Something More Than This (11 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

F
or the past few hours I’ve been sitting on my couch, staring into oblivion and replaying over and over what happened with Dylan earlier today.

When I practically stormed out of his office, I stopped at my desk, collected my things, and mumbled something about going home sick to the nearest body, who was shocked to hear this. Me taking any kind of sick time is unheard of. I report to work and do my job even if I’m on my deathbed. But I needed to think. And to think clearly, I didn’t want to be anywhere around Dylan, so I went home.

My cell phone has been vibrating left and right since I got here, but I haven’t bothered to check it. I’m afraid to see if he’s reached out to me. I’m terrified that I won’t get my daily text. Because as silly as those texts are, they mean something to me.

It must be close to midnight when Mimi’s keys jangle in the front door of the apartment. She takes one look at me on the couch, drops all of her things, and sits down beside me.

“What the hell happened that you’re sitting here in the dark?”

I look around. “The kitchen light is on.”

“You know what I mean. Is everything all right?”

“I almost kissed Dylan today.”

I let that hang in the air between us. Because it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. Replaying it over in my head is one thing, but to admit it to someone else is quite another.

Mimi sits up as straight as an arrow and her mouth falls open in shock. “What?! How did that happen? And didn’t you almost kiss Conner a couple of days ago?”

“Almost. I said I
almost
kissed him.”

“Fine, you
almost
kissed him. How did that come to be? Did you fall into his lap or something?”

Tugging some hair behind my ear, I nervously tell her the story from start to finish. I don’t bother to hide any of it, including the Rachel part, because what’s the point? Mimi will get it out of me anyway, eventually.

When I’m done, I finally say, “I’m a horrible person, Mimi. I shouldn’t have done that . . . any of it.”

She hasn’t said a word since I started, so I look at her from the corner of my eye. She’s bouncing in her seat with excitement, and she’s covering her mouth with her hand, looking like someone who just walked into their own surprise party.

“Would you please say something already!”

Her hand falls away from her mouth to reveal her lips in a perfect
O
shape. Then, after a few more silent seconds, she says, “I can’t believe you had a fucking John Hughes moment today.”

I’m about to ask what she means by this but she keeps on ranting.

“Do you know how many women wait to experience a John Hughes moment in their lives? It’s probably in the millions. And you . . . you, of all people, not only pulled a John Hughes moment, you pulled one of the top three possible John Hughes moments to reenact.” She reaches over in the middle of her speech and covers my hand with hers, then taps it gently with a mother’s touch. “I’m impressed, Katy. But I’m also a little mad at you. Because I told you to be careful with Dylan . . . and the John Hughes moment you picked was probably the worst one to use on him.”

“What are you even talking about?” I ask.

She’s already up and running to her purse on the floor by the front door. When she’s back, she’s pressing some buttons on her phone and telling me to be quiet. “Shush! I need to find something.”

“I’m in the middle of a crisis, Mimi. Your Twitter account can wait.”

She freezes midtype and turns her attention to me. “I’ll be tweeting about this shit later, for sure. But right now, I’m looking something up for you.”

Then she’s back typing away, and when she finds what she was looking for, she grabs my arm and pulls me closer to her. We’re huddled over her phone while a scene plays out from a movie I haven’t seen in years called
Some Kind of Wonderful
.

After the scene is over, I turn to Mimi and ask, “So I’m Watts in this scenario? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Girl, I think you might as well have Watts stamped across your forehead. But you’ve also got a little of Keith going on too.”

“Keith? How is that even possible?”

“Bear with me for a minute, okay?” She gets up from the couch and stands in front of me. Her hands go up, waving back and forth like she is going to do some kind of alternate version of show and tell. “Are you ready to have your mind blown?”

I have to laugh at her enthusiasm. “Sure, hit me.”

“So, you’ve got Keith over here,” she says and motions to her left. “He’s been infatuated with Miss Amanda Jones pretty much all of his natural born life. Key word in that sentence is
infatuated 
. . . because hello! Katy, let’s face it, you’re infatuated with Conner, so that one is easy to figure out.”

