Authors: Caitie Quinn
The gasps from the group around me would have put an end to that line of questioning from anyone else. But not Connor.
"I mean, how long has this been going on?" Connor asked.
"Mister,” a little voice piped up from the front row. “You don't understand. She loves them both."
"Yeah.” One of the chattier girls threw in. “She has so much in common with Michael, but she and Priam have lived other lives together. You can't just discount that."
"But Michael is always there for her.” Another girl added, making the battle lines very clear. “He never lets her down. He isn't all,
Oh. I'm Mr. Mysterious. I can't be here for you all the time. You can't trust me."
"But he wants her to trust him. He just has other responsibilities."
"If he loved her, he'd be there for her like Michael. He'd always be there for her."
"See?" Connor jumped in before the Michael/Priam contingents came to blows. "If he really cared for her, he'd always be there for her."
He glanced up and smiled at me.
It took a moment to break free from that gaze, but I held my hand up, knowing how teenagers could get when they were passionate about something. I wished I could bottle their passion, but right now I was too flabbergasted.
"Well, girls. Mr. Ryan seems to be on Team Michael. I'm sure one or two of you might want to put that on your blog. Maybe he'll answer a few questions after the cupcakes. In the meantime, feel free to get your book from Mary and if anyone wants me to sign it, they're setting up a table in the corner."
They moved in a flash, rushing Mary as if she was going to run out of books. She had the bookstore staff handing out cupcakes with ravens on them and Trading Cards with Michael, Priam, and some of the villains over the last couple years.
"So...” I grinned as Connor picked his way through discarded jackets and backpacks to where I sat. “Team Michael, huh?"
"Team Hails." He reached down and pulled me up from my cross-legged seat on the floor. “Wow. You're really good at this. You had them eating out of your hands.”
Before I knew it, he'd kissed me. Just a quick sweep of his lips across mine, but my knees almost gave out and dropped me back down.
"What are you doing here?” I asked, recovering as quickly as possible. “You weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow afternoon."
"I wasn't going to miss your big night. Why didn't you tell me about this? You just said we had a dinner for the launch with your friends."
"It's—"
"Hailey, is this your boyfriend?” A small, suspicious voice interrupted from just behind Connor’s elbow. “The baseball player guy?"
Wow. If the news had even trickled down to my readers, we were definitely in Couple City.
"How'd you hear about that?" I asked.
"My brother is a huge fan. He says you should date more actresses. Or another one of the girls on Big Brother. But I told him Hailey was wicked pretty and her books are my favorite." She grinned up at Connor and darn it all if she didn't bat her little thirteen-year-old eyelashes. "Then, when he said no you weren't, I hit him with one of your hard covers."
And I hadn't believed the publisher when she said hard covers had more diversity.
"That's very sweet of you, but maybe not so much with the hitting."
"Will you sign my book?"
"Of course."
Connor kissed my cheek and stepped away. “I’ll let you go make dreams come true.”
He worked his way back to his luggage, stopping for each girl interested and brave enough to challenge him and explain Raven and her love interests. I couldn’t help but watch him as he headed toward the closed café at the front of the store and disappeared behind a bookshelf, most likely sinking into one of the overstuffed chairs.
I hadn't realized I'd missed him until he was here and gone again, the surprise of it all catching me off my stride and throwing me off my game.
Wow. Even I was thinking in baseball analogies now.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Connor took the cab back to my place and got out…probably force of habit because he was so exhausted.
Now, I was curled up in the corner of my couch, my feet stuck under Connor's leg, one of his arms wrapped around my calves the other holding the glass of the scotch.
"Why have you never had me come over to your place?" It suddenly seemed really important that while he'd invaded every corner of my life, I'd never gone anywhere into his that wasn't related to the deal. Maybe he was afraid it would be harder to get rid of me when this was over. “I mean, regardless of the paparazzi-partnering doorman, now that we’re already tabloid fodder. Not to stay over, just to see it.”
"Why would you want to go there?" I know he was tired from the insane trip back to go to my launch party, but it seemed like a pretty straightforward question.
