He Belongs With Me

by Sarah Darlington

  There…I admitted it.

  Leo let a few moments slip away, taking his time respond. It was torturing the crap out of me and making my heart ba-bump harder than the Jaws theme song. He opened his mouth to say something, but then glancing downward, his lips immediately formed a straight line. “Dammit, what are you wearing? You have to take that off. Now.”

  “You want me to strip down naked in front of thousands of people? Pervert.” I bit my lip to hide my smile. My 'Jesus hates the Yankees' shirt elicited the exact reaction I wanted out of him. Maybe I enjoyed messing with Leo—maybe I always had. He wasn't difficult to provoke, so maybe I was somewhat to blame for the way he acted toward me over the years.

  “I'm serious,” he groaned, moving aside to let a family pass us on the steps. Then he added in his best 'I'm-pissed-at-the-world' voice, “You're going to get me slaughtered wearing that. Is that the idea? Is this your latest attempt at murder, killer?”

  “Chill out. No one's said a single word to me yet.”

  “Yet being the operative word in that statement. The Orioles are losing. That changes and I'm a dead man.”

  Why would he have been a dead man? I was the one wearing the shirt. Was Leo trying to tell me he'd defend me if anyone gave me hell about my choice of apparel? The answer to my question was ‘yes’—a resounding ‘yes.’ I'd seen Leo jump to Maggie's defense countless times, and I knew without question that he'd do the same for me.

  I think he realized I was on to him, because he quickly broke eye contact and looked toward the baseball field. His hand rubbed the back of his neck and he exhaled a slow breath. I saw him make that same move yesterday when he asked me to come with him to New York. Was I making Leo nervous? Did Leo even have nerves?

  He looked back at me and whatever expression I thought I saw vanished. A hint of a knowing smile formed on his lips. Then he moved up the final step, joining me where I stood. Leo stood at about six feet tall, and since I was shorter than everyone, he towered over me easily. His eyes narrowed down at me. I gulped and stared up at him, too hypnotized to look away.

  “You wore that shirt to purposely fuck with me.” He spoke in a low voice, one I was beginning to like. “Didn't you?”

  “No,” I breathed, but I didn't sound very convincing.

  “You enjoy fucking with me.” It wasn't a question. The butterfly effect in my stomach intensified and almost made me lose my balance on the steps. “You have a funny way of flirting with me, Clara. One I never understood until just this moment.”

  Flirting? Was that what this was? I didn't know I even knew how to flirt, but if that’s what I was doing, I certainly wasn’t going to admit to it. “You're delusional and possibly narcissistic,” I told him. “I wore this shirt because I hate the Yankees. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, killer.”

  Then, in an unexpected but sweet gesture, one of his hands came up and brushed a loose strand of hair out of my face, tucking it carefully behind my ear. His barely-there touch sent goosebumps to every square inch of my skin. It didn't matter that we were in a crowded, noisy, and extremely unromantic venue. I felt like the only woman in the whole stadium.

  “Prove it to me,” he whispered, stealing my words from last night. He then cupped my face in his hands and planted one firm kiss on my lips before pulling away. I didn't even realize he'd kissed me until his lips were gone from mine. “Prove to me you aren't toying with me,” he continued, “that you aren't leading me on like you did with Andrew Wellington, and I'm all yours, baby. All yours.”

  Unaffected by the words he'd just told me, he took off in the direction Steph had disappeared a few minutes ago. “Come sit with me,” he yelled over his shoulder. When he reached the very first row, I saw him start shimmying toward the corner of the seating section.

  Talk about stupefied. I stood there, unable to move for a moment. How the hell did he know about Andrew Wellington and my so-called attempt to lead him on? And then I realized...of course Leo knew about Andrew. Leo always knew everything. He needed to start a career as one of those phone psychics. But if Leo could read me so easily, how could he think I'd purposely hurt him? His assumption didn't sit well in my stomach. Not that I didn't deserve his doubt, but now that something had started between the two of us—whether that something was about to last one hour, one summer, or one lifetime—I never wanted to think about Andrew or see his face ever again.

