Be My Reason

by Samantha Christy

  Well since he brought it up first, I say, “Speaking of high school—”

  “That’s not what I came here to talk about. I want to talk about Emma and Graham.”

  Geez. Deflect much? “What about them?”

  “Well, I’m assuming Emma has talked to you about Graham, and Graham sure as hell won’t shut up about Emma. You know I’m not for all that two-people-together-forever crap, but Graham had a pretty bad relationship end last year and this is the first I’ve seen him really interested in a woman. Hell, he’s only known her for a day and he is already talking about what business he could do down in Savannah.”

  I throw my head back and sigh. It’s worse than I thought. I know Emma is into Graham but I thought maybe she would just sleep with him and get over it like she always does. But then after dinner last night I realized she actually feels something for this guy. I know that because she didn’t sleep with him last night. Why does this have to be happening with Nate’s best friend and partner? How many other men are at this stupid convention that are gorgeous and available and don’t have a man-slut for a friend?

  “Okay, so they are into each other. So what about it?” I know I must sound like a bitch, but he pretty much did just blow me off when I started to talk about high school.

  “Listen, I get that you hate me. I’m a dick. I don’t like myself most of the time either.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “But Graham is a great guy. He has been there for me through some pretty terrible things and I owe him.”

  Terrible things? I wonder what he means. Maybe it has to do with those scars that he mentioned last night. Or maybe his ex-wife.

  “What does any of this have to do with me?” I’m getting irritated.

  “Well, Graham really wants to spend time with Emma this week. However, he says that she won’t socialize outside of the conference because you refuse to be a third wheel and that you won’t go if I’m there.”

  Yes, that about sums it up. Wait, how does he know this?

  “Um, how do you know this?” I ask.

  “So, you didn’t hear them talking on the phone until three in the morning last night?”

  No, I was drunk and apparently dreaming of you. “No, I actually slept pretty hard last night. I wouldn’t have heard a freight train.”

  Emma was on the phone until three in the morning. With a guy. I’m floored by this news.

  “So, I was thinking that you could put your . . . dislike of me aside.” He winks at me. “And suck it up and hang out with us for the next few nights. You know, for them?”

  I would do anything for my best friend. Anything but this. She will understand. I’ll talk to her again. I could always just leave and go back to Savannah. I could even fake an emergency at the bakery.

  “Brooklyn, before you say anything, just think about it. Graham told me some stuff that Emma told him last night about how she never really dates and hasn’t had a serious boyfriend. He told her about his past relationship. They talked for hours. They are really hitting it off. You need to do this for her. Wouldn’t she support you if the tables were turned?”

  Now he has hit a nerve. Talk about friends being there for support, Emma has been through some pretty awful things with me. The day he left . . . that was awful. She stayed up with me for nights when I was crying until the tears ran dry and my body would just convulse. She comforted me all those times I wished I had a boyfriend but was afraid to get too close to anyone again. She was my biggest cheerleader when I took the plunge and called Michael after that wonderful care package he sent me. She has helped me plan my wedding. She’s given me a place to live. And, most of all, she helped me with my dream of opening Brooklyn’s. I can never repay her for what she has done. Damn it! Oh, curse the gods of doing the right thing.

  “Fine,” I acquiesce. He releases his breath and looks just a little too happy. “With two ground rules.” The smile drops from his face and he raises his eyebrows at me. “One, this is not, I repeat not, a double date. I am engaged to be married and I am in love with Michael. I will do this to support Emma and that is the only reason I will do this.”

  “Okay, not a date. What’s your second condition?”

  “No touching. You will not touch me, hug me, dance with me or even catch me if I trip and fall. Understood?” As those last words tumble from my mouth I can’t help but remember a time when he did catch me when I fell into him at the age of seventeen. I fell into him and then I fell hard for him.

  “What if you are crossing the street and a car is about to hit you and I have to run out and pull you out of the way? What if you are trapped in a burning building and I have to carry you out to safety, can I touch you then?” He laughs.

