He puts a hand on my shoulder as though to steady me. “Easy there,” he murmurs. He takes my hand—I don’t know why. But he’s right. This is too much for me. I might faint from this.
I shoo his hand away. “Stop touching me—Nate’s going to see and might think I’m into you.”
Conrad’s lips quirk. “Aren’t you?”
He smirks as he says it, then raises his eyebrows, “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”
He keeps bringing that up as though it’s a sign. He has no clue I wear it all the time—and I can’t exactly confess it to him—that it’s my favorite sweatshirt, that when I wear it I feel close to him. I mean, that will not help my case here. The case that I’m trying to make, that I never stalked him—and, you know, I have a boyfriend now that I adore, a guy that I care about way more than him (Conrad), a boy that has totally taken his place in my heart.
“When are you going to go away?” I huff at him, mostly just because I’m flustered, and actually kind of dizzy from all his touching and staring and flirting, and the amazing fact he’s actually here, talking to me and staring at me, and being gorgeous—and Conrad.
“When am I going away?” he says it incredulously, like it will never, ever happen and I’m crazy to suggest otherwise. Yet after a moment he juts his chin, “When you ask me on a date.”
My heart slams against my chest. “Wait, you want to go out on a date with me?”
He sighs. “Okay, I’ll go on a date with you—since you asked so nicely.”
A strange sparky feeling zings through me.
I grit my teeth, trying to stay focused on my anger, not his flirty eyes and words. But this is crazy. Am I in the Twilight Zone? Since when did he start flirting with me? “I’m not going on a date with you. I’m not going anywhere with you. You couldn’t even bother to let me know you were back when you moved back here—you didn’t even come see me. Yet you’ve obviously been back a while. You’ve managed to find time to get a job and get cozy with your co-workers.”
“Is that it?” He cocks his head, though he’s only playing. “You’re jealous?”
“No. I’m mad. And hurt.”
“Aw, don’t be hurt. You have a right to be mad … but don’t be hurt,” he says softly.
“I can be whatever I want. And by the way, don’t go reading more into my hurt feelings than the facts, because the fact is, I have a boyfriend.”
“Yet you’re wearing my sweatshirt.”
“Ugh! I get compliments on it.”
“Because it’s a nice sweatshirt,” he says matter-of-factly. “It was my favorite sweatshirt.”
After he emphasizes that information (as though I didn’t already know), he goes on, “Yet I had let you borrow it—my favorite sweatshirt.”
When I don’t say anything (because, well, what can I say?) he goes on with a total call-out smile that’s half-bewildered, yet half-amused, “—then you told me you burned it.”
“I should have. I meant to. You were a jerk to me.”
He closes his eyes like he’s resigned to his demonic behavior of the past and has no power to deny it. He grunts. “Okay, maybe I was. So, keep my favorite sweatshirt. But don’t stay mad at me—and definitely don’t be hurt.”
He repositions himself in front of me again as I scan the store for Nate, making it impossible for me to look at anything but him—my ex-best friend. After a moment of my ogling him with a glare, he raises his eyebrows, “Let me help you find some shoes—that’s what you’re here for, right?”
“Someone is already helping me. Here she comes,” I tell him as Jenny emerges from the stockroom at the back of the store.
Conrad glances at her then says, “Excuse me.”
Then he’s gone, like he just remembered he left the water running in the bathroom sink. Only, he’s not headed towards the bathroom. He’s headed towards Jenny.
Narrowing my eyes, I watch them talk for a minute, then I see him slip her some cash. I grunt as I watch Jenny hand him my boxes of shoes.
He comes back and says/lies, “Jenny was busy. She asked me to help you out.”
I grit my teeth. “Right.”
“Look, I’m doing you a favor. Jenny is like a tornado. A spastic, splendid tornado. She does many tasks all at one time. Right now she was getting your shoes, making a grocery list, and making arrangements to get her dog groomed. I took over your shoe fetching to save her poor dog. Last time she accidently told the groomer her dog needed a wax. But really it was that she was supposed to be getting shoe wax for a customer. She accidently gave the customer a leash—you want a leash?”
“No. I want my shoes—in either a size six or seven.”
“Right, well here you go—size six and seven, at your service, and no dog was harmed in the process.”
“Why would a dog be hurt in the process?” Nate asks, suddenly plopping down on the bench beside me.
“He was just saving me and a dog from a tornado,” I tell Nate dryly, though of course the poor guy has no idea what I’m talking about.
He looks up from the two socks he was apparently trying to decide against and gazes between me and Conrad really quick, then winces slightly. “Wait, I remember you,” he tells Conrad with a sinking note in his voice. “You’re back?”
Conrad eyes him, like sizing him up—and having absolutely no problem taking him on. “I am—I’m back.”
Nate winces again. “Great.”
He looks around the store really quick. “What happened to Jenny?”
“She’s getting her dog waxed,” Conrad says as he laces up my shoes.
I sit silent, feeling a mixture of emotions—bad for Nate who obviously feels threatened and confused; shock for myself who can’t believe I’m actually sitting here with Conrad at my feet—Conrad who I haven’t seen or heard from in a year.
Conrad proceeds to be the perfect shoe salesman, behaving as though nothing tense and awkward is happening here. As though we are just customers and it’s his aim to please.
“How do the size six fit?” he asks. “Roomy? Comfortable?”
I nod. “Yeah. I think I’ll get them.”
“Yeah, nothing like a new pair of shoes.”
That’s all he says, yet Nate grunts like Conrad said, “Nothing like a new boyfriend.”
Conrad acts like he didn’t notice. “All set?” he asks. “Need socks?”
Nate discreetly sets his two pair down without a word, looking like he’d rather barf than buy socks from Conrad. Which he probably would. He certainly looks as though he’s going to barf.
Conrad rings the shoes up for me, then says all business-like as he hands me my bagged box of shoes, “Come again,” he says.
“No way,” Nate mutters. Then he looks to me with a wistful look, “Right?”
“Right,” I assure him.
Conrad grins, obviously overhearing our whispered exchange.
“You’ll be back,” he says.
“Uh, no I won’t,” I tell him.
He winks. “We’ll see.”
He’s absolutely nuts if he thinks I’m gonna come anywhere near here again. No chance. No way.
… Yet when I get home, I huff realizing Conrad boxed up a size seven right shoe to go with my size six left.
“He did that on purpose!” I grumble.
“Who? What?” Mom asks, looking up from her computer with alarm.
I open my mouth to explain (and rant), but then I bite my lips together. Mom loved Conrad. She’d be delighted to hear he’s back. And she’d think that it’s charming that he purposely made it so I’d have to go back to the store and see him.
I roll my eyes, then mumble, “The jerk at the shoe store gave me the wrong shoes.”
“Well, it has you glowing,” mom says, suddenly paying way too much attention to me. She closes her laptop, studying me, then does a little giggle. (A giggle—my mom.) “Was he cute, January?”
“Well, he sure thinks so—but Nate didn’t. And neither do I.”
�
��Your complexion would say otherwise.”
“Well, then my complexion is lying. The guy is a menace and I wish I never laid eyes on him.”
Mom smiles knowingly and murmurs, “I bet Nate wishes you never did either.”
CHAPTER 30
“I knew you’d be back.” Conrad grins as I stomp into the shoe store.
“Yeah, you’re a fortune teller,” I mutter dryly.
He smiles. “I missed you.”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah, I can tell by the way you rushed right over to see me the minute you moved back.”
He draws out a breath. “Look, I’ve been going through some—stuff. I just wanted to work things out in my head—and heart—before I ‘rushed right over to see you.’”
Okay, so I’m curious what he’s talking about, of course. But instead of getting sucked into being my ‘terrible’ stalker mode that had him apparently freaking out last year, I play it grumbly and put my mismatched shoes on the check-out counter. I do it pointedly and huff, “I should tell your manager that you’re incapable of your job.”
“Go ahead. The manager loves me.”
He gestures his head to the young pretty lady at the back of the store with “manager” embossed on her nametag. The lady smiles and beams at Conrad’s attention from across the store, obviously pleased that he was paying attention to her. Bleck.
“Sorry, I threw up a little in my mouth,” I mutter. “Please give me the right size shoe.”
“I’m holding it hostage until you agree to talk with me,” he says, but he actually hands me the shoe as he says it. Though he does it with playful reluctance.
“Thanks for your continued business,” he says as he hands it to me.
I give him a withering look. “Not going to happen.”
“Which? Your continued business, or our talk?”
“Either.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s what I thought.”
I’d been stomping towards the door, but I stop abruptly. I whip back around to him. “You can’t possibly be surprised.”
“January,” he says softly, his tormented voice stirring something longing and brutally painful deep in my heart. “I miss you.”
“Right,” I growl. “That’s why the first thing you did when you got back to town was come to see me.”
He nods slightly. “It was.”
I huff. “Your employment here would say otherwise—so would your manager ‘loving’ you, and you knowing that Jenny is a ‘tornado.’ You’ve obviously been back for some time—yet I didn’t have a clue.”
“January … if we could just talk—”
“No,” I snap. “You know what? You hurt me before you left. Killed me. So really, I should be glad that you didn’t come see me. You did me a favor.”
His answer is a slow nod.
He murmurs softly, “Yeah. Probably.”
“Right. So just continue with what you’ve been doing—stay away from me,” I tell him and bolt out of the store.
CHAPTER 31
That night (after the shoe store fiasco) I had Paige spend the night at my house. I just needed a distraction from thoughts of seeing Conrad again, and unfortunately Nate’s kisses didn’t seem to be doing it for me. That was a bad sign, I knew—kissing one boy, but thinking of another. It made me feel guilty.
And disturbed.
So, I called Paige and invited her over to watch Pretty Woman with me—though that movie ended up being a bad choice, since poor Conrad was who I used to make watch the movie with me—over and over. So, that whole night I thought of Conrad, which face it: I would have done anyway.
Anyway, that whole night I didn’t tell Paige about Conrad being back. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, since I knew she would squeal and be all excited about it and ask me a bunch of questions about how he looks now (amazing) and how our big reunion went (horrible, and awkward). I wasn’t up to discussing it aloud, that Conrad—who I had missed with all of my heart—hadn’t even bothered to tell me he was back. Ouch, ouch, ouch!
The next morning, when I woke up, Paige laughed at me.
“You were making-out with your pillow last night,” she tells me.
I ignite in flames. “Na-uh.”
She giggles. “You were—and Nate better watch out. Your pillow is named Conrad—apparently.”
I clamp my lips together, which makes her giggle even harder. “You made your bed, now you’re making-out with it.”
Ha, ha.
Not.
(Poor Nate.)
CHAPTER 32
Okay, so—sigh—I broke up with Nate. I had to. Due to my heart had stopped and my breath caught when I saw Conrad again. Stuff like that never happens to me with Nate. But he’s so sweet, and such a good boyfriend. He deserves to find a girl that heart’s stops for him. And one that doesn’t wake up kissing her pillow because she dreamed of another guy.
The night before I broke up with Nate I remembered over and over again what he had told me that day in his car when he caught me running away from cat-like North. Nate had said, “Maybe now that Conrad has moved away, you’ll actually give me a chance.”
I did end up giving him a chance, that’s for sure. We dated for months. But if it’s not there, it’s just not there. Sparks, I mean. I liked Nate. I did. A lot. But there just weren’t any sparks. He deserved sparks.
… and so did I.
Right?
Anyway, Nate was a great boyfriend and deserved a better girlfriend.
And I needed a new pillow.
CHAPTER 33
I didn’t see Conrad again until the night my friend Dara had whispered that a “hot” boy was watching me out in the dark auditorium as I danced on stage after dance rehearsal ended, and it turned out to be him—Conrad. And he was all, “I have a present for you.”
And then he, you know, handed me my underwear—because they’d been static-clinged to his sweatshirt. (The sweatshirt I had clung to—just like my underwear.)
Which brings us to now—me and Conrad in the dark auditorium, and me holding my “Lucky” underwear.
“You looked beautiful on stage,” he tells me as I stare at my underwear, since I can’t look at him and his hungry eyes. He says softly, “Nate is a lucky guy.”
I stare up at the ceiling a moment, then admit with a sigh, “I broke up with Nate.”
“Oh,” Conrad certainly doesn’t look sad from this information. Quite the opposite actually. He leans in close to me and asks with a grin, “Did you give me the underwear on purpose?”
I slug him in the arm.
He chuckles then asks, “What are you doing after you’re done turning me on with your dancing?”
I tilt my head. “Why do you ask?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Why do you think?”
A strange heat stirs in me from the way he asks that. I’m not used to him flirting with me. It’s new and confusing. He didn’t come see me when he came back—yet he’s acting like he’s dying to date me. This is so not him. Not the old him. Not the him I know. But the him I know wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Or had said it would be ‘terrible’ to date me.
He sighs. “Look, will you just come to my house and we can talk?”
Now he wants to talk?? After not saying goodbye, or ‘hey I’m back’ when he mysteriously came back, and mysteriously did it some time ago, now he’s acting all flirty one minute, and all longing the next. It all has me bewildered, and has my heart all confused and not sure if it’s supposed to ache or be ecstatic.
I shake my head slightly. “No, Nate’s going to be calling me in a little while to talk about things. We Facetime. If he sees me with you, he might get the wrong idea, and be hurt.”
Conrad’s eyebrows go up. “Isn’t he already hurt?” He points out sardonically, “You broke up with the guy.”
I sigh. “I mean, he might think I’m into you.”
Conrad’s lips quirk. “Aren’t you?”
Heat rushes through me. He kn
ows it. And enjoys it.
He leans in close to me as he raises his eyebrows sardonically, “You gave me your underwear.”
“Stop saying that!” I grumble.
He chuckles, liking to tease me, just like he did when we were best friends and he was allowed. Only he didn’t used to tease like this. He’s treating me more like a girl, than a best friend. I’m not used to it—not from him.
Conrad’s eyes lose their playful twinkling as he stares at me. They turn soft and earnest and completely serious. “When I moved away, I was planning to move right back January, that was my plan—at the time. It’s just that my mom needed me bad right then—that was why I left. But you blocked me from all of your stuff and your life, and then I met this girl, Lydia, and she actually needed me bad too—like my mom. So I stayed. For them. But now I need you, January.”
I shake my head, stepping away. “No. You don’t get to do this. Just because your girlfriend broke up with you and broke your heart, or whatever, doesn’t mean you get to mess with mine.”
His shoulders rise and fall, and he’s turned kind of ashen. “I’m not trying to mess with your life, January. I swear that’s not what I’m doing. Back when I left, I felt like I’d be being disloyal to my mom if I didn’t go with her. I mean, she didn’t do anything wrong in the marriage. I mean, she really, really tried. Yet my dad left her anyway. It really hurt her—destroyed her. She was like this fragile wounded bird. I felt like she needed me—and she did. Back then. But now she has someone else, a heavy boyfriend—Ronald.”
Conrad stares into my eyes, “And I need someone—you.”
He says softly, “Man, I missed you.”
Instantly the walls I tried building around my heart to guard it from him begin to crumble. But I can’t magically forget how hurt I’d been before he left—when he basically laughed about me with Griffin—about his ‘gal-pal’ turning all stalkery, and the fact it would be ‘terrible’ and ‘weird’ to go on a date with me.
The Boyfriend Contract Page 8
