How Not to Fall in Love (Love, Hate, and Other Lies We Told #2)

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  Chapter 13

  Vanilla Lattes

  I avoid Spencer for three days in a row. I've also been drinking vanilla lattes like I got an insider tip there's going to be trade embargo resulting in a shortage of espresso soon.

  In addition to Navy's suggestions about avoidance and such, I do some research of my own. Every time I think about his long, sexy gait, his penetrating eyes, his penetrating… I shift the focus to his negative qualities. I think about why we're incompatible. I even try to hate him a little. But he's a quiet neighbor, fills the hall with the scent of baking cookies, has done nothing but act like a complete gentlemen, and fuck me silly. There's no finger to point at him, meaning it all comes squarely back to me.

  Listen, I'm a yoga teacher and I've read enough self-help books to have this level of self-awareness. However, that does not mean I'm willing to do the work because honestly, I don't know what work is required of me. I don't want to commit, plain and simple.

  Of course, I feel guilty leaving him over there alone, what with the injured ankle and all, but he's a big boy and can take care of himself. And by that I mean, there's no shortage of women willing to tend to his every need. I was leaving my apartment yesterday and moments before I opened the door, I heard activity in the hall and peered through the peephole. Sure enough, he was leaving with a leggy brunette, which helps me hate him a little bit.

  This fact, the laughter, and the cookies I've smelled baking makes it easier to avoid him. We're cut from the same cloth, he and I—our carnal needs trump all. Well, mine almost did, but I stopped myself that night at the club. I went home alone. Good thing I know where he stands now. Or lays, as the case may be. I can't help but feel a little sour about how being a gentleman baker is his new move to win over women, not that he really needs to try.

  *

  I teach yoga. I take yoga classes. I do all the yoga. It's the best distraction I have—except I can't help but think of the class at the resort and the one with the seniors. I think of the yoga we did in his bed. In my bed… I convince myself that this stint of abstinence is me getting intimate with myself. Mew meows at the door. "Where do you think you're going?" I ask. "You've never even been outside." I think my cat is plotting to stage an intervention.

  It's six p.m. The divine smell of cookies baking pumps from Spencer's apartment. I'm practicing my handstand press when my phone buzzes with a text then another and another. I get a third, fourth, fifth text, before I finally give up and check my phone.

  It's him.

  He's blowing up my phone with cookie emojis.

  When I don't respond, the phone rings in my hand. I know he can hear it through the wall. I answer.

  "I know you're home."

  "Way to sound like a creep."

  But his voice is gruff and sexy and sends tingles to all of the right places. "Hi," he says.

  "Hi."

  "I have to admit something."

  I wait for it.

  "I miss you."

  I miss you too.

  "I have something for you. Would you mind coming over for a minute?"

  I hang up, feeling torn. I try to press back onto my hands, but my whole body vibrates and I fall with a ka-thunk, thunk. Mew hisses at me. "Alright, alright. I'm going. You're a cat. I don't know what stake you have in the deal."

  Taking my time, I pad over to Spencer's apartment. My hair is a mess. I wipe away the sweat beading my upper lip and forehead from yoga. I lengthen the trip to twenty-three steps to give myself an extra moment to look slightly more presentable.

  I knock.

  The brunette answers. She smiles.

  I scowl.

  She extends her slender hand. "I'm Audrey."

  I grunt.

  "Spencer's sister," she clarifies.

  Oh. That changes things. "Nice to meet you."

  Her smile hides something. "Likewise. Finally."

  "Finally?" I ask.

  Spencer appears, his hair shaggy, the line of scruff along his jaw thicker than the last time I saw him.

  "He wanted us to meet before I go home."

  "Have you enjoyed your visit?"

  "I was here on business, but found my brother alone, in bed, with a broken ankle and a broken—" Her voice is stiff when he cuts her off.

  "It's not broken," he mutters. "Nothing like having family around," Spencer says more loudly, pulling his voice from flat to cheerful. "I made some cookies."

  "And that's about all, aside from watching Sex and the City repeats," Audrey says drily.

