Something More Than This (7 page)

CHAPTER TEN

W
hen I arrive at Conner’s mom’s house, I’m already regretting my decision to let Mimi dress me.

She chose a pair of very short shorts in a royal blue that if I were a year or two older, I would not be able to get away with wearing. Above them is a black linen swing tank top that makes me feel more uneasy than the shorts, believe it or not, since it forces me to wear a racerback bra that puts my cleavage uncomfortably on display. This paired with black flip-flops that have a simple decorative flower on them, as Mimi says, for effect. I drew the line at jewelry, because if there is one thing I can’t stand to be bothered with, it is an accessory, or two, or three. The worst part is that she didn’t let me bring one hair tie to pull my hair up, which is my natural inclination within minutes of leaving my house and going anywhere. I officially feel more self-conscious than ever about my appearance.

But when I turn my attention to his childhood home, I’m calmed. The dozen or so amaranth plants I had helped Conner and his mom plant years ago are in full bloom. Their deep wine-red leaves are spilling over and look beautiful against the plain, cream-colored stucco of the ranch house. I park my car behind what I assume must be his rental during his visit and step out into the blazing midday sun.

As I walk the few steps to the front door, my heart feels like it’s pounding so hard that it might jump right out of my chest. So I take a few breaths before ringing the doorbell. When it’s not answered, I press the button again, only to hear Conner’s voice come from the backyard.

“Katy, come around, I’m back here.”

I walk the perimeter of the house and reach the backyard gate, opening it and laughing at the same time. The latch still gets stuck and won’t open if you don’t jimmy it just so. The stepping stones from the back gate to the patio that surrounds the pool are exactly the same, bringing to mind the countless times I would hop on them from one foot to the other. The older I got, the less difficult it became, until I was able to just walk them like everyone else.

I’m looking down at the steps when I hear him again. “There you are. Right on time.”

This is bad. So bad.

Because Conner is standing right at the edge of the pool with just his swim trunks on, holding an aluminum pole that is submerged in the water, obviously cleaning it.

I still haven’t said a word. And I’m afraid that I must look ridiculous, staring openmouthed at an adult-sized Conner in all his male glory . . . shirtless, to top it off. Conner was fit when we were younger and ran track here and there, but he wasn’t super athletic or really into working out. But this Conner . . . this one is way different.

As he moves the brush against the walls of the pool, his arms flex again and again, showcasing perfectly developed muscles in his biceps and forearms. His chest has a smattering of hair that thins out down his flat stomach and disappears to . . .

Stop and get a grip, Katy!
I yell in my head to snap out of the leering I’m in the middle of doing. Then I remind myself,
he’s your friend
.

“Shadow?” Conner asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I choke out. I walk a little farther until I’m standing next to him, trying my hardest to keep from staring. “You should have let me know to bring my suit. It could have been like old times.”

“Like old times, huh?” He laughs.

“Yeah, a little swim and some barbecue. Maybe another day.”

“There won’t be many chances left after this weekend. And once I’m gone, the house will be empty and officially on the market.”

Does that mean I should run home and get my swimsuit? Wait, what am I thinking? I can’t go swimming with grown-up Conner. It’s not like we can play Marco Polo at our age or anything like that. It would be more awkward than it already is, at least for me. So, no, definitely not going home to get my bikini.

“Katy?”

“Yeah, here, sorry.” I chuckle. Fanning myself, because I’m overheating from being underneath the sun and being around him, I go to sit on one of the chairs underneath the awning over the patio. “It’s really hot, right?”

“It feels great,” he says. “I’ll be done in a minute. Help yourself to something to drink. There’s a cooler right behind you.”

I turn in my seat and, sure enough, there’s a bright green Igloo cooler behind me. I reach over and pop it open, finding a few Corona bottles. They look absolutely delicious and like the perfect remedy to cool off. Tied with an old shoestring on one of the handles of the cooler is a bottle opener. I’m in the middle of using it when I hear a big splash.

Oh no. Should I turn around? If I do, then I’ll have to watch Conner get out of the pool soaking wet, and I’m sure he looks even better that way. The mere thought of water sluicing down his body has me in a panic. I curse myself as I search for my sunglasses, which I was sure I brought with me, then realize that I left them
and
my purse in my car. Dammit.

Oh well, here goes nothing. Poker face, don’t fail me now.

Turning around again, I am just in time to catch Conner hoisting himself ever so slowly out of the deep end of the pool. His back is to me, so I get to see his sinewy muscles tighten and stretch as they work together to get this fine piece of man out of the pool safely. It’s like watching an ad for Cool Water Davidoff come to life right before my eyes.