“I was infatuated with him when we were kids, not anymore.”

“Yeah, right, whatever you say. Moving on,” she says, dismissing me. “Over here we’ve got Miss Amanda Jones.” She pouts a little and with a whiny voice adds, “Poor little Amanda comes from the wrong side of the tracks and just wants to fit in with the rich kids. But for her to do that, she puts up with an utter dick . . . Hardy.”

She freezes and looks like she has an epiphany. “What now?” I ask.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod! I am a genius! Rachel is Hardy!” she yells at the top of her lungs. “This is perfect!”

I rub my face with my hands, at this point lost in whatever she’s trying to explain to me. “Mimi, get to the point already.”

“Okay, so Watts is in love with Keith, but Keith is infatuated with Amanda, who’s a bitch with a heart of gold and turns out to be a halfway decent human being.”

“Are you saying that Rachel is a nice person?”

She puts her hands on her hips like the answer is obvious and says, “No. She’s still a bitch. This is a movie we’re talking about, Katy, not real people.”

“But you just said I’m Watts and Keith and Rachel’s Hardy and Amanda . . . wait, who is Amanda in all of this?”

Mimi thinks for a second on this, the wheels spinning in her head, trying to place this character into my actual life. “She’s a metaphor.”

I’m doubled over laughing and can’t stop. A metaphor? A metaphor for what? So I ask her, because I’m sure she’ll come up with something.

“She’s a metaphor for all the things you can’t have. Wait,” she says suddenly. “No, no, no, that’s not it. She’s a metaphor for all the things you want but are afraid to ask for. Like Conner . . . like Dylan.”

“Why would I be afraid?” I ask, my laughter dying down. “And what am I asking for?”

“To be loved by one of them, duh. Come on, Katy, you have to keep up or all of this is pointless.”

“Fine, go ahead.” I wave my hand toward her. “You have the floor.”

“All right. So Watts, in helping Keith—her best bud who she’s in love with—get with Amanda, lets it slip to Keith that what he’s been looking for is not in Amanda but in her. And that Watts is his one and only . . . his soul mate, his forever.” Mimi walks back to the couch and sits down, then she takes a big gulp of air. “Dylan let you pretend to practice or not practice a kiss on him because he’s in love with you and would do anything to be close to you in that way. And you went ahead with it because deep down, I think you’re really in love with Dylan and don’t want to admit it. Then there’s Conner, who is your first real crush from forever ago. Is he hot? Sure. But he’s not the one. He’s your ‘what if?’ . . . which is a big difference. Naturally, there is a part of you that wants to see what it’s like to be with him or what could have been, but I guarantee that you’ll be disappointed. Because in your heart of hearts, it’s Dylan who is front and center. Oh, and Rachel and Hardy can go fuck themselves, by the way.”

I rest my head on the couch and close my eyes. I picture the look in Dylan’s eyes when he pulled my chin up. It was as if he wasn’t hiding his true feelings anymore and wanted me to
really
see him for the first time as more than a friend. Then I see Conner in my mind’s eye and how he made me feel when he was about to kiss me the other day. There was a sense of curiosity and lust swirling around his eyes as he struggled with the idea before letting the moment go.

“So, am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?” Mimi asks.

“I think it’s a little more complicated than all of that.” I open my eyes and turn my head to look at her. “What am I going to do, Mimi?”

“I told you to be careful with Dylan.”

“I know, I know,” I say. “But I needed to do something to find out if I felt—”

“Jealousy, love, lust.”

I chuckle. “Yes, all of those things.”

“And?”

“And I still don’t know what to do.”

She thinks for a beat, then says, “Whatever you do, Katy, please don’t hurt him . . . I don’t think Dylan can take it much longer.”

“I know.”

Mimi gets up from the couch and starts to head to her bedroom. Before she disappears down the hallway, she turns and leans against the wall. “Look, do what feels right to you and don’t second-guess yourself. If it’s meant to be with Dylan, it will happen. Then again, if it’s meant to be with Conner, it will happen. The question is which one do you want it to happen with more.”