  Which reminded me—I forgot to call and break things off with him...like yesterday. Maybe if I ignored him, he'd get the hint and forget about me. Except with my luck, I doubted I'd get off the hook so easily. I would have to call him tomorrow and officially end things. But for now, the only person on my mind was Leo.

  Hurrying down the steps, I followed in the direction he just went. Arguing with Leo—or flirting, as he’d called it—had to be one of the most exhilarating things on the planet. Why had I never noticed this before?

  When I reached the front row, I swiftly moved down the aisle, paying zero attention to the ballgame or the annoyed people who had to stand to let me pass. I reached the end of the row and spotted my empty seat between Leo and Steph. Leo sat with his feet propped up on the cement wall in front of him, completely blocking my way. He stared intently at the ongoing game, pretending like he didn't notice that I was standing there, waiting for him to move.

  How old were we, twelve? But before I could tell him off, déjà vu struck in the form of a random memory of Leo doing something similar at one of Dad's golf tournaments. Only that time, I'd called him a dumb-head or something equally juvenile and made a very public scene. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I might have actually been twelve then. But I was a grown-ass woman now and I knew a very different way to get even with Leo.

  Without saying a word, I grabbed the sides of Leo's seat and stepped one leg over his body. I straddled his lap and held that position, seizing Leo's gaze and letting him know that two could play his stupid game. My heart hammered inside my chest. A dull ache formed between my legs. My body began to tremble. But I had to do what I had to do. I moved my hands to rest on his chest, using every ounce of my control to ignore the oh-so-nerve-racking muscle I felt underneath his shirt. Leaning forward, I whispered in his ear.

  “Maybe you already know this, since you obviously know everything about me...or maybe I just need to say this for my own good...but I hate Andrew Wellington's effing guts. We went on a few dates, but I have no intention of ever going out with him again. As for the toying—yes, I'm toying with you. But I would never purposely hurt you.” I swallowed hard and then leaned back so I could see his reaction to my confession. “Understand?”

  He said nothing, but I felt as his hands slipped to my thighs and his fingers dug into my jeans. Leo watched me carefully, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying desperately to figure me out—maybe for once in his life he couldn't read me like an open book.

  My breathing had become so ragged that I thought surely the whole stadium could hear it. I shifted my weight to move toward my empty seat, because if I didn't move off of him immediately, I was going to go into cardiac arrest. Before I could get away, Leo caught my wrist and motioned for me to come closer, so I leaned forward to hear what he had to say.

  “That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.”

  Heat rose to my face. I left Leo's lap and slid down into my own seat. I hadn't expected that reaction out of him. Damn my luck. I'd tried to get the better of him, but somehow—once again—he’d gotten the better of me.

  “Maggie?” said a husky voice from behind me. “Is that you? I hope you know that your hair is purple.”

  I turned to look behind me. A guy in his mid-twenties, who was the spitting image of Pauly-D from the Jersey Shore, gawked at me. Really? Did everyone in Leo's life have to mistake me for Maggie? It was starting to get old.

  “Clara,” Leo corrected. “I told you Maggie's sister Clara was coming.”

  “Shit, there’s two of them,”
Pauly-D mused. “You're like the bad twin too, aren't you?” I rolled my eyes and turned back around.

  But as the game progressed, I soon found that Pauly-D wasn't as annoying as he initially seemed. His name was Tony, and he, his brother, and Leo all had season tickets, along with two other guys who weren’t here because Leo had bought their tickets so Steph and I could come. Who knew Leo had any friends, let alone perfectly normal ones? The really crazy thing was that I got the impression his friends had no idea who Leo or his family really were, and it seemed Leo sat out in these crappy seats just to keep up that façade. This shocked me on many levels, but I kept this new information to myself. I wouldn't want to blow Leo's cover.