  “Not even then. Let the car drag me along the road. Let me burn in the fire. Got it?” I stand up and turn away to finish my run back to the hotel.

  “You hate me that much?” are the last words I hear come from him before I turn the corner.

  No, I loved you that much. I’m not willing to risk everything I have with Michael to re-live what would surely be a repeat of the nightmare that still haunts me after all this time.

  Chapter Five

  “Lyn, you are a saint,” I hear as Emma comes dancing into the room. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  No, no, I don’t want to do this, but she is my best friend, my partner in crime and the other half of my female soul. And, if she asked me to, I would drive off a cliff with her.

  “For the tenth time, yes, I am sure about this.” I roll my eyes.

  “Okay then, Graham promised to keep it casual.”

  Thank goodness for small favors. I’m beginning to really like Graham, in a he-is-perfect-for-my-best-friend kind of way. He is a nice person who seems to truly care about others. I really couldn’t be happier for Emma. It’s about time she found a man with staying power. I do wonder what she will do when we head back on Friday. Surely this is more than a week-long affair. I mean they haven’t slept together. Twenty-four hours of knowing a new, cute guy and no sex . . . that is a record for her. I wonder what he will think about her pre-Graham sexcapades.

  I put on a pair of jeans and a cropped sweater. I do not wear heels, they suggest wanting to impress, and they make my hips wiggle a lot and the last thing I want is for Nate to be looking at my hips, or any other body part. I throw my hair into a low ponytail and dab on a little gloss and mascara.

  Emma, on the other hand, goddess that she is, looks totally hot in her tight black jeans, strappy heels and fitted cap sleeve blouse. She has left her hair loose and straight. We are so completely different. I am the handmaiden to her princess, the Phoebe to her Rachel.

  The guys are waiting for us in the lobby. I take a deep breath as they head over towards us. I can do this. For Emma. As if she reads my mind she pulls me into a quick hug and whispers, “I love you, Lyn. You are the best.”

  Damn it. I was about to tell her no way in hell will I sit in the back seat with him, but I keep my mouth shut and vow to take one for the team.

  As I suspected, Graham and Emma sit in the front with Nate and I in the back. I’m just glad Graham drives a large SUV. Mainly so I can stick to the no touching rule. I already had to walk around the car and let myself in as I wasn’t about to get in the door that Nate opened for me. I have to remember that he is still the snake who broke my seventeen-year-old heart. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that he ignores any reference to that night and to high school in general. I look at my watch, only three or four more hours to go . . . tonight. Ugh.

  We end up at a local pizza hot spot. Dinner is quite uneventful with Emma and Graham once again hitting it off. I think I even saw some hand holding under the table, which was, thankfully, a square table with a chair on each side. Nate and I stay with safe topics like the weather, running and my bakery, which I am always happy to talk about.

  “So, we thought we’d take you girls out for a little goofy golf after dinner,” Graham says.

  “Um, what is that?�
�� Emma looks confused and then adds, “You aren’t going to get us drunk and take us to a country club are you?”

  Graham and Nate share a look and start cracking up. “No. But that could be arranged.” He winks at her. “Goofy golf. You know, miniature golf, putt-putt—whatever you southerners call it.”

  “Oooo . . . that sounds like fun.” She looks at me. “Doesn’t that sound like fun, Lyn?”

  “Loads,” I deadpan.

  The golf place is right down the street. I’ve got to hand it to Graham, he is doing his best to accommodate me. This night just screams platonic. I’ve actually never played mini-golf before. Michael and I never have time for such things. I’m sure once he is an Attending, we will get to have all kinds of fun adventures. Until then, I’m happy simply running the shop and working towards my degree.

  Graham gives us a rundown of the rules. There are rules? Then we each take our fluorescent-colored golf balls and putters over to a number-one marker. I tell them all to go first since I’ve never played. I watch them and think that it looks simple enough. Then I set down my bright-green ball and proceed to swing, leaving said ball exactly where I placed it.

