by Whitney G.
“I’m on my way to the news office, so I’m sure your plan can wait.”
“No, you’re on your way to the gym with me so I can show you how hard I work behind the scenes when no one is watching. That’ll save you the two hours you were going to spend watching YouTube clips of my private practices.”
How did you know I was about to do that?
“I saw you getting tagged in some late-night party photos like an hour ago,” I said, stunned that he was still awake.
“I just dropped by to show my face and keep my rumored reputation intact.” He smiled. “You stalk my Facebook page at night, too?”
“It’s for my research, Kyle. Only one of us is required to stalk the other person.”
“Sure, you are.” He walked over to the passenger side and held the door open. “Okay, be honest. You really don’t remember me offering you a real ride during our freshman year?”
“No, but that’s because it didn’t happen.” I hesitated to get inside. “I can take the campus shuttle, you know? It’s probably best for me to keep a distance while I’m working, and maybe whenever we’re going out for my list you can—”
He picked me up by my waist mid-sentence, placing me onto the heated leather seat. He leaned over me and buckled my seatbelt before shutting the door.
When he returned to his side, he looked over at me as he cranked the engine. “Friends don’t let friends take the bus if one of the friends in question has a car.”
“I’ll have to take it eventually when I go to class.”
“Not if you don’t want to.” He shrugged. “I never go to class, so feel free to call and I’ll pick you up. Or you can drive it if I’m in practice.”
I made a mental note to never ask him for that, and then I stared out the window. “I really hope you’re not over there coming up with an ulterior motive for the next several weeks with me, Kyle.”
“I’m not.” I felt him staring at me. “I think my motive has been pretty clear from the start …”
Kyle: Now
Present Day
New York City
“Is that Kyle Stanton from the New England Falcons?” “Why is he on this plane?” “You think he’ll give me his autograph?”
I ignored the hushed whispers behind me as I sat on a first-class flight to New York City. I didn’t want to take a commercial flight, but since Taylor was still refusing to charter a private one for me, I had no choice.
I needed to talk to Grayson ASAP, needed him to tell me that I wasn’t in the middle of losing my fucking mind.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Courtney, couldn’t stop replaying the frame of her agreeing to marry a man who wasn’t me.
The look in her eyes when he got down on one knee spoke volumes. It was part surprise, part fear, and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it wasn’t love.
It couldn’t be love.
I knew that I’d fucked up by letting our friendship lapse into nothingness, but my feelings for her never stalled or stagnated.
Even though we tore each other apart with our words, I still longed for the day when we could make up.
“Mr. Stanton?” A flight attendant stepped next to me in the aisle. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water, please.”
“Would you mind signing a few autographs for your fans?” she asked.
I knew that I should say no, to stop a media firestorm ahead of time, but when I looked over my shoulder, I saw tons of passengers snapping pictures with their cell phones anyway.
“Tell them I’d be happy to do it a half hour before landing,” I said. “I’d like to spend the majority of this flight alone, if that’s all right.”
“As you wish, sir.”
She pulled the curtain shut behind me, and I leaned back in my seat.
There’s no way Courtney loves him …
Bypassing baggage claim, I hailed the first cab that pulled up and demanded that he take me to Grayson’s condo on Park Avenue.
The moment I stepped out, the doorman escorted me through the private entrance and onto the elevator.
When I made it to the top level, I rang the doorbell.
No answer.
I rang it again.
Right as I was making another attempt, Grayson opened the door.
“Kyle?”
“Hey.” I tried to smile. “You got a minute for an old friend?”
“Always. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, it is.” I shrugged. “I can show up and see you whenever I want, right?”
“Three o’clock in the morning isn’t exactly conversation hour.”
“I came here to see my godson,” I said, pushing past him since he was taking too long to invite me inside. “I need to give him some emergency advice when it comes to women.”
“He’s two months old, Kyle.”
“The earlier he hears this, the better.”
His wife, Charlotte, stepped into the living room wearing a bright bathrobe. She was holding their son against her chest, looking like she hadn’t slept in days.
As if she’d been expecting someone to help, she walked over to me and handed him over.
“Good seeing you again, Kyle.” She yawned. “Grayson, I need you to let me sleep for the next three hours.”
“Noted.” He kissed her cheek, and she walked away.
I stared at the baby—his eyes the exact shade of blue as Grayson’s. “Whoa. He’s like a mini replica of you—down to the dimples and everything. This is fucking crazy.”
“Don’t curse around the baby, Kyle!” Charlotte called out before shutting her bedroom door.
Grayson laughed and picked up a blanket. “Why are you really here?”
“Courtney Johnson is getting married.”
“Okay.” He blinked. “And?”
“There is no ‘and.’ She’s getting married. Don’t you remember who she is?”
“No.” He sat on his sofa. “Not really. Would you like me to go in with you on a big wedding gift for her or something?”
“She’s supposed to marry me, Grayson. Not anyone else.”
