The Boyfriend Contract Page 5

  (I’m a ballerina.)

  He adds with a smile, “And then yeah, maybe I’ll make you do my laundry.” He chuckles, “And feed me grapes.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Fawna will get mad.”

  “Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, no grapes.”

  CHAPTER 14

  After a grueling (well, okay, fun) day of being Conrad’s slave, I get home and I’m immediately pounced on by my parents with excited smiles … and suitcases. Really the smiles have me as alarmed as the suitcases. Well, more so, really. Smiles?? Eek!

  “I won the raffle at work!” Dad says.

  As they’re heading out the door (with their suitcases) (and smiles) they inform me that they are going to a ‘couple’s resort.’

  “You’re fine to be left alone, right?”

  They’re not asking me this because they think I might have a party. They ask me this because they know I’m a scaredy-cat.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I tell them. Then I add warily, “Um, can I have a friend stay over?”

  “Of course,” they answer like they didn’t expect otherwise (because they didn’t), then they are out the door and I’m left in an empty house.

  I text Paige. She’s sick.

  I pop in a movie and think about just being, you know, not a baby. But then I text Ally, and then Jazz, and then Zoey, and then Summer. Hello—no one is home on a Saturday night. What’s the deal?—everyone has a life??

  Finally, I break down and text Conrad. “What ya doing?”

  He answers: “Admiring my organized closet.”

  Yeah, I’d organized his closet. “Must be nice to have a slave.”

  Him: “Oh, it was.”

  Me: “So, do you want to come over and be my bodyguard?”

  “Who is whose slave?”

  “Who is whose best friend?”

  “Well, I’m kind of on a date, pal.”

  I cringe. “I thought you were admiring my slave work.”

  “Yeah, I am. But Fawna is admiring my abs—as she’s making me change my shirt … since apparently I can’t dress properly.”

  I sigh. “What’s she having you wear?”

  “My dress coat, and black button-up.”

  “Oh, fancy-fancy.”

  “Well, I have to make it up to her for having a ‘slave’ today. Listen, she’s going to take away my phone in a sec. I’ll try to leave the event she’s dragging me to as fast as I can, then I’ll come over and save you from imaginary burglars.”

  “And vampires.”

  “Of course.”

  CHAPTER 15

  When Conrad finally got to my house he came equipped with chips and candy—and dressed in his yummy fancy dress jacket. So, it was worth the wait. Also, it was satