Lost In Me (Here and Now)

by Ryan, Lexi

  Her jaw goes slack and those gorgeous baby blues of hers widen. “What? Who? Why? Does Max know?”

  “All very good questions.”

  She prepares my coffee and hands me my mug. I wrap my hands around it, letting it warm my hands instead of drinking it.

  “Are you going to tell me who else you’re sleeping with,” Lizzy huffs, “or are you going to make me guess?”

  “Someone slid into my bed last night. I was sleeping and assumed it was Max, but then we started fooling around in the middle of the night, and when he turned on the light, I realized it…wasn’t.”

  “Someone slipped into bed with you while you were sleeping, and it wasn’t Max?”

  I watch her carefully. “No.”

  “Holy shit. Who was it?”

  “I have no idea. He was a stranger to me.”

  She slams her mug down and coffee sloshes onto the counter. “Why aren’t we calling the cops?”

  “Because I don’t think we need to.”

  “You’re freaking kidding me, right?”

  “I’m fine. Nothing bad happened. Just let me tell it before you freak out, okay?” I wait until the panic clears from her face before I continue. “He was a stranger to me, but I was no stranger to him.”

  “I’m not feeling better about this yet.”

  “I realized the guy who’d been touching me in…rather intimate ways…wasn’t Max, and of course I panicked.”

  “I can imagine. I’m panicking now.”

  “I was thinking there was some rapist in my house, and I kneed him in the balls and got the hell out of the bed, but then my phone was dead and I couldn’t call for help. And he was trying to get me to calm down and all the sudden he just…stopped.” I make myself take a breath. “I wasn’t thinking straight, but I think everything changed when he saw my ring.”

  “A rapist with morals?”

  “He was no rapist, Liz. He looked at my hand and then he got dressed—pulled on his shirt and pants. What kind of sex offender strips down to his boxers and climbs into bed to cuddle with his victim half the night?”

  “A really screwed-up one?”

  “He held me,” I murmur into my coffee, “and woke me up with sweet kisses on my neck. He knew my name, knew how I like to be touched. When he saw my ring, he said, ‘You could have told me.’ Then, before he left, he said he hoped Max and I had a nice life—mentioning Max by name.”

  Lizzy whistles long and low. “He knows about Max?”

  I nod and add, “But does Max know about him?” I let that sink in for a minute. “Max is the love of my life. Why would I ruin that?

  “Was he hot?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, but that’s hardly the point.”

  “So who was it? Anyone from town?”

  “No one I recognized, but that doesn’t mean anything when I can’t remember the last year.”

  “Oh, good point.” She sips her coffee. “What did he look like?”

  “Young, probably my age. Dark hair, a little shaggy like Max’s, I guess. He was tall, built.”

  “Again, like Max,” Liz says.

  “Maybe taller than Max and not quite that muscular, but impressive still.”

  “You’re describing half of Max’s workout buddies.”

  “Fuck,” I groan. “Please tell me I’m not cheating on him with one of his friends.”

  “In what ways didn’t he look like Max?”

  “Tattoos!” I hold my hands together. Maybe this will be the piece of information that will help Lizzy identify my visitor. “He had several. Some numbers over his left pec and a Hulk tattoo on his right shoulder.”

  Lizzy raises a brow. “As in Hulk Hogan?”

  “As in the Incredible Hulk. You won’t like me when I’m angry Hulk.”

  “You’re engaged to Max Hallowell and having an affair with a nerd?”

  “Maybe?” I lift my palms helplessly. “Do you know who he is? I’m really freaking out here.”

  She shakes her head. “Not a clue.”

  “Stupid amnesia.”

  “No kidding.” She paces. Stops. Paces. Looks out the window, toys with her hair, paces some more. Suddenly, her head pops up, making her curls bounce around her face. “Oh my God. So obvious!”

  “What’s obvious?” I’m so worried she’s going to say, “Tell Max everything.” That whole “honesty is the best policy” thing has always worked for me, but…

  I’m not sure this is a the-truth-will-set-you-free kind of situation. And…

  How can I tell Max the truth when I don’t even know what the truth is?

  “This is the twenty-first century, right? If you and some guy had a thing, there would be digital evidence.”

  “Digital evidence? You think I’d have let him take pictures? Oh God! Video?”

  Lizzy winces. “Let’s hope not, but that’s not what I mean. You know, text messages and stuff.”

  I don’t even bother replying because I’m scrambling toward my purse so I can look at my phone.

  I scroll through my text messages. A conversation between me and Max, between me and my mom. Maggie, Cally, Lizzy, even Cally’s little sister Drew.

  “Any nude pics?” Lizzy asks. “Sexting? Anything?”

  “There’s absolutely nothing here to make me think I was having an affair.”

  She grabs my phone from my hand and does her own scroll-through. “Maybe the guy’s just some nut job,” she says, shuddering. “God. I hope he doesn’t come back.”

  “Me too.” But even if he is a nut job, that doesn’t explain what he knew about me…or the way my chest ached when I watched him leave.

  September—Eleven Months Before Accident

  The minute I walk into Max Hallowell’s health club, I feel like I’m wearing a giant neon sign that says I don’t belong here. It’s not that I don’t work out. Hell, I work out more than most of the skinny girls I know. But I do it in private. At home or in my mom’s basement. Never in a downtown health club where everyone can stare at me and wonder how soon I’ll give it up and go on a Hostess run. Because that’s what people think about fat chicks. They assume we’re lazy and don’t work out. They assume we eat Little Debbie Cakes three times a day and don’t touch fruits or vegetables.

  “Hanna!” Max calls from the back. He’s squatting as he stacks weights by the chest press. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  Returning his smile, I look around but don’t see anyone I know. The club is slow right now, only a couple of senior citizens occupying the treadmills on the far side of the room. “I wanted to, um, maybe sign up for personal training.”

  He pushes off the ground and wipes his hands on his shorts as he crosses to me. His smile is wide and white and so damn sincere I want to melt under it. “Tell me what you have in mind. I’ll see who I can hook you up with. I have a couple of female trainers but their specialties are different, so it just depends on what your goals are.”

  My heart stumbles in my chest from being this close to Max. I have to tilt my chin up just to see his face. “I was hoping you could do it?” It comes out as a question, a far cry from the flirty, suggestive tone Lizzy used when we planned this.

  Surprise flashes over his face. “Me? Really?”

  “If you can fit me in, that would be my preference.” I can’t believe this comes as a surprise to him. Women all over town pay to train with Max just so they can admire his body while he puts them through suicide drills. An hour of watching his muscles flex under his T-shirt is enough motivation to do most anything.

  “I’d love to train with you. Let’s sit down and talk about what you want to accomplish.”

  He pulls out a stool by the bar, and I climb onto it and cross my legs nervously. He takes the spot next to me.

  “Okay.” He grabs a notebook and pen from the other side of the bar. “Let’s start with long-term goals and break them down to short-term. Where do you see yourself in twelve months?”

  Sexy, skinny, and naked in your bed.
/>   “Fitness-wise,” he clarifies with a wink.

  My cheeks burn as if he can read my thoughts. I tuck my hair behind my ear. I came ready to work out. Kind of. I’d normally wear my hair up to work out, but Lizzy insisted it was sexier to wear it down.

  “I’d like to run a half marathon next summer.”

  Truth is, I have no desire to run a marathon—half or otherwise. I just want to lose weight and get Max to notice me. I exercise regularly, but I hate running with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns. But Max is a runner. He runs all the time, and since this is all about spending time with him, I’ve decided I’m going to be a runner too.

  “That’s totally doable.” Max writes Run half marathon on his notepad. “Are you a runner now or are we starting from scratch?”