  "Hey, I've been working too."

  "Well, I should go pack and leave you two to your cookies and milk," Audrey says.

  When the door to the spare room closes Spencer says, "Sorry. She's protective."

  "Of who?" I ask, because it sounded like she was scolding us both.

  "She's a high achiever and likes this just so." He leans on the wall and demonstrates with his hands, putting everything neatly in place. "She doesn't understand how things can fall apart because she's so good at keeping them together. I guess I have a hard time with that too."

  "Is she married?" I ask, echoing Phillis's question.

  "Happily. Four kids. And a career. One of those super women who do it all. Our parents are very proud. Trust me though, she knows how to delegate."

  Spencer and I stand at opposite ends of the hall. The entrance to the kitchen emits a sweet, chocolate aroma that seems to grow and glow between us like a living thing and not a plate of little round disks dotted with chocolate.

  "I made her a batch of the cookies to prove that I'm not a complete klutz in the kitchen—and because I'm slightly addicted. I once caught the oven on fire back home so I had some remedial work to do."

  "You've come a long way."

  He shrugs a muscled shoulder. "I'm a klutz at other things too."

  "The snowboarding injury was an accident," I say. "Could have happened to anyone."

  His eyes meet mine and are soft with the message that he didn’t mean the source of the boot on his leg.

  Just then, the door opens and Audrey rolls out her suitcase.

  "Well, glad I'm leaving my brother in good hands. Call me if you need anything."

  "Okay, Mom," Spencer says, giving her a hug.

  "If Mom knew you were down here alone, with a broken leg—"

  "It's not broken and I'm not alone." He leans over her shoulder and directs to me, "The women in my family can be a little overbearing."

  "We care, Spence," she says, less prickly this time.

  "I know." He sighs. "Tell everyone at home I say hi."

  "Of course. I'll be back in June to finish this merger. Hallelujah."

  She brushes past me on her way to the door. "If what Spencer said is true, then I do hope to see you again."

  My pulse quickens as the door closes. What did he say about me? I'm creating distance and boundaries so I keep my mouth shut and don't dare ask the question.

  We each examine the corners of the hall, the molding, the carpet fibers, all the details between us until the elevator dings. When I glance up, he's looking at me.

  "I told—" he starts to say.

  I cut him off. "She seems—"

  He asks, "Do you want—?"

  "You didn't tell your mother about your ankle?" I blurt.

  "She worries too much and her blood pressure—"

  What about my blood pressure because right now I feel every beat of my pulse. What did he say about me?

  "Want a cookie?" he asks, limping into the kitchen. Even his limp is sexy with the way his joggers hang off his hips, the soft tousle of his hair, the glide of his voice... I shake my head. Get it together, Kat.

  He extends a plate of cookies to me. I hesitate before plucking one from the pile just to be polite.

  If he made the cookies for her, perhaps they're not a ticket to sex. I take a bite. No, they're still every bit an aphrodisiac. Oh Lord.

  His arms are around me. Our lips meet. We're starved even though we each ju
st polished off a delicious baked confection. His broad hand presses into my low back, drawing my hips closer. Desire throbs between us. His other hand cups the side of my head, but then drifts to my neck, then collarbone, then my breasts.

  I've mentioned a lot of nevers: I've never taken a trip with a guy before. I've never been in love. I never get the same coffee two days in a row. I've also never gone this long without having sex, except that time in Bali when I had food poisoning. So keeping my distance, especially from Spencer, is hard. Especially because he's hard.

  His buttery cotton T-shirt lands on the floor. Mine pools beside it. We crash back into the hallway and then hobble, still kissing, still groping, still mad for each other, and into the bedroom.

  He peels my yoga leggings from my skin while I try to take off his pants, but his cast slows things down.

  "Wait," he says, coming to an abrupt stop.

  Surprised, I lose my balance and fall off the edge of the bed. I'm out of breath, half-naked, and feeling a bit bruised—my ego, not my body. No one has ever said wait to me in the throws of passion.

  "Are you okay?" he asks, leaning over to help me up.