He walks toward me, not even stopping when he yanks a towel off a chaise longue. He doesn’t dry himself; instead, he wraps it around his waist and then pulls up a chair alongside me with a big smile.

“That felt amazing! I really needed that after working on the pool for the past couple of hours.”

“I’m sure.” I look everywhere but at him. The ground, the sky, the pool, the fence. Then I say, “It’s the perfect kind of day to take a dip.”

“Um, Shadow,” he says quietly. I turn to look at him head-on. “If you want, you can take a dip.”

My laugh sounds almost maniacal. “Me? A dip? Are you kidding? I already told you, I don’t have my bikini with me. I’d have to go in my bra and underwear.”

“I promise I’ll close my eyes and won’t peek.”

Then he winks. Again. For the second time in as many days.

I stand up so fast that I almost knock the chair backward. “I have to go to the bathroom bad.”

He chuckles and points toward the house. “Go ahead. You know where it is.”

I walk as calmly as I can until I’m in the house and out of his view. Then I’m sprinting across to the other side of his house to go out the front door and to my car. I lean across the console to grab my purse and start fishing around for my cell phone to text Mimi for advice. And undoubtedly to have her tell me “I told you so.”

Pressing the button to bring the phone to life, I see a text from Dylan.

Did you think you could get away without a question today? Here you go, Superstar . . . Who was the first person in the NFL to rush for over 1000 yards?

I smile, feeling relief at receiving his text and that he thought about me.

I text back quickly:

Beattie Feathers

And just like that, I’m myself again. That’s all I needed: a text from Dylan to put me back on track.

I see the little dots stringing together, so I know he’s already texting me back. Then it flashes on my screen.

I have no words. You are a goddess.

Another string of dots and then:

Of football knowledge.

“Katy?”

“Oh my God! You scared me to death!”

It’s true. Conner scared the living daylights out of me, so much that my phone fell out of my grasp and onto the ground. Thank the Lord I have a super-duper protector on it; if not, the screen would have shattered into a million pieces.

He’s thankfully found some clothes by way of an old, beat-up baby blue T-shirt to cover up all that . . . all that stuff.

With a confused look on his face, he asks, “What are you doing out here? I thought you were going to the bathroom?”

“Sorry, I was, but then remembered I needed to send Dylan a message.”

I don’t know why I say this to him. It’s a complete and utter bald-faced lie.

“Who’s Dylan?”

“My boss at the newspaper.” I’m slightly more calm and comfortable with the lie
and
the fact that he’s dressed. “Just wanted to make sure he looked over my article before it was published this morning. And get any notes or suggestions on it and stuff.”

I hear myself rambling on, and it doesn’t even sound like me, like the Katy I am. I’m a strong, independent woman who doesn’t sweat the small stuff. I have a job that requires me to be at the top of my game since it’s a man’s world . . . and yet, here I am, acting like a bumbling idiot because Conner had his shirt off.

Katy, get yourself together!

Once I repeat that phrase one more time in my head, the tension and nervous knot in my stomach releases.

“Listen, Katy, if you have work that you need to do, we can reschedule for another day.”

I can tell he means it by the way his eyes soften around the edges, looking generally concerned for me.

“I’m fine. But don’t you have to get some stuff packed? Won’t I be in the way?”

He comes over to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, then proceeds to guide us toward the house, walking side by side with me. The faintest tremble of nerves comes back at the feel of him so close to me, almost holding me, but I squash it as quickly as it surfaces. I cannot let him see me as anything but cool, calm, and collected. I breathe in from my nose and out from my mouth. So fast and quiet that he doesn’t even notice it.

When we reach the front door, he lets me go and holds it open for me.

And as I brush past him, he faintly says, “Shadow, you were never in the way.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
he rest of the day sped by.

Because as it turns out, Conner didn’t do anything other than pack up stuff the remainder of the afternoon I was at his house. All I did, since he would not let me help him, was sit and watch. But it allowed us the time to really catch up with each other.

He told me about living in California. About his life, his friends, his dog—a Labrador retriever named Alfred who is being cared for by one his friends while he’s away—his career, and finally, his personal life.

Broaching the subject of girlfriends and dating with Conner wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. Because he was semi-distracted by all the boxes and the sheer magnitude of the task ahead of him, when he spoke about his past relationships, he was open and honest and left me feeling as if I was getting a glimpse at the real Conner, the one that I used to know and still wanted to know as a friend today.

He definitely isn’t a ladies’ man or anything like that. I mean, he has had women in his past. I would have to be dense not to think that. But it wasn’t a bevy of them. However, there was one woman he spoke of fondly, almost reverently.