  “Do I look like a runner?” I regret the question as soon as it’s out of my mouth. Lizzy gave me strict instructions to leave my self-deprecating humor at home. She doesn’t get that it’s a Fat Girl Coping Mechanism. She wouldn’t get that. How could she? “Sorry. I mean, I haven’t done much running. My mom made me when I was in junior high—a mile every night after school. I hated it. I want to learn to love it—on my terms—but I haven’t done much since I started college.”

  “A year is plenty of time,” Max assures me. “I mean, you’re obviously fit, so I bet we’re still working with a pretty impressive baseline.”

  Obviously fit? No one has ever said that to me before.

  He grins. “Why are you blushing?”

  Because you’re looking at me. “I guess this is all a little embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. “You know what you want, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Present Day

  “I can’t wait to get drunk,” Lizzy calls from my bathroom, where she’s putting on her makeup. “Are you going to get drunk with me or are you still obsessing about calories?”

  “I might drink some.” I force a smile.

  I guess if I’m going to keep the body I spent the last year finding, I’ll need to keep some of the new habits Lizzy finds so annoying. But right now I’m too worried about potentially being a cheating bitch to give my habits—new or old—much thought. Anyway, Dr. Perkins seemed to think I shouldn’t be counting calories. Though I’m not sure a pitcher of daiquiris is what she had in mind either.

  Truth be told, I’m terrified to go to this party. What if I run into Mr. Hulk Tattoo? What if he outs our relationship—or whatever it was—to everyone? But I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in my apartment, so I’m going.

  “Is Max coming?”

  I shake my head. “He has a late client and can’t make it.”

  Lizzy flips her head upside down and adds some sort of magic curling goo to it. “You know what I’d like?” she asks as she scrunches handfuls of hair.

  I plug in my flat iron and lean against the doorframe while I wait for it to warm. “What would you like?”

  “One hot fucking night with Nate Crane.”

  I nearly choke on my tongue laughing. “Asher’s rocker friend?”

  “What? Maggie has Asher. Why can’t I have Nate?” She flips her head back up and wriggles her eyebrows at me. “Tell me you wouldn’t sacrifice everything to have a night of dirty, no-holds-barred sex with Mr. Rock God.”

  I just shrug. “I have Max.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Right. Max and Mr. Hulk Tattoo, meaning you got more sexy male ass last night than I’ve had in the last six months. Yet another reason I deserve a night with Crane. I’m the only one around here who isn’t getting any.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “You have no idea. Max can’t keep his hands off you.”

  I frown at my reflection and run my finger along my newly defined jawline. Max can’t keep his hands off me. I wonder if that started before or after I lost the weight.

  She digs through my makeup bag. “So any revelations about last night’s mystery visitor?”

  “None.” Stupid amnesia.

  “Well, I vote that he was some nut job. You should really call the cops. The guy’s probably stalking you or something.”

  “I don’t think I want to do that. Not yet.”

  “But you’re going to tell Max, aren’t you?”

  Anxiety lodges like a wet ball in my throat. “I just want to have more information before I tell him anything.”

  “Hanna, this is serious. I saw a 60 Minutes episode once about a guy who imagined he had this whole relationship with the woman he was stalking. He watched her all the time, so in his mind they were together. Then she started dating someone and the dude flipped out and pulled a gun on him.”

  I turn and she’s staring at me, worry in her bright blue eyes. I don’t know how to explain to her that my heart told me I could trust this guy. “There’s too much we don’t know. I don’t want to screw things up with Max for nothing. I need to get some facts straight. That’s all.”

  “Okay.” Her eyes brim with tears. She lunges forward and wraps her arms around me. “I’ve missed this.”

  “What?”

  “My sister. I’ve missed talking about things. Confiding in each other. You have no idea how lonely it’s been for me these last few months.”

  “I hope I never have to find out,” I whisper, and she squeezes me even harder.

  By the time the party rolls around, I’m already anxious for an excuse to leave. I just want to go home and make out with Max until I’m confident I haven’t screwed up a good thing.