  For the remaining innings, conversation came easy. Steph asked tons of questions…about the game, the Yankees, and baseball in general. She was having the time of her life. What surprised me was how much fun I was having too. And then as the game finished and we said our goodbyes to the brothers, I realized something—Leo and I were friends. Sure we fought a lot growing up, but that didn't mean we didn't care for each other. I guess we always had and always would.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Leo asked us as we walked with the crowd, heading toward the exit. “Are you going back to Brooklyn?”

  “I am,” Steph said. “I have work for my internship that I need to finish tonight.”

  Leo eyed me intently. “What about you? Are you going with her?”

  “I hadn't really thought that far ahead, why?”

  “Because if you aren't going with Steph, then you should spend the rest of the day with me.”

  An excited little squeak left Steph's lips that mirrored what I felt in my chest. But instead of expressing my feelings, I simply said, “I don't know.”

  “Actually,” Steph said, revising her earlier statement. “I have tons of work. Tons and tons. You better take Leo up on his offer. You'll just distract me if you come back with me. And you snore. I got absolutely zero sleep last night.”

  The little liar. I so did not snore. And I also knew Steph didn't really have much—if any—work to do. She'd been telling me about her internship earlier and never once mentioned extra work. But rather than being annoyed with her attempt to play matchmaker, I found it cute. When she first started dating her ex-boyfriend, our roles had been reversed.

  But then again...spending the rest of the day with Leo alone? The thought of it simultaneously scared and excited me. What would I do if the vicious snake-side of Leo's character came out to attack? I wasn't afraid of going toe-to-toe with the devil, but the more I spent with this new side of Leo, the more I could feel myself falling under the snake-charmer’s spell. Talk about a crazy-scary position to put myself in.

  “Okay.” The word just slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. “But all my stuff is at Steph's place.”

  “What if I have my driver take Stephany back to Brooklyn? When he drops her off, she can give him your stuff,” he said and turned to Steph. “Is that cool with you?”

  Steph nodded and it was decided. Leo and I would be hanging out...for an undisclosed amount of time. Holy day-date! I kept the expression off my face while the three of us left the stadium. Then we walked a couple of blocks to where Leo's black town car sat parked and waiting. Steph and I said our goodbyes, which were slightly tearful because I didn't know if I would see her again before fall. Then she climbed into Leo's car and I watched her disappear into traffic.

  GOODBYES ALWAYS TURNED ME into a knee-quivering crybaby. I brushed my cheeks dry, hating that Leo had seen me show any emotion. I waited for him to make some snarky comment, but thankfully he didn't. We just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk—me avoiding his eyes—while I collected myself.

  “So, no one gave me shit about my shirt,” I said, once I was better. “Admit it, you were wrong.”

  Leo smiled. “Never. No one gave you shit because your Jesus looks more like Zach Galifianakis. I didn't want to tell you earlier because I didn't want to hurt your artistic feelings, but I bet no one even realized what you were trying to draw.”

  “Whatever. You realized.”

  “I'm the exception to the rule. And anytime you want to see Steph, I’ll take you,” he said, not fooled by my attempt to sweep aside my emotions. “Or I can have my jet take you. Whichever.”

  “Oh.” His offer took me by surprise. It wasn't so much the offer that shocked me, but the person offering. I nodded, unsure how to respond further.

  “Okay then, let's get out of here.” Leo reached out, grabbing my hand in his. His fingers intertwined with mine and he gently pulled me in the direction he wanted to go. “We can't take a cab,” he told me. “Trying to catch a cab after a game around here is always a disaster. I could call a car, but that would take forever so I hope you're okay with the subway.”

  I didn’t know how he did it, but Leo looked so freaking calm as he led me down the street. My butterfly friends were back, beating my insides senseless. I tried to listen to whatever he was saying but couldn't—not while my hand was locked in his. Why did such a simple gesture have my head spinning?

  We reached the subway entrance and headed down the steps. Although the baseball game ended almost thirty minutes ago, there were still people in pinstripes and blue everywhere. Leo tightened his grip on my hand and continued to pull me through the crowd. Conveniently enough, he had two of those prepaid MetroCards, which we used to bypass some of the lines before moving toward our train’s platform.