Her name is Abby, and when they met a few years ago, she was also in the midst of her residency. Conner said she had been part of his study group and they’d clicked immediately. They were together for over a year, and the breakup had been amicable because they had both realized that juggling a serious relationship while trying to complete their residencies was far too much pressure. Not to mention the little amount of free time they had to devote to each other.

“It kind of sucked to end it. I cared a lot about her,” he said. “Actually, now that I think of it, she kind of reminded me of you.”

This caught me totally off guard. “Why is that?”

“Well, for one thing, she is a rabid San Diego Chargers fan.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” I said with a look of fake contempt. “Everyone knows I’m a rabid Dolphins fan. Even though they break my heart every season.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, laughing at my reaction. “Anyway, her personality reminded me of you. She’s not afraid to push or challenge herself to do new things. You know, it’s not that easy for women in the sports medicine field. And she never lets that fact get her down. She always squares her shoulders and moves straight ahead.”

“Sounds like I’d really like her.”

I meant it. I probably would. But the tiniest twinge of jealousy wraps itself around my heart and squeezes it tight. The me of years past always wondered what it would have been like to be one of Conner’s girlfriends. Today, as he told me about a couple of them, I not only wondered, but actually put myself in their shoes. When he left the room a few times, I daydreamed of how it would be if we were together like that. Would he kiss me hello as soon as he walked in the door after a long day? Would he snuggle and hold me in his arms at night and keep me close? Would he do little things to remind me how much he loved me?

As soon as I felt my imagination start to go over the deep end, I immediately stopped myself. Because what’s the point? One, he’s only here for a couple of weeks. Two, he has his life in California and I have mine here in Florida. Three, am I supposed to ask him to throw me a bone at least once, since he owes me after all these years? And finally, it’s Conner . . . there is no way it can happen. Even if Mimi is even the slightest bit right in her assumption that he was maybe being a little flirtatious last night, and a bit today, that doesn’t mean a thing. At the end of the day, he doesn’t see me as anything other than the friend I was to him. Which is fine . . .
I’m
fine.
He’s
fine. We’re
all
fine.

As I was leaving his mom’s house, he was quick to tell me that the next day would be difficult to get together. To be honest, I was a little surprised that he was already planning to see me again so soon. His day would be chock-full of visits from repairmen getting the house ready for the inspection scheduled for the end of the week. But he said that he’d call or text me at some point to make plans.

Instead of going home, I drive straight to Jonathan’s townhouse on the beach. I don’t even know why. In the past, whenever I’ve popped in to see Jonathan, it’s usually because I had a huge looming deadline or a lot on my plate at work and I needed to unwind. He always ends up propping me in the lounger on his balcony that overlooks the ocean and giving me a blanket to wrap myself in, leaving me alone to relax. I’ll sit and stare out at the horizon and watch the sun barely kiss the water as it slowly disappears for the day. By then, my head is clear and more focused and the stress that had gotten me into such a frazzled state is gone.

Until the next time . . . like today.

It’s a Saturday, so he might not be home. Or maybe he has company and doesn’t want his little sister around to cramp his style. I doubt it, but I text him anyway at a stoplight to see if the coast is clear, and he gives me the okay to head over.

Jonathan takes one look at me and holds the door open wide. I walk past him and head straight to the balcony. Luckily, I’m just in time to catch the sun being swallowed up whole by the ocean until there are only the stars in the night sky and the sounds of the waves crashing onto the shore.

A blanket is carefully placed around my shoulders, and usually I’d let Jonathan just walk away and leave me alone for a bit. But tonight, what I need most is his company.

“You don’t have to leave,” I say, not turning around but feeling his presence still. “Hang out with me for a bit.”

He pulls up a chair, and then he’s sitting and staring at the same view. “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing.”

I pull the blanket tighter around me and over my shoulders, allowing only my eyes to peek up and over the rim to see the beauty play out before me.

“Is everything all right, Katy?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You think so?” he asks.

“It was just a weird day. Actually, it’s been a weird couple of days.”

Jonathan doesn’t say a thing for a few beats. Then he turns his chair a fraction to his left so it’s facing me. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Only if you promise not to tell Simon.”

He smiles and his eyes warm instantly at my request. “You know you don’t ever have to make me promise that.”

After a long pause and then a sigh, I ask him, “Do you remember Conner?”

It takes him a few seconds, but then the name finally registers.

“Wow, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Whatever happened to him?”

“He’s in town for a couple of weeks and looked me up. I just came from his house before I got here to see you.”

Jonathan takes this information in and doesn’t say a word.