Then she disappears and says a good night to me before closing her bedroom door and leaving me to dwell on what she just said. What she forgot to mention, and what is making my stomach feel as if it were tied up in knots, is how do I not get hurt in all of this?

Finally, I give up on all of it, and when I’m too tired to think about any of it for a minute more, I take my cell phone out to check my messages.

I scroll through all the little text dialogue boxes without unlocking my phone . . . noticing with a lot more than disappointment that Dylan’s daily trivia text isn’t one of them. But there is one from Conner saying he’ll meet me at the game Friday night and that he’s looking forward to seeing me again.

I should be happy about this, and I am a little . . . but not as much as should be, I think.

Maybe if I wasn’t so hung up on Dylan’s missing text, I could muster more excitement over seeing Conner again.

Yeah, maybe . . . then again, maybe not.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
manage to stay out of sight and under the radar of both Dylan and Conner the next day. Which is perfect since I have to get back to my actual life and go to the Barracudas’ last practice of the week before their game tomorrow night. Is it a bit of a cop-out that I’m using my job as a way to avoid both of them? Sure, but I need it and I’ll take it.

After practice, I realize that I left one of my journals at my desk in my rush to escape yesterday. So I check the time, thinking that the coast will be clear, specifically that Dylan won’t be around and I can run in and out without being detected.

When I get to the office, most of the day staff is gone since it’s already past seven o’clock. But the main newsroom floor is still buzzing with energy and enough people that I can duck in and make a beeline straight to my desk.

I don’t even bother to pull off my messenger bag when I sit down and start looking for the journal in question. I could have sworn I left it on my desk yesterday, but I don’t see it right away, so I start to open and close drawers. And that’s when I notice the Butterscotch Krimpets stash . . . and that’s when my stomach growls in response, reminding me that I’ve barely had a bite to eat today.

I give in and grab a pack, ripping it open and stuffing one into my mouth whole. As soon as the taste of butterscotch melts against my tongue, my eyes roll into the back of my head in ecstasy.

“Katy?”

When I hear Dylan’s voice behind me, it startles me enough that I start to choke on the food I was trying to swallow. He smacks my back a couple of times to keep me from choking to death, and then once he sees that I’m okay, runs over to the water cooler to get me a cup.

Handing it to me, he asks, “What are you doing in here so late? I thought you were supposed to be at practice.”

I take a quick gulp of water, trying very hard not to look up at him. I’ve already noticed he’s got his laptop bag in tow and his keys in hand and was probably headed out the door when he spotted me.

“I just left the practice and stopped in for a second before heading home.”

I quickly look in the final drawer in my desk and find the missing journal. I pull it out and hold it tight against my chest when I turn back around to face him.

“See, I was looking for this.” I finally sneak a glance at his face.

This was a mistake, because Dylan looks like someone told him his dog was dead. And he doesn’t even have a dog, but if he did, I bet he would look somewhere along the lines of how he does now.

His usually vibrant eyes are dull and lifeless, and his shoulders are slumped in defeat. He runs a hand through his dark hair and then goes to say something but stops. I’m afraid that what he will want to say is that I’m an awful person for playing with his emotions yesterday and every day before that. I’m scared that I can no longer be his friend, confidante, or colleague, even. And all of that terrifies me to death because I could never see a future that didn’t include him in it in some capacity. Until now.

Instead of facing this giant divide between us head-on, because I’m too spooked at the idea of losing him and hearing him say it out loud, I go to leave. I get about two steps away from him when he calls out to me again.

“Do you mind if I come to the game tomorrow night?” he asks.

Genuinely caught off guard by his question, at first I don’t say yes or no. Normally I wouldn’t mind at all, but given the way the last few days have gone, I’m not so sure. And I know myself . . . I’ll be distracted the whole time I’m trying to work, knowing that Dylan is around. But I don’t want him to think that everything is ruined between us either.

“Of course not,” I finally say to him. “I’ll see you there.”