  "Yeah. Are you? Did I hurt your ankle?"

  "No, you hurt—" He rubs the back of his neck. "Listen, Kat, I'm confused. You've been avoiding me. Then you're all over me. Is something on your mind?"

  "I thought we were booty call neighbors."

  "Yeah," he says agreeably. "And then it—"

  "We can't, Spencer." I gather up my clothes.

  "We can't what?"

  "This." I motion between us.

  "What is this?" he asks.

  "Us. I thought it was casual." But it's not, not at all.

  Chapter 14

  Angi

  It's Saturday night. The walls and borders between Spencer and I remain erect, and I'm having a party. I invite Tori, Marc, Rylee, Alicia, Lydia, Brigitte, and Leo—even though Navy's not here or available. (He's had a school boy crush on her since college.) I tell them to invite friends—the more the merrier. I get all the mixers and trimmings. I clean up the apartment and remind Mew to be a friendly host.

  As everyone filters in, the music is turned up and the conversation gets even louder. Last time we gathered here was for our housewarming party and everyone brought comfort food. Tonight, it's just beer and booze.

  We talk about Marc's recent trip to France, Navy gallivanting around Italy, and how Alicia wants to visit Belgium. Leo and Brigitte tell us about their latest endeavor at their Mexi-Skandi fusion food bar. Marc introduces us to several wines he's testing for his store. We finish two bottles. I make flirtinis and can't help but think of Sex and the City.

  What? Don't look at me like it has anything to do with Spencer. I had an abundance of pineapple juice.

  Lydia's contribution is copious amounts of laughter and a reminder of the time as she repeatedly check her phone. After we're all giggling about college days, work mishaps, and Tori's plan to show up for a date wearing nothing under her coat, we move onto a Flemish red beer Alicia brought.

  "What brought on the Belgian fixation?" Rylee asks.

  "Was it a guy?" Tori follows up.

  There's chatter about the latest in their love lives—it didn't work out with Marc's new guy and Rylee is single again.

  "What about you?" Alicia asks. "You have that certain glow."

  "I've been doing a lot of yoga."

  "Is that all you've been doing?" Tori asks. "You went out last weekend, right?"

  "Oh, um."

  "Oh, um?" she repeats.

  I shake my head.

  Just then, there's a knock on the door. I swing it open without thinking to look through the peephole. Spencer stands there and asks, "Why didn't I get an invitation?"

  I break out into a sweat everywhere: my hands, my feet, my neck, my hairline. Have I mention I never get ruffled? Well, his unexpected pop-in, or rather pop-over, rattles me. It unhinges me. I turn red for goodness sakes. I rarely turn red.

  Tori appears at my side, giving us both a long once over. "I didn’t realize you were expecting another guest."

  I introduce Spencer as my neighbor.

  "Hold up? Spencer as in the Hottie from 7G?" Tori asks boldly.

  "Should I be flattered or embarrassed?" he asks.

  "She should close her mouth," I mutter.

  Tori helps herself to another beer. "On a night, much like this one, shortly after Kat and Navy moved in, we had a little gathering."

  "There was crazy-roni," Rylee says.

  "There was a lot of craziness," Marc adds.

  "And a dare," Leo says. "Which, sadly, I wasn't party to."

  "There was a dare," I say.

  "And…?" Spencer asks.

  "We wanted to see Navy date more. So we dared her to date the first five guys she saw the next day."

  "I was the first?" he asks astutely.

  I nod.

  "Interesting. Go on."

  "We did not dare her to catalog it on the internet."

  "What?" he asks.

  "She started a blog. Don't worry, she protected your identity."

  "There were write ups about her dates, ratings…" Leo offers.

  Spencer's expression of amusement shifts to bafflement before settling on concern.

  "You were the runner up," Leo says helpfully, ruefully.

  Spencer glances at me with wide eyes.

  I try several times to change the subject, but everyone talks about the Man-bun-barista, Omar—the Gym Stud—, and of course the Book Boyfriend, revealing everything, much to my chagrin.