  Graham and Emma grab each other and try to muffle their laughter. Not very well I might add. I am, of course, turning three shades of red. How could I miss the ball? It looked so easy. I’m thinking about my next move when strong arms come around me, enveloping me as his hands grab the club over my hands. Together, we hit the ball—right into the little hole at the end of the green. Everyone cheers.

  Everyone but me, that is. I turn around and swing my club at him like a bat. He barely has time to reach up and slow the momentum before it strikes his right arm.

  “Ouch!” He says, too loudly. Give me a break, I didn’t even hit him as hard as I would have liked. “What the hell was that for?”

  “For breaking rule number two,” I hiss through my teeth.

  Emma walks over to where he is rubbing his arm and she pushes up his sleeve. “Nate, what kind of tattoo is that?” Now she has my full attention. I’ve wanted to know this since last night. Well, purely from a curiosity standpoint. I couldn’t see what it was yesterday or even today when he had his shirt off. I sigh.

  Oh God, did I just sigh at the thought of him with his shirt off?

  “Don’t bother, Emma.” Graham snaps his head in Nate’s direction. “He won’t even let me get a good look at it and he sure as hell won’t talk about it.”

  Nate looks irritated. “Mind your own goddamn business, Graham.”

  “Buddy, I’ll never understand why you would get a tattoo when you know people will want to see it and ask why you got it.” Graham shakes his head.

  “Just because I got stupid drunk one night and did this,”— he motions to his arm, saying ‘this’ like it tastes bitter coming out of his mouth— “doesn’t make it any less personal. Let it go already.”

  Personal. And he doesn’t want to talk about it. Just like he doesn’t want to talk about high school. Now it really is going to bother me. What the hell is that tattoo? It obviously says something but, not in English. Not German either. I should know. I took four years of it in high school.

  We finish our eighteen holes without any more touching from Nate or club-swinging assaults from me. I’m pretty quiet, just watching the Graham-Emma dynamic. They, on the other hand are touching about as much as two people can without someone telling them to get a room.

  I catch Nate watching them as well. Actually he is more than watching. He is staring, studying them as Graham runs his hand up and down Emma’s arm. He blinks rapidly, shakes his head and looks over at me with a sad face. He looks at me appraisingly from head to toe, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath while his hand rakes through his hair. When his eyes open and he looks at me, he smiles and then gestures over at the bar and says, “How about a beer to end the night?”

  All things considered, this night has been almost completely benign. Nate has been practically a perfect gentleman and there haven’t been many awkward moments. In fact, I hesitate to say it was almost fun.

  We sit and nurse our beers for another hour, falling into comfortable conversation. Graham and Emma are now openly holding hands and are clearly lusting after each other. Nate has been surprisingly nice tonight. He is a totally different person than he was yesterday. Now that I think of it, I haven’t even seen him ogle any woman here.

  Back at the hotel, I say goodnight to Nate and Graham at the car. Nate holds his hand out for me to shake but pulls it back almost immediately and wrinkles his nose. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

  “No, it’s okay.” I smile and offer him my hand. After all, he was a good boy, for the most part.

  He gives me that smile again. I hadn’t seen it all night and it stirs something inside me. He takes my hand in his. I feel his calloused fingers against my soft skin as once again, sparks shoot up my arm from the point of contact.

  I pull my hand away as he leans in close to my hair and whispers, “I feel it, too.” Then he turns and gets back into the car and I head upstairs alone. But not before I go into the hotel bar and order a Cosmo to take up with me.

  ~ ~ ~

  As I run through the beautiful oak-tree-lined trails again, I can’t help but smile at the way Emma floated into my room last night. She kicked off her shoes, got on the bed with me and proceeded to tell me all about the panty-melting kiss Graham planted on her at the door to our suite. I felt like we were teenagers at a sleepover, because the way she was describing it was like a very first kiss. What surprises me is that she didn’t sleep with him and they stopped at a kiss. This is serious. Big-time serious.