“What?” His eyes widened.
“Do you remember when I told you about the girl I started hanging with during our senior year?”
“Kyle, you used to tell me about tons of girls. I stopped keeping tabs after sophomore year.”
“It was always the same girl senior year,” I said. “I just never admitted it. It was me and Courtney every single time.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“I never drink during the playoffs.”
“Are you high then?” He laughed. “If you were spending so much time with one girl, why am I just now hearing about it?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and I knew you’d laugh just like you’re laughing right now.” I noticed the baby laughing, too. “Besides, I gave you so much shit about being monogamous with Charlotte back then, that I didn’t want you thinking that I was a hypocrite.”
“You’ve always been a hypocrite, Kyle. You’re just the last to know.”
“Do you think I can convince her to marry me and not the other guy, even though we haven’t spoken in a long time?”
“Of course.”
“Do you really think that, or are you just saying that?”
“I’m just saying that.” He smiled. “As your best friend, my job is to feed you false hope whenever you ask for it.”
“Fuck you, Grayson.”
“Kyle!” His wife called out from the bedroom. “Stop cursing!”
“Okay, wait a minute.” Grayson tapped his chin. “Let’s pretend you did tell me about her. Why is she relevant all of a sudden?”
“You know how in that movie, The Notebook, Noah never stopped pining for Allie? Like, he actually waited for her to write back?”
“Why do you know the names of the characters, Kyle?”
“Or how in Whe
n Harry Met Sally, they were friends for all that time without realizing they belonged together?”
“I’m getting really concerned now.” He raised his eyebrow. “You’ve always hated romance movies.”
“I’m serious, Grayson.” I looked at him. “I loved her—still do…I wanted her to be with me. I never thought that she would ever have the audacity to move on with someone else before talking to me again.”
“The audacity?”
“It’s a long story, but we made a pact before we graduated … She could’ve at least sent a text saying she was serious about this guy, even though I don’t think she is. Something was off in her eyes at the engagement party.”
“Why were you at her engagement party?”
“I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time.”
“Jesus, Kyle.” He let out a breath and motioned for me to hand over the baby. Then he leaned back against the cushions.
“Is this the part where you’re about to give me some advice?” I asked.
“You didn’t come here for advice,” he said. “You want me to tell you that whatever you have planned to get her back isn’t stupid and reckless.”
“Is it?”
“You haven’t told me what it is yet, but from the look in your eyes, I don’t think I want to know.”
“You don’t.”
“On a scale of slight explosion to hydrogen bomb, how much damage will it do to your personal brand?”
“It’s fucking nuclear.”
“Is this girl worth it?”
“Beyond worth it.”
He let out a breath. “You want to decipher all the lies you told me about senior year now or after you set the bomb off?”
“Now.”
Courtney: Now
Present Day
Seattle, Washington
I can’t believe Kyle had the audacity to show up to my party …
I pressed the elevator button for my floor and stared at the ring on my finger. It was exactly like the one I’d pinned on a Pinterest board years ago, but it felt too heavy.
And far too soon …
Although I’d been friends with Graham for the past couple of years, we were still getting to know each other. Or so I thought.
Our schedules were so hectic, that our dates were mostly stolen moments in passing. My never-ending day shifts conflicted with his late nights; his international travels always came unannounced and in the middle of an important assignment, and our sex …
I downed the rest of my espresso at the thought of it. It was practically nonexistent.
Even though our kisses could last for what felt like hours, and there were nights when I never wanted them to end, he never took things any further.
He always led me close to the edge—until the anticipation raced through my veins, and then he always let me down.
“I want to wait until I know you’re mine one hundred percent,” he’d say. So, I’d slip into the bathroom and use my vibrator to finish the job.
“You have now arrived,” The elevator’s system sounded, drawing me out of my thoughts. “The Fine Print Publishing. Floor seventy.”
I stepped onto the floor, grateful that no one else was here six hours early. I hadn’t slept all weekend, and whenever I tried to shut my eyes, memories of Kyle flooded my brain, and tears fell past my cheeks.
As much as I hated him for being the second element to that awful surprise party, I couldn’t deny that I still thought about him quite often. There were still nights when I fell asleep with my fingers pressed against my clit, drifting to sleep after fantasizing about him having his way with me again and again. Nights when I couldn’t help replaying the start of the friendship again and again.
Plopping into my chair, I turned off my phone and pulled out my notes on this season’s baseball predictions. I managed to make it through a few projects in peace before my colleagues started trickling into the office.
As I was making my personal list, someone tossed a ream of paper into the air. Then, someone else rang the giant iron bell at the front of the room.
The silly code for all hands-on deck.
Grey and black suits ran in and out of cubicles. Every phone on every desk was suddenly ringing.
I unplugged mine from the wall and continued working on baseball.
The last time there was this much hysteria in the office, LeBron James announced that he was returning to play basketball in Cleveland.