“And?” he asks after a few more beats of silence.

“And what?”

He waves his hand up and down my body. “Why does seeing Conner again have you like this? I thought you guys were best friends back in the day.”

With a tight smile, I say, “I know, but that was forever ago. Plus . . . things got kind of weird between us before he went away to college.”

“Weird how?”

“And we didn’t stay in touch all these years.” I stop to take a quick breath, because I can feel myself getting more worked up with every passing second. “Who does that? I mean, someone that you spend almost every single day of your childhood and adolescence with and then poof! Nothing, not one word for nine years! And I’m supposed to not ask about it because then it would be even weirder between us.”

“Weird
how
, Katy?”

I ignore Jonathan again and keep right on going. “Then last night I think we’re having a normal conversation. But Mimi thought he was totally flirting with me and wants to get in my pants, which is crazy . . . because that would be super weird. Like weird on another level of weird that they haven’t even invented yet. I think—”

“Whoa! Stop for a second and take a breath!”

Jonathan lets me be quiet long enough to compose myself and, more importantly, get my breathing back to normal. If I keep on going—which I probably could—I’ll start to hyperventilate. And for what? I don’t even know why, if I’m being honest with myself. Is it simply because I want to know why Conner waited so long to get in touch with me? Or maybe I need for him to explain to me how he could just leave me behind if I meant so much to him and apparently had such a big impact on his career choice?

“Do you think you can talk calmly about it now?”

“I don’t know. Give me another minute.”

We sit in silence while I try to string together all my thoughts so that they are semi-coherent. That’s when I realize I told my own brother about someone possibly wanting to have sex with me. If there is one subject never to be broached with your brother, it’s your sex life.

Closing my eyes and covering them with my hands for good measure, I ask. “Did I just tell you that Conner wants to get in my pants? I did, didn’t I?”

Jonathan laughs uneasily. “Yup, you definitely did. We’ll get back to that momentarily.”

“Can we pretend I didn’t? Because I’d really rather not get into that right now again. It’s bad enough that I have Mimi telling me almost every day for the past few years that Dylan wants to get into my pants and now Conner? It’s driving me crazy all on its own.”

“Dylan? How did he get into this mess?”

With a sigh, I rub my face with my hands and then run them through my hair in frustration. “Never mind. Forget I brought him and the whole pants thing up.”

“Do you want my advice or not?”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

He chuckles like he’s enjoying my misery. “Look, it’s easy. Conner always seemed like a good guy to me—”

“He still is, Jonathan. That’s what makes me more confused.”

“Confused how, though? It should be nothing but easy. Guys aren’t very hard to figure out.”

I raise an eyebrow at that comment. “Oh really? I beg to differ.”

“Katy, let me break it down for you so you can understand.”

I reach out to smack him on his arm, but he catches my hand in midair while laughing. “Seriously, it’s not that hard. Guys are either into you or they’re not. They either are attracted to you in that . . .
way
. Or they’re not.”

“No? Really? Gosh, thanks for that explanation. You magically solved my dilemma.”

He ignores my sarcasm. “Let me ask you this, which is probably more important and probably what has you in such a tizzy—”

“Do grown men really use the word ‘tizzy’?”

“Would you be interested in Conner if it turned out he was interested in you?”

My knee-jerk reaction is already at the tip of my tongue with a big fat sign that says
YES
. But is that what I would truly want? If you asked the sixteen-year-old version of me, she’d bow down to the gods and not even question herself. But now, it’s not that cut-and-dried. Because if I jumped into bed with him at the first opportunity, no matter how many years have gone by and no matter how much I tell myself that it’s not a big deal, my heart will be involved. How could it not be where Conner’s concerned?

“I don’t know.” Tugging some hair behind my ears, I say, “What do you think?”

“Katy, don’t ask me a stupid question, because you’re only going to get a stupid answer.”

“I know, I know, I’m deflecting.”

“Look,” he says. “If it’s right, you’ll know. If not, then move on. But no matter what, don’t let anyone or anything pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

My smile is faint, but it’s genuine, because as vague as his advice is, it makes me feel better. “Thanks, Jonathan.”

“Now what about Dylan?”

That’s my cue to stand up and throw aside the blanket. “Nothing, forget I ever mentioned him.”

“Katy, he may be your friend, but don’t forget, he’s also your boss.”

He says this as I’m walking through the sliding doors to leave. “I know. I’m not stupid. Plus, he’s too good of a friend to me to consider that. I swear, if I lost my friendship with Dylan, I’d be a lot worse than what you just witnessed.”

And with that sound, personal advice, I say good-bye and go home to bed.