"I don't know. I mean, why wouldn't I? Is there a reason you haven't had me over?"
"Yes."
Oh, dear.
"It's big and spacious and cold. It's much nicer here. I have a nosy doorman. There’s an elevator that you have to be nice to people for like fifteen floors. I’ve barely decorated. And you would mock my TV.” He took another sip and rolled his head to look my way. “Your apartment has made me think about downsizing. As long as I have a guest room for my folks, that's all I really need. It's not like I throw big parties or anything. I don't like to bring all that schmoozing home with me. So, you'd probably hate my place."
Yeah. I'm sure I'd totally hate the three million dollar penthouse overlooking the river that was featured on Million Dollar Views last year.
Not that I Googled it or anything.
"So, you like it better here?"
That seemed too simple.
"Yup. Remember? Cozy." He tilted his head back again, his eyes half-shut.
No matter how happy I was to see him, it was going to have to be bedtime before he passed out and dropped that glass.
I slid my feet out from under him and stretched before getting up to go get his blanket.
When I turned back, he was standing in my bedroom doorway.
"Hails, I'm sleeping in that bed with you. I'm exhausted and jet lagged and I'm keeping my clothes on, but I am sleeping there."
He stood there, half-challenging me, half waiting for me to say yes or no. He looked dead on his feet, partially because he raced back to celebrate with me. My friends and Catherine don't even go to my closed events anymore. They were having the launch dinner for me next week. And so, Connor had been the only adult there just to support me for no reason to do with money.
"Fine."
I grabbed my pajamas and changed in the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my teeth and wondering if I'd lost my mind.
When I came out, Connor was folding down the covers on the far side of the bed wearing those mesh shorts again.
Only the mesh shorts.
"You said you'd keep your clothes on.
"These are clothes."
"Where are the rest of them?"
"Hails, the important stuff is covered.” He crawled into the far side and fluffed the pillow I usually threw at his head in the living room. “Get in bed."
I knew it was a bad idea as I slid under the covers and reached for the bedside lamp. Nothing good came of sharing a bed with someone you were attracted to. And darn him. It was bad enough he was so good looking. But showing up at my event, calling me just because, kissing me—no matter how casually—it just wasn't going to end up with me in a good place.
I turned away, hoping to just fall asleep.
"Hails. You need to calm down. I'm not going to molest you in your sleep. If I haven't slapped you on the rear-end yet, I think you're safe for one night."
He was absolutely right. The more I thought about it, the more stupid I felt. Of course he wasn't going to jump me. One, he'd promised. And, two, it wasn't how he was wired. So, everything was good in the world.
I was just getting comfortable as an arm was thrown across me. Before I could say anything, Connor was already pulling me up against him.
“Stop freaking out.” He sounded half asleep, already fading out. “I’m going to end up wrapped half around you once I’m asleep anyway. Might as well get it out of the way.”
Before I could figure out how to respond, he was already snoring.
I laid awake, trying to not cuddle back and questioning if it were cuddling if only one person was doing it.
Eventually, I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the feel of his heat at my back and the warm strength of him holding me.
I’d let tomorrow worry about tomorrow.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I barely slept as I focused on staying on my side of the bed. This had Accidental Cuddle written all over it, and I really didn’t need to go there. Friends don’t cuddle friends in their sleep. Unless they were Connor. With his amazing way of seeing things, him cuddling was okay. Me cuddling meant I wanted an engagement ring.
But, when I woke up, my bed was empty and I was wrapped around my pillow just like always.
Voices were coming from my living room. Because I wasn’t nuts about someone being in my house who I didn’t know, I considered texting Connor from my room. The upside was, I could throw something over my Becca Approved Pajamas—Yes, Becca bought me PJs. She also bought me non-sleepwear PJs, if you get what I’m saying. Those were stuffed in the back of my closet, in the bag, with the tags still on, because friends also didn’t let friends wear inappropriate
sleepwear.