I’ll ask about it later.
“Thank you for coming into work early as always.” Mr. Bruce stepped into my cubicle. He picked up the bag of pretzels on my desk and treated himself to a handful. “I take it that you haven’t heard the news?”
“No.” I leaned back in my chair. “Is LeBron joining a new team again?”
“Ha! This is a way bigger story than that, Miss Johnson.” He crossed his arms. “Kyle Stanton just broke his typical media silence by announcing that he hates New England and he wants to be traded—two days before his team is set to start in the playoffs.”
WHAT? My jaw dropped to the floor.
“Why would he ever do something like that?” I could barely hear my voice. “That’s career suicide …”
“I know.” He shook his head. “Beats everyone. Every beat writer in this country is fighting to figure this shit out by the end of the night. And by every beat writer, that now includes you. You’ll work under Michael’s direction.”
Of course.
“Um, sir …” An intern cleared her throat from behind.
“I’m talking to Miss Johnson right now, Harriet.” He held up his hand. “My morning breakfast order can wait.”
“Kyle Stanton’s agent and personal assistant are in our lobby, sir.” The words rushed out of her mouth. “They say that he wants to arrange an exclusive interview with your best reporter.”
“Um, wow.” Mr. Bruce’s eyes widened, and he smoothed his tie. “Well, uh, of course, send them up to the boardroom, Miss. Johnson, set up the bar with coffee for the three of us and Michael Router, would you?”
Ugh. “Right away, sir.”
He left my cubicle, and I headed to the pantry to grab a basket of snacks. There was an open box of baking soda that I considered placing in Michael’s beloved sugar jar, but too many interns were eyeing my every move.
“Can you slip this to Mr. Stanton’s agent for me?” One of them slipped me something soft. “Tell him to give these directly to Kyle the next time he sees him.”
“What is it?”
“My panties,” she said. “I folded it just enough, so you’re not touching the wet spot.”
She walked away, and I tossed them into the trash.
When I made it to the board room, I stilled at the sight of Kyle standing near the window.
His eyes met mine as I set down the tray.
“Like I was saying—” Mr. Bruce looked more nervous than I’d ever seen him. “I’m confident that Mr. Router will paint your story in the best possible light. And given the circumstances and where we are in the season, we’re willing to fly out to wherever you need us to be, on whatever day you want. Does that sound good?”
“She’s not the interviewer?” Kyle gestured toward me.
“Miss Johnson? Oh, no.” Mr. Bruce let out a low laugh. “Miss Johnson here is an editor in training. She can assist Mr. Router with prep, but that’s about it.”
“So, she’s a goddamn intern?” Kyle asked.
“The senior lead of interns and an editor in training.”
Kyle stared at me in utter disbelief.
I looked away from him.
“Now, I’ll leave you with Mr. Router and Miss Johnson if you wish, so that you can get acquainted, and then I’ll return to set up a few things.” He shook Kyle’s hand and left the room.
Kyle’s agent and his assistant rushed out right behind him.
I was tempted to leave as well, but the look in Kyle’s eyes told me not to go.
I plopped down into a chair at t
he far end of the table.
“Well, now that we’re alone.” Michael opened his notebook. “I want to start by saying that I find it so insane how the fans are treating you over a comment when your record is beyond stellar on the field this year.”
Kyle continued staring at me, not saying a word.
“But unfortunately —” Michael continued. “That’s the world we live in right now. People take one line and just run with it. Isn’t that right, Courtney?”
I didn’t answer.
Michael clicked his pen. “Let’s start with the obvious, Mr. Stanton. Why are you requesting a trade, when your team is about to make a run for the Super Bowl?”
Kyle clenched his jaw. “Would you mind excusing me and Miss Johnson for a while, Mr. Router?”
“Um, sure. How long?”
“Forever,” he said. “But let’s go with the rest of the day for starters.”
“Um, well …” He looked between us. “Is this like some type of catch-up session since you have the same alma mater?”
“Something like that,” Kyle said. “I’ll let you know when I need you.”
“You can stay in the room, Michael.”
“You can fucking go, Michael.” Kyle’s deep voice followed mine.
Michael didn’t argue. He picked up his things and left the room.
The moment the door shut, Kyle walked toward me.
“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” I said. “But if it’s career suicide that you’re after, congratulations. I think you may have sealed the deal.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he said, glancing at my left hand. “I’m getting an interview from my favorite reporter.”
“As long as you know that’s all you’re getting, then we’ll be fine.” I swallowed as he closed the gap between us, as my heart—once again, betrayed me by wildly dancing in my chest.
“Is there any reason why you’re still playing second fiddle to someone else?” he asked.
“I’m the reporter, Kyle,” I said. “I ask the questions.”
“Apparently you’re just an intern.” He narrowed his eyes. “You get the coffee.”
“Careful.” I felt a pang in my chest. “This conversation is starting to sound a bit like our last one …We know how that one turned out.”