  I’m trying to figure out if I should be supportive or try to break them up so I won’t have to see Nate again when none other than the man himself appears by my side and is matching me stride-for-stride. I decide to keep on running and see what happens. Like yesterday, I slow down a fraction and then speed up a little and since he seems dead set on keeping pace next to me, I resolve just to keep my natural time and go with it. Every so often I glance over and see him smiling at me. I roll my eyes. That only makes him smile harder. Sometimes he speeds up, running out in front of me, and I think it is so that I can admire his ass. I’ll admit it’s a nice one and, because I’m right behind him and there really isn’t any other place to look, I’m pretty much forced to watch it.

  He is keeping to my right which means I don’t get a good look at the tattoo on his right arm. I’ve never been one to find tattoos very sexy. I would never get one myself. But, on him, with that bulging bicep, it works. And God help me if I don’t want to run my fingers all the way around it.

  Michael. I need to think about Michael. Michael doesn’t have a tattoo. Okay, not that. Something else about Michael. When we talked last night, I was reminded of all the wonderful qualities that make him perfect. It is not his fault that he can’t take trips like this with me. He is a doctor for goodness sake. We talked about our wedding and we even picked out a date for next spring, March nineteenth to be exact. I was supposed to go out looking for wedding dresses while I’m here but I just can’t find the time between running, studying and being Emma’s wingman. Michael told me that he stopped by the bakery yesterday only to find my mother already there helping out. I’m glad for that, he is stretched thin enough already.

  Thinking about Michael, the bakery and my mother almost makes me forget who is running next to me. Maybe if it weren’t for the hairs standing up on my sweaty skin, I would forget. He has not uttered a word this entire time.

  Twenty minutes later we reach the entrance to the hotel and slow down to a stop. We both remove our ear buds and he says, “Thanks for the run.” Then he turns around and starts running in the other direction.

  That has got to be the strangest half-hour of my life.

  Chapter Six

  Emma gets back a short time after I stop studying for the day. She tells me that Graham is treating us to The Raleigh Experience tonight—a night of must-do thin
gs starting with dinner at The Angus Barn. I guess that sounds okay with me. Last night was fine and if Nate behaves himself again tonight, there shouldn’t be any issues.

  I flat iron my hair and wear it straight down my back. Then I put on a pair of white jeans with my cleaned-up wedges and top it off with my favorite blue and white off-the-shoulder sweater. If we’re going to the hip places, I might as well look the part.

  The guys meet us in the lobby again and we have the same seating arrangements in Graham’s car which isn’t as weird tonight. I even let Nate hold the door for me. As long as he is being gentlemanly I should let him. It’s better than him being the ass he was that first night. But don’t think I didn’t catch his smirk as I got into the car through the door he was holding open.

  We get to the restaurant and I laugh because it really does look like a barn and I wonder if we are going to have some kind of barbeque or something. However, once we are seated, it becomes quite clear to me that this is not just a run-of-the-mill barn restaurant. This is a nice place. High-end food, high-end drinks, great service. Basically all the things that I am not accustomed to.

  Graham and Emma slide into a booth as she looks nervously behind her shoulder at me like I might take her head off. I roll my eyes at her. Sometimes I wonder if my mother was right and my eyes might actually get stuck at the top of their sockets if I roll them too much. I am so testing that theory this week.

  I slide into the booth first and place my purse down next to me, giving me a buffer as Nate sits down by me. He eyes my placement of the purse as he grins and shakes his head. Yes, buddy, that’s right, no touching.

  The conversation is light, just like last night and it really is getting easier to be around Nate without hating him so much. He is such a different person from that first night that it almost seems like he is someone different, merely another friend of Graham’s along for the ride so that I’m not a third wheel. If it weren’t for that smell of fresh laundry and pure Nate that permeates even the smell of cooked meat, I would think it was someone else entirely.