Synopsis
Court
Here’s a thing I learned a long time ago… guys and girls don’t think about relationships the same way. Especially in college. So, when I caught the girl sitting next to me on the plane reading a magazine article on how to get out of the friend zone, I did something I never do – I got involved.
One look into her electric blue eyes and the darkness inside of me faded.
Light and hope radiated from her like a neon sign.
Guys like me know how to get the girl, but we rarely get to keep them.
Bianca
Girls like me fade into the background. Nice, quiet, smart girls who don’t wear trendy clothes. My friendship with Court started as an opportunity to get inside the male mind, but it turned into so much more.
His touch sent current coursing through my veins.
His kiss jolted my heart.
But here is something I learned a long time ago you can’t force people to love you back. No matter how much you long for them.
Prologue
Bianca
Voltage, a noun. The difference in electric potential between two points.
I loved electricity. It fascinated me as a child – a magic force that could be felt, but not seen. Instead of jumping back and gasping in surprise when I accidentally zapped myself turning off the TV, like I’d seen others do, I reveled in it – giggling and shuffling my feet on the carpet, desperately wanting to recreate it.
As I’d gotten older, I obsessed over the other type of electrical shock. The kind that happened between two people that were meant to be together. While a cliché notion to some, I held out hope that electric potential could exist between two people the same way it could between two points. I sought it out – waiting for the other person who could set my potential in motion.
Maybe part of me wanted to believe in the same way I believed in voltage. It made the idea of navigating love and relationships so much simpler… waiting for the touch of my perfect match that would send shock waves to my very core. And how great would that feel to have this jolt to the heart, so you’d know this person would be worth whatever struggles or problems that stood in your way. A spark that would leave no doubts.
So, I sat in wait – tension coiled and ready to be transferred to the other point. To the person that would love me in an electric way.
I loved electricity, but I hadn’t learned all there was to learn about it yet and my naivety made me stupid. In electricity and love. While I had been sitting in wait – hoping to find that perfect person whose touch sent a shock through my body, I had lost sight of a crucial part of voltage.
Current.
Because while voltage exists without current, current does not exist without voltage. I equated love with electric potential and the two points were me and my perfect match. I’d loved plenty of people but current… damn, the current that failed to arc. I guess what they say, you can’t force love, is true because I’d tried and failed so many times to shuffle my feet and force an electrical shock – to make people love me - only to be met with disappointment when they failed to love me in return.
Why was it evading me when I was so filled with electricity I could practically set myself on fire? People were hard to understand and love, well, that was even harder. I gave up looking for my perfect match and went back to the science. It was easier – it had rules and laws that were clear and precise. I didn’t give up on love, but I stopped trying to force it.
And with a hope that when the time was right love would find me, I devoted my life to voltage and current.
1
Bianca
“No, not that one. The one next to it.” My mother pointed to a large box on the top shelf of her closet. My brother, Donnie, awkwardly lifted the heavy cardboard and dropped it onto the bed.
“That it?” he asked and shifted anxiously toward the door.
She opened the flaps and as the pastel and floral prints peeked out, my mother grinned. “Yes. This is the one.”
“Cool, I’m out of here. Leo and I are going to the park to shoot hoops.”
Standing taller, my mother turned to face Donnie. “Did you make your bed and clean the hall bathroom?”
“Yes and yes,” he muttered. “All my chores are done.”
“Alright, say goodbye to your sister. And don’t be out too late.”
While Donnie wrapped one arm around my back and leaned in – his version of a hug, my mom called for Leo. My brothers collided in the doorway.
Twins, but not identical, Leo and Donnie had the same build and height. Among their differences were hair styles and clothing. Donnie kept his hair cropped short and styled and preferred collared shirts and skinny jeans. Leo’s hair and clothes were untidy, in a word, but he was attractive enough to pull it off in a carefree, too-cool-to-care-about-appearances way. Both sets of their light eyes, the same shade of laser blue as mine, turned to me.
“What’s up?” Leo asked as he pulled a hoodie on over his head.
“I’m heading out in about an hour.” I stepped forward and hugged Leo tightly. He hugged me back, using both arms – another noted difference between the twins. “Stay out of trouble.” I pulled back and ruffled a hand through his long, unkept hair.
When we were alone, my mom started pulling out the clothes stashed away in the box.
“I finally went through my closet again and got rid of everything that doesn’t fit or is too young for me.” She rolled her eyes dramatically like the idea she was too old for anything was outrageous. At fifty-two, my mother was still beautiful. The last five years had brought more lines to her face and her body had softened, but the light in her eyes and the determined and confident way she held herself was timeless.
Her clothes, however, were not.
“These are just the spring and summer items,” she said as she laid out a series of dresses that were circa the late nineties.