  "Carrick?" Spencer asks.

  "The one true love," Alicia says in a swoony voice.

  "Her OTP," Tori adds.

  Lydia keeps checking her phone.

  "Expecting a call? A text?" Marc asks.

  Alicia's eyes flash. "A text. A phone number…A photo. That's him! The one that when you think about you get all mushy inside," she exclaims as though she just solved a whodunit.

  "The Galentine guy!" Tori says, making the connection.

  Everyone watches me until mercifully Lydia gets to her feet.

  "Meeting someone?" Brigitte asks.

  "It's after midnight," I say, thankful for the change of subject.

  "Since when is that late to you?" she asks.

  I shrug.

  "He gets off work now. Thanks guys. I better go."

  "Kat's not the only smitten kitten," Marc says.

  Brigitte and Leo bow out with her, thanking me for the libations.

  When the door closes Tori says, "She's head over heels for this guy. They've been spending tons of time together, but she's afraid it's moving too fast. When his visa expires…"

  "Nothing wrong with fast," Marc says. "If you're into it, you're into it. No need to try to control the situation."

  "But she wants to be careful."

  I feel Spencer's eyes on me. In fact, they've hardly left me all night. Mushy. Smitten kitten. Oh dear God.

  "No, she's afraid of falling in love," Tori says, pointedly.

  "Look what happened last time," I say.

  Spencer asks, "What happened?"

  "Left at the altar."

  "So sad," Alicia says. "On that note, I should head out too. I have to work in the morning."

  "I'll walk with you," Rylee says, leaving Tori, Marc, Spencer, and me.

  We finish off his last bottle of wine from France when Tori's phone beeps with a message. She does a little dance after she checks it and says, "Booty call."

  "I thought it was last call," Marc says.

  "Ha ha. You're just jealous."

  "No, I worry about you," he says. "I worry about both of you." Marc's handsome eyes flit between us.

  "Me?" I ask.

  "You're both afraid to commit."

  "Says the guy who goes through men by the month."

  "I was with François for three weeks. And I was single for one. That makes a month so…"

  "The math isn't the point,
" Tori shoots back. "I'm just having fun, getting my groove on while I can."

  "What about getting old?" Marc asks.

  I instantly think of Maud and Ralph, Margarita and Walter.

  "We shall not speak about my thirtieth birthday," Tori retorts.

  "No, we should. What's the plan?" I ask. "It's in April, that’s not far away."

  "Don't remind me. I'm going to get Botox."

  "You aren't," Marc fires back.

  She puts her hands on her hips and they argue as he gathers up their coats.

  When they reach the door, I say, "We're celebrating your birthday whether you're there or not."

  "Fine. I'll be there—the one with wrinkles and tears in my eyes."

  "It'll be fun," I say, slinging my arms around them.

  "It'll be my birthday and I'll cry if I want to." She pouts.

  We hug and say goodnight. Marc and Tori linger in the doorway, eyeing Spencer, mouthing smitten kitten before I edge them out.

  Then it's just Spencer and me.

  I interrupt the silence with clinking glasses and bottles as I clean up. He grabs the hem of my sleeve, halting me in my tracks. "Come here." His words tickle me. "What's this about Galentine's Day? It seems I'm the subject of girl talk."

  "Well, just the two times."

  His wolfish grin says he likes being the subject of said girl talk.

  "What can I say; it's not every day you move in next to a guy who bakes cookies."

  "I believe the first time I came up in conversation was before the cookies were on the table. And the second?"

  "They'd been baked and eaten."

  I resist. I resist. I must resist. I push my shoulders back and smile. We can talk. I'll allow him that. "So. You met my friends."

  "You didn’t tell them about us."

  "What should I have said?"

  He takes my hands and I lower to sitting across from him. "Kat, I'm not looking for marriage—to avoid family insistence because I'm still single or because I'm approaching thirty too. I'm not seeking someone to complete me. That's way too much pressure between two people. I'm also not going to ignore the sense that something is going on with you nor am I going to avoid talking to you about how I feel, which is strong."