He smiles a little, looking relieved that I’m okay with him being there. Which makes me feel only slightly better. I say a quick good-bye to him and try my hardest to walk more calmly out of the office than I did yesterday.

When I manage to clear the newsroom and get to the office elevator, I rest my head against the wall in frustration as it goes down to the parking garage. My frustration is self-made, though, which is the most maddening thing about it. I could have avoided all of this by not playing that little game with Dylan yesterday. It makes me sick to my stomach to know that I had a hand in this . . . a big one.

And what I want most is to fix things between us, I just don’t know how.

The Friday night lights are in full swing and I’m in my element: on the sidelines, watching the game, taking a few pictures and notes for my article. It’s a welcome relief to be doing what I love most.

As much as I’m a bit biased while watching my old alma mater play their games live, I’ve been able to resist hinting that I’m a true-blue fan in my pieces. I stay completely neutral and report the facts. Like how they are losing by two touchdowns right now, heading into the second quarter.

A man’s voice calls my name from somewhere behind me and I turn around to try to place it. But with the crowded bleachers and all the people on the field, it’s impossible to make it out.

Then I distinctly hear, “Shadow,” ring through the crowd noise. I turn, this time to my left, and spot Conner. It’s hard not to. He’s easily a foot taller than most of the high schoolers standing around him. I wave for him to come down to the field and he starts making his way to me.

I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to myself that I get a rush of butterflies seeing him again. I don’t think there will ever be a time that I don’t. He’s such a big part of my past that it’s next to impossible to imagine a day that my heart doesn’t skip a beat or two at the mere idea of him.

“Well, don’t you look adorable,” he says by way of hello.

I look down at myself. Jeans, check. Ratty old Converse sneakers, check. Black hoodie sweatshirt, check. Hair up in a ponytail, check. Not sure why he would think this is adorable, but I get the smallest of thrills knowing it.

“Thanks.”

And then I hesitate over what I should do next. Because I’m not sure if we should hug hello or kiss on the cheek after what happened at the park. It’s times like these that I wish I knew exactly what Conner was thinking about me and not just my clothing choices. I would love to know if he’s as confused as I am and doesn’t know what he can say or do around me without it bordering on uncomfortable.

“I’m not going to bother you out here on the field while you’re working, am I?” he asks.

“Nope, not at all. In fact, my brother sometimes comes out to watch with me. He might come tonight, so he can keep you company if I get too busy.”

“Which brother?”

I can’t help but laugh at the way he asked. “Jonathan. Simon’s usually on his shift until about midnight.”

“It would be great to see him while I’m in town.”

And right there is the reminder that Conner is leaving soon. This time next week, he will be gone and out of my life again. I can’t help but wonder if he intends to not keep in touch again. That this visit was a little trip down memory lane for him . . . not realizing that memory lane for me has been slightly more stressful than it should be.

“He might, it depends if he can get out of the office early enough.” Then I remember who else is coming tonight. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. My boss, Dylan, is probably going to show up at some point, if he’s not already here.”

I’m pretty sure I sounded like a pretty poor liar when I tried to play it off that Dylan is
just
my boss. But it’s not like I can tell Conner he’s more than that since I don’t even know what he is to me anymore.

“Well, don’t let me get in the way. Pretend I’m not here, Shadow.”

Pretending that he isn’t here will be impossible, but I do get back to work. I do this just in time to catch the Barracudas score a touchdown and then a two-point conversion immediately afterward. As I’m taking a picture of the team’s celebration, I hear a familiar and not welcome voice coming from behind me.

“I haven’t been to a high school football game since high school, Dylan.”

He brought Rachel.

The crushing feeling I get knowing that he brought Rachel here is enough for me to see red. Making it impossible for me to turn around and say hello or just acknowledge him. Because Dylan knows how much all of this means to me. He knows that this is what I live for. And yet, he brought her here. Which makes me then think that he’s trying to prove a point. But what that point is, I haven’t the faintest idea.

“Should we say hello?”