I smiled as I stepped toward the mountain of clothes. Lifting a long, pink sundress with large white and blue flowers, my mind skirted to our family photo album. A picture from my sixth-grade graduation where my mother wore this dress while sandwiched between me and my father flashed vividly in my mind.
Every piece of clothing told part of a story. Our story. And I inspected each article the same way, letting the memories of my mother standing beside me through important life events warm my insides.
Her scent clung to the fabrics and I lifted the dress to my face.
“Try this one on. It was my favorite.” She tossed a shorter blue dress with another floral pattern my way.
While I pulled the dress on over my tank and leggings, my mother continued to pick through clothes and lay them on the bed for my inspection. Trying on my mother’s worn and outdated clothes always transported me back to when I was younger. I’d sneak into her closet and rifle through each item, try on shoes or jewelry to make a complete outfit. I couldn’t wait for the day I’d be able to fit into my mother’s clothes and even though I’d been wearing her hand me downs for years now, it was still just as exciting every time she had new items for me.
“Hmm.” She considered me and the dress. “It’s a little big. You’re more petite than I ever was, but I could take it in a bit in the waist and shoulders.” Her hands pulled at the fabric to show me how it would look. “What do you think?”
I stared at my reflection in the floor length mirror of my parents’ bedroom. She was right, it was a little big, but making do was practically my life’s motto. “Not necessary. I’ll wear a belt with it.”
“It’s really no big deal. The alterations are easy. I could pin it this afternoon and then mail it and any of the others you want.”
With an exaggerated gasp, I gripped the skirt of the dress in both hands. “No way. I want to wear this one back to school today.”
Her pleased smile was my reward.
I tossed a few other dresses over my shoulder and motioned toward the remaining clothes. “I’ll put the rest in my
closet for this summer. These will be perfect for work.”
I leaned in and kissed her cheek before scooping everything into the box. I texted my roommate and best friend Tasha while I packed. A week in New York for Spring break had been amazing, but I missed my friend and our cozy apartment.
Me: My flight gets in at four. When do you get back?
Tasha: Just got in! Can’t wait to see you. I missed your face! Party at Todd’s tonight so get your dancing shoes on! No excuses!
Her excessive use of exclamations points was a good indicator of her state of mind. There would be no denying her tonight.
With a smile, I tucked my phone in my purse and glanced around my old room. The walls were a faded pink and Einstein and James Clerk Maxwell decorated the wall with their genius and inspiration. The girl that had pinned them to the wall had changed, but my love for math and science had not.
In just a few months I’d finally be able to move back to New York City and start applying everything I’d learned in school. I was ready, but I was beginning to feel the loss of my carefree college life. Not that it hadn’t been hard work maintaining grades and keeping up with the twenty thousand other students all vying for top spots. Still, I was allowed a certain sheltering from the real world. I could forget that I was from a low-income family whose parents hadn’t gone to college or held down fancy jobs. With Tasha as a roommate and friend, I felt normal for the first time in my life. She’d taken one look at me in our introduction to psychology class freshman year and told me she had my back. And she had. Still did.
“Well, I’m off,” I announced as I entered the living room, pulling my suitcase behind me.
“Cookies for Tasha on the counter and bagels from Kossar's for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Got everything you need?” My father asked, standing from his favorite easy chair and pulling out his wallet. “You need cash for the taxi or for a soda at the airport?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I stowed the food in the front compartment of my baggage and then practically threw myself into my mother’s arms. “Thank you for everything. I’ll see you in a few months.”
Her eyes were misty as I pulled away, but she nodded and smiled proudly.
“It’s always too quiet in this house after you leave,” my father said as he squeezed me tightly and placed a kiss on top of my head. “We sure do miss you.”
“Miss you too.”
“And, uh, be sure to thank Tasha’s father for arranging the ticket for you again. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”
I winced at the look that crossed my father’s face. He was old school and proud. He didn’t like the idea that someone else paid my way, but Tasha’s dad was a big wig at one of the airlines so getting me on a flight home for Spring Break was no big deal – her words. I was grateful to not have to take the bus and my family was grateful to see more of me.
“I will. I promise.”
After another round of hugs and loving glances, I stepped out into the city and inhaled deeply. I wanted to soak up every drop before I headed back to Connecticut. I thought about how little time I had left before I’d return for good as a career woman.
Had I lived enough in the four years I’d been gone? Had I experienced enough late nights and partying so that I wouldn’t look back on this stage of my life with regret? I knew the answer to both of those questions was a resounding no. Practical and worried about the ramifications of getting too carried away, I’d lived cautiously.
Tasha’s text about the party tonight was fresh on my mind. Maybe with the last months of college, my grades secure enough to relax a tiny bit, I could start spending more time on the extracurricular activities I’d neglected. Namely, dating.
Tasha would be on board and maybe with her help and some research of my own, I could think about a real boyfriend. Someone to celebrate the end of one chapter and the start of another. And I had just the someone in mind.