“I did that. It still doesn’t taste the same.” Connor’s voice slipped through the door sounding frustrated.
I ran a brush through my hair as I listened for the muffled response. It sounded high and fast. Was Jenna here? I found it hard to believe she’d just be hanging out with Connor while I slept.
“Right. Okay, so I’ve put those in the oven and I split the two K-cups.” Something banged shut. “Wait, the oven isn’t warm. I put the little preheat button…”
Mumble, mumble, mumble.
I snuck down the hall and peeked around the corner to see Connor glaring at his phone.
“I did. Why isn’t the oven warm?”
“Did you pick a temperature and set the timer and everything?” Abby’s voice asked over speakerphone. “I should have known you'd need the cooking virgin directions.”
“Don’t mock me, Abigail.”
I smothered a laugh as Connor pulled a muffin tray back out of the oven and dropped it on the counter.
“You’re extremely mockable, Connor,” Abby taunted.
“Can I just stick these in the microwave?” I watched him slide a glance at the appliance like it might solve whatever issues he was having.
“No. You can’t. Also, your pan is probably metal.” Abby sighed as if this were the biggest struggle ever. “I told you to just come down here and get her a muffin, but nooooo. You want to be all Cute Morning After Guy.”
“Hey! That’s not what this is,” Connor sounded almost as annoyed by that as by the betrayal of his beloved microwave. His head jerked up, as he realized what he’d said. “I mean—”
“Dude, trust me,” Abby interrupted. “I’m not an idiot. You guys aren’t dating. It’s a secret. Dane wants to kick your butt and Jenna’s watching you, and you’re—”
“Um…” Connor picked up the phone and took it off speaker. “What do you mean?”
He nodded and scowled and checked the oven to see how warm it was.
“Abby, you get the weirdest ideas.” He forced a smile as if Abby could see him. “You need to get out more.”
I could hear her high-pitched voice memer-memer-memering from where I’d snuck to the edge of the counter to watch as Connor continued to scowl.
“It is not cute,” he declared. “We’re just friends. And, she likes muffins…Right…So, once the oven is warm, put them in for how long?...
That long
?...Fine, right. Okay. Thanks. And, Abby?” He waited for her reply. “Not a word of any of this, got it?”
He hung up the phone, shaking his head as he did and went back to the Keurig that had magically appeared in my apartment. He better figure out where that thing was getting stored, because it wasn’t on my counter top. I stood there, wondering what was going on and if I should just go back to bed while my—hopefully edible—muffin baked. But, just as I was thinking of slipping back to my room, Connor caught me out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey, Hails.” His smile was surprised, like he didn’t expect me to be up yet. “I figured after your big night you’d sleep in a bit.”
“It’s almost nine.” Which
was
sleeping in.
Connor glanced at the clock then back at the oven before mumbling, “Exactly how long is it supposed to take to make muffins?”
Since I’m pretty sure this question was rhetorical, I wandered over to the counter and pulled out a stool, waiting to see what exactly was going on. Connor turned to the sink and worked through rinsing everything and putting them in the tiny dishwasher squeezed next to my fridge.
“I was making you a muffin.” He looked almost guilty as he explained.
“I heard.” I waited for him to expound, but instead he just went back to cleaning the kitchen.
Don’t get me wrong, after I’d gotten over the cuteness of pro-athlete sized Connor trying to bake in my tiny kitchen, I’d wondered who was going to clean this mess up. But, now that he was doing it, I was kind of more curious what was going on.
“Connor, you didn’t have to make me a muffin.” Because, four blocks away were the best muffins on Earth, but why set the bar impossibly high. I’d settle for “edible and didn’t light the kitchen on fire” at this point.
“I know.”
Well, that didn’t give me a lot to work with.
“Okay, let’s try this a different way.” I waited until he glanced my way and went on. “Connor, why are you up early, making me a muffin?”
His nose squished up in a way that made him look much younger and he set the sponge down and came to stand across the counter from me.
“You know the other day, the fight we had?” He asked as if our post-paparazzi throw down was easily forgotten.