  It’s a hot night, and Lizzy vetoed my jeans and T-shirt for a short denim skirt and halter that look surprisingly impressive on my new body. The halter shows off my sculpted shoulders—apparently I’ve been lifting weights with Max—and the skirt shows my toned runner’s legs. I top the outfit off with strappy black heels and throw my hair in a twist. Despite the bruise on my right arm and the side of my face, I feel so sexy I snap a picture of myself in the mirror and send it to Max with the caption, Wish you were coming tonight.

  Two minutes later, I’m treated to his reply.

  Max: I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to. The club closes at nine. Meet me here.

  His words send hot tingles of nerves and arousal rushing to my center.

  Hanna: It’s a date.

  I’m still grinning at my phone when I hear Lizzy whistle. “Damn, girl.”

  “I know, right? Who knew I could look like this?”

  She frowns. “You were sexy before you lost the weight. I was referring to the way you’re glowing.”

  “Oh.” I press my phone to my chest. “I hope I didn’t screw things up. Max is… He’s amazing.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  When we walk into Asher’s, Maggie greets us at the door in a white sundress and bare feet. “You made it! I’m so glad!”

  “We’re on a mission.” I grin and nod toward Lizzy. “My twin would like to seduce your musician friend.”

  “You’re going to seduce Nate?” Maggie asks, skepticism all over her face.

  “Unless you’re planning on sharing Asher.”

  Maggie snorts. “As if. But Nate? Really? The guy sitting in my basement in a Spider-Man shirt?”

  Lizzy scoffs. “Have you heard that voice? God concentrated sexiness and gave it to the world through Nate Crane’s voice. The boy could melt the panties off a nun.”

  Maggie rolls her eyes. “I think we all know you’re no nun. Come on. Everyone’s in the basement.”

  She leads the way into the house and to the stairs, where she stops and points at a small table. “House rules, no phones or other distracting electronics with the music.” She digs her own out of her pocket and tosses it in the basket with the others. Lizzy and I follow suit then head down the stairs to where everyone is milling in the music room. Asher doesn’t have big parties. In fact, his parties
might better be described as “get-togethers” with most of the attendees being members of my immediate family. Tonight, there are more guests than normal—maybe a dozen total—probably due to his musician friend who’s in town.

  I look to the stage, where Asher is playing acoustic guitar and singing into a mic connected to a small amp. My gaze shifts to the man sitting next to him and I stop breathing.

  “Asher’s hot too,” Lizzy’s assuring Maggie, “but Nate could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d thank him in the morning.”

  Nate Crane. Dark, shaggy hair, deep voice, intense gaze. And no doubt a Hulk tattoo hidden beneath his right sleeve of his Spider-Man T-shirt. “Holy shit.”

  “He’s got a nice voice, doesn’t he?” Maggie says.

  I nod dumbly. A nice voice that whispered sweet nothings in my ear last night. Hot and dirty sweet nothings.

  “You can’t go being all star-struck when you’re used to Asher hanging around.” Maggie nudges me with her elbow. “You’ve met Nate. You two really hit it off.”

  “We hit it off? Why would you say that?” It comes out way too defensive, and I have to take a breath and force my shoulders away from my ears.

  “He’s a friend of Asher’s. You kept me company when I went to see Asher and Nate perform in St. Louis a few months ago. God, that must be so weird, not remembering anything.”

  The guys transition into “Unbreak Me,” a song Asher wrote for Maggie.

  She bites her lip.

  “Go on up there,” Liz says. “You don’t need to babysit us.”

  “Thanks.” Maggie walks to the front of their makeshift stage and sinks to her haunches.

  “Want something to drink?” Liz asks. “Because I’m at least three drinks short of the courage I need to approach that beautiful man up there.”

  “I’m okay for now.”

  “If you say so.” She points toward the bar. “I’ll be over there if you need me.”

  I nod but I can’t take my eyes off the stage—off Nate. They finish the final chords of “Unbreak Me,” and everyone applauds as Asher stands and kisses Maggie soundly.