2
Court
Flying coach was bullshit. The crying babies and the cramped seats weren’t even the worst of it, although admittedly not a perk. The real problem with sitting in the back of the plane was the comradery among the other passengers. In first-class no one tried to chat about the weather or ask the dreaded “Are you visiting or returning home?”. No, in first class we sat in our large, reclining seats with plenty of leg room, cold drink on the tray table, laptop open, and we minded our own damn business.
I didn’t sit in first class because of some ego trip where I needed to flaunt my better than average salary around. I did it because I preferred the silence. Also, I traveled so much it was almost always a free upgrade. Not today.
At least I’d been lucky enough to snag an aisle seat. Unlike the girl sitting in 8B. She didn’t look up as I shrugged off my suit jacket and placed it with my carry-on bag in the overhead bin. She stared down at the magazine in her hands, a pen gripped in her mouth.
Pink lips were wrapped around the blue pen and her eyebrows were drawn together in deep concentration. The only indication I had that she knew her seat neighbor had arrived was the way she shielded the magazine with an elbow as I slid into my seat. Her stance reminded me of those smart kids who strategically placed their arm around the edge of the desk so that no one could cheat off their test answers.
Intrigued, I settled in and peeked over her arm and down at the glossy pages only catching the headline: How to Get Out of the Friend Zone and Land the Guy of Your Dreams. My eyes trailed up to the young woman so enthralled with such a ludicrous title and I studied her closer.
She was beautiful, but not in an in your face way. I definitely couldn’t see her being banned to the friend zone. Her blonde hair was piled up in a bun on the top of her head, face clear and tanned even in the dreary March weather we’d been having. A faded, oversized floral dress was worn over leggings and sparkly shoes completed a look that was a cross between a preppy sorority girl and an artsy free spirit. She dressed in a way that told me she didn’t know she was beautiful or if she knew, she just didn’t care enough to conform to a style.
Judging by her reading material I was sold on the first option.
As the other passengers filed into their seats, I found myself intrigued and unable to focus on anything but 8B. I glanced over politely, hoping she’d look up and make eye contact so I could get a better look at her. No luck. She kept her focus on the garbage reading material in front of her as the cabin doors were closed and the flight attendants prepared for departure. When we’d reached twenty thousand feet and she still hadn’t so much as side-eyed me, I gave up and pulled out my laptop to do some work.
I stared at the reports in front of me for five minutes, not reading a word, before I gave up and closed the laptop with a snap. She jumped, startled, and I turned to give her my attention. When her eyes finally found mine, I inhaled sharply.
Bright blue eyes were outlined with a heavy hand on the eyeliner or eyeshadow, whatever it was called, in a striking blue. I couldn’t decide if was a fashion statement or a fashion disaster, but her eyes held mine captive and my lips parted to speak, only no words came out. We stared for a moment too long, neither saying a word, until she glanced down at her exposed reading and flipped it shut.
“There’s no such thing as the friend zone with guys,” I said, finally finding my voice.
“Excuse me?”
Clearing my throat, I watched her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “With women, they tend to put men into categories like that: friends, guys they’re sort of interested in, guys they want to sleep with, guys they want a relationship with, etc. Men, we don’t do that. We don’t fit women into tidy little categories. We’re either interested or we’re not. And it changes constantly. What that article should have said was “How to Be More Than a One Night Fling” because that’s what you really want, right? To be more than a random hookup or friends with benefits.” I used my fingers to make quotations around the last phrase. “I never cared for that expression
.”
A tiny noise escaped her mouth as she stared at me with a shocked look on her face.
“Want my advice?”
“No,” she blurted and shook her head, closing her eyes and turning her head to face forward. The captain’s voice filtered through the speakers giving the usual spiel and I drummed my fingers on the top of my computer waiting for him to finish so I could apologize.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. You don’t want to waste your time on a guy that makes you read trash articles like that. He’s an idiot, for what it’s worth.”
“I wasn’t reading for me,” she said with a defensive tone. “I read all the articles.”
“Nah, not like that you don’t. You were glued to that thing. I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last half hour.”
“You have?” she asked, scrunching up her face in a way that created a cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows.
“Tell me about the article. What was their advice?”
Clutching the magazine to her chest, she looked up at me like she was gauging the seriousness of my question. I leaned back, giving her my full attention.
“It said not to hang out with a man you’re interested in alone unless it’s a scheduled date. No texting or phone calls except to make plans until after the third official date. No sexting, obviously.”
“Obviously?”
“Well yeah, the article suggests it makes it easy for a guy to get what he wants without having to work for it.”
“True, but he’s probably not putting you in the friend zone if he’s staring at your boobs on his phone.”
The Fake: A College Sports Romance (Smart Jocks #4) Page 25
