to prove that I’m not jealous of Rachel . . . that I don’t want Dylan in any other way than a friend.

“Actually, yeah, there is something going on with Conner, but I’m not sure you’re going to want to hear about it. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

His jaw tightens, and then almost as quickly as it happens, he releases the tension around his face and smiles halfheartedly. “I’m sure it’s not that embarrassing.”

I lean forward in my seat. “Do you promise not to laugh?”

He runs his finger up and then across his heart.

I can just stop talking and end it right here. I can pretend that I’m not the least bit curious as to what he’ll think or say. But the irrational side of me wants to push the boundaries.

“I don’t think I’m that kissable.”

Dylan nearly chokes and starts to cough, covering it up. “What did you say?”

“Dylan, I’m serious. There must be something I’m doing wrong because Conner won’t kiss me. I thought it was the perfect moment the other day, but nope, he didn’t do it. So it must be me.”

“It’s not you,” he says and then runs a hand down his face as if it will help to clear his thoughts. “Maybe he’s just nervous around you. Did you ever think of that?”

“I guess. But what if—”

“No, Katy, there is no what if. Trust me, he’s probably nervous.”

I’m standing and take a step toward him before I can change my mind. The look on his face is somewhere between trancelike and confused. In turn, he stands up straighter and pulls his body away from the window.

“Can you tell me if I did something wrong?” I ask in as friendly a voice I can muster. “Like do I have bad breath?”

“How can I tell you if you did something wrong?”

As soon as he says this, my meaning clicks for him by the look of surprise on his face. Which is better for me, so I don’t have to come right out and explain.

“Just tell me if I did something wrong, okay?”

Dylan stays completely still and quiet. If I couldn’t see the steady beat of his pulse on the side of his neck, I would swear that he was dead. It’s bad enough that my heart is jackhammering away inside its cage in my chest, making it nearly impossible to stay as calm on the outside as I’m trying to be in front of him.

It’s a test, that’s all this is. Get it over with so you can move on.

I’m thinking this while reaching out to take Dylan’s hands in mine. He doesn’t resist, so that’s good. Then he lets me position them on my waist, leaving them there when I take my hands away. I feel a charge of excitement run through me at the warmth of his hands against my body. And it frightens me a little. So I keep my eyes trained on his throat and watch in fascination as it bobs up and then down, as if he is swallowing a breath. Not having to look in his eyes is enough to propel me an inch forward and loop my arms around his neck.

“Katy?”

He says this so quietly that I can’t tell if it’s a plea or a question. So I move closer until our bodies are pressed together, like we’re about to start a slow dance. I’ve finally been able to clear my mind of all stray thoughts and focus on this moment, right here, right now, that I know will change everything. But I still can’t gather the nerve to look up at him, because if I do, I already know I won’t be able to stop.

In a voice so low, I ask, “If you were this close to me, like you are now, would you want to kiss me?”

He doesn’t answer, but I can tell that his breathing is becoming more rapid by the way his chest rises and falls. So I ask him again.

It’s then he moves his hand off my waist and underneath my chin to tip my face up to look at him. He skims over my features with his eyes until reaching my lips, where he holds them in his gaze for a moment too long to be considered merely friendly.

Then quietly, he says, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I would kiss you.”

For a split second, I want him to kiss me right now. The feeling is so overwhelming that my lips actually ache with the need to have his mouth against mine. And for a second or two, I sense that he’s struggling with the same thought. But then Dylan drops his hands away and lets them fall to his sides as if remembering the boundaries of our relationship. I step back and smile as best I can while a hurricane of emotion rolls inside of me.

The silence between us grows thicker with unanswered questions while I walk backward. I move farther and farther away from him, then my back finally hits his office door. My body rests against it for a second or two until I reach behind me to turn the knob. I already know that when I walk out of this room, the friendship I have with Dylan will not be the same. I also know that the look on his face is one of the saddest I’ve ever seen on him. And it confirms everything I didn’t want to believe until today.

He’s in love with me.