  “I'm shocked as hell you know how to ride the subway,” I told him. “Beyond shocked.”

  He shrugged off my comment. “It's just the subway, Clara.”

  “No, it's not just the subway—it’s the whole day. You go to Yankees games, sit in the outfield, have surprisingly regular friends, and then take the subway. Who are you and what did you do with the real Leo Maddox?”

  He inched closer to me, his eyes narrowing. “Do you find this other side of me offensive?”

  My heart rate picked up unwanted speed. I hadn’t meant to insult him with my questions. “No, I don’t…the opposite, actually. I like these things about you...a lot. Maybe more than I should.”

  He studied me long and hard for several seconds, both of us breathing just a little too heavy. For a fleeting moment, I thought for sure he was going to kiss me again. But then the train pulled into the station and the wind from the movement made my hair dance all around my face, forcing me to drop Leo's hand and to brush the hair out of my eyes.

  The train doors slid open and quickly I stepped on. Leo followed. I found that there were absolutely zero places to sit. Even standing proved to be uncomfortable and awkward in the packed-like-sardines space. The car lurched forward and I fell backward into some sweaty, big-bellied, bearded man who got a kick out of me touching him. “Sorry,” I muttered and inched away, looking around for something to hold onto, finding nothing but air and other people.

  Leo, who had the luxury of being more than tall enough to reach the handrails, smiled down at me. He seemed to be enjoying my great debacle, knowing I had just one option.

  “It's okay, killer,” he said in a low voice, “I want you to.”

  My eyes went wide. “You planned this!”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, looking innocent—but I knew better.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You planned to go on the subway because you knew I would be too short to reach the handles and would have to hold onto you. Newsflash…I happen to have great balance. You just wait and see, buddy!”

  He kept a straight face. “Okay then.”

  As the train rounded a corner, I squared my feet, trying to keep steady. But of course, another lurch and I landed right on top of Mr. Sweaty Beard Man for the second time in a row, much to Leo’s amusement.

  “You trying to feel me up, Missy?” the man asked, winking at me.

  “No, sir,” I said, rushing to move away from him.

  Leo laughed—he flat-out laughed at me. The g
uy who never laughed fell into hysterics over my stupid situation and I couldn't help but smile. Seeing him laugh melted something inside me. And then—to my surprise and his—I decided to hell with it and wrapped my arms around Leo's waist.

  That shut him up right away.

  Digging my fingers into the material of his shirt, I clung onto him tighter than I'd ever clung onto anything. I stared up at him while he stared down at me. Leo looked every bit as calm as he always did, but the pounding of his heart told a different story. Pressed against his chest, I could feel the wild, racing beat. It made me wonder...maybe I got to him more than he’d ever let on. The idea that I was affecting him on any level did funny things to my own heart.

  Leo's free hand moved to the back of my head. His fingers dug through my hair and rested on my neck, where he gently held me close to him. Combined with the look on his face, one that made me feel like I was the most amazing thing he'd ever laid eyes on, the simple but sweet gesture brought back a memory that had been hidden away in my subconscious for years and years.

  I was six and Mommy had died ten days ago. Daddy said it was a blessing that the cancer took her quickly because she didn't have to suffer for very long, but I still couldn't understand what that meant. I kept thinking about the last time I saw her. Daddy had called me into her room and told me to say goodbye forever so I did. I told her I'd see her in heaven.

  But Leo never got to say goodbye to his Mommy. A couple of days after the funeral, Mrs. Maddox packed a suitcase and left in the middle of the night. Unlike with my mom, I don’t think it was a blessing that she took off quickly.

  There was this clover. A four-leaf clover, to be exact. I can't remember who found it first—me or Leo. We'd been hunting for them right around St. Patrick's Day and had been lucky enough to find one. Then we fought over it. Somehow I'd ended up with it at my house. But after Daddy told me how Leo's Mommy had run away, I needed him to have my lucky clover.