Rachel, who I guess must be wondering why they haven’t announced themselves to me yet, asks this. Because I’m sure she’s dying to rub it in my face that she has Dylan all to herself.

I can’t make out what he says back to her. But whatever it was, they still don’t come over to me. Should I bite the bullet and get it over with? If I do, it will be difficult to hide how much I dislike the idea of her being here. But maybe that’s a good thing for him to see.

So I put down my camera, letting it hang around my neck as I turn around to find them. Dylan was already looking straight at me before I start walking to him . . . them. He keeps his eyes trained on me as Rachel’s attention is momentarily diverted to the cheerleaders. It’s not a long walk, but it feels like it takes forever and a day to reach them.

Just then, Rachel starts to talk about how she was a cheerleader in high school since she’s not paying any mind to either of us. So we stand awkwardly there, looking at each other. I want to say so many things to him, but I can’t narrow it down to only one. You would think that saying hello to someone you’ve seen almost every day for the past six or seven years would be much easier than this.

But then Rachel turns around excitedly to say something else about the cheerleaders to Dylan and notices me standing there, still as a statue.

“Oh, Katy, there you are.”

I tear my eyes away from him and smile at Rachel. “Yup, here I am. I was . . . am working.”

“Doesn’t this get boring?” she says with a fake yawn. “When I was in high school, my friends and I would be bored out of our minds on the sidelines.”

Dylan rubs the back of his head, obviously not wanting to touch her comment with a ten-foot pole. My blood boils and I want to say so many things back to her, but I’m having a hard time just juggling work and my personal life at the same time.

“It’s not boring to me,” I finally tell her. “As a matter of fact, I—”

Right then, Conner sidles up to me and says, “Barracudas are about to take the lead, Katy.”

But even that fact doesn’t tear me away from the look in Dylan’s eyes as he takes in Conner for the first time. It’s enough to make me more uncomfortable than I already am. It’s not outright jealousy I see in his eyes, but confusion is also there in the way his eyebrows scrunch together a little.

I decide to at least be civil and introduce everyone to each other. “Conner, this is my boss, Dylan.” Conner offers his hand to shake Dylan’s. “Dylan, this is my old friend Conner I was telling you about.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Conner says and Dylan nods. Then he looks to Rachel, noticing her just standing there, and I realize that I didn’t even bother with her introduction.

“I’m Rachel, by the way,” she says and offers her hand for Conner to shake. She looks to me with a sideways glance and then says in a not-so-quiet voice, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Katy. You should have said something, we could all have gone out on a double date.”

My stomach drops to somewhere around my knees while Conner laughs it off. But he throws his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him. I glance up and catch his eyes with a bit of a twinkle of mischief in them as he says, “We’re just old friends.”

Rachel nudges Dylan’s ribs and says, “Don’t they look cute together? Why don’t we invite them to go for a drink after the game or something?”

He leans in and whispers something in her ear. When he does this her hand affectionately rests on his chest until he’s done talking. My mind goes to a couple of days ago when I was that close to him, and the thought brings a feeling of helplessness over me. Because this is it, I think. It can’t be more obvious than the way they are so comfortable with each other . . . sharing a secret like two lovers who are oblivious to anyone around them.

Rachel snorts a laugh, which snaps me back to the here and now. I’m so startled by that sound coming from her that I can’t help but laugh. Dylan notices right away. He tries to hide his surprise by biting his lip, and Conner . . . well, he’s just along for the ride.

His arm is still around my shoulders when Jonathan comes walking up behind Dylan and Rachel. I have never been so happy to see one of my brothers in my entire life. I would have taken Simon’s appearance at this point in the festivities, that’s how much I need a reprieve.

“Excuse me,” I say quickly and dart out from Conner’s hold. In an almost sprint, I reach my brother. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Is that Conner?” he asks, looking over my shoulder. “And Dylan?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Who’s that?” He points to Rachel with a look of confusion. “Is that the infamous Rachel?”

I nod, hoping that the sheer panic on my face is enough to encapsulate the level of stress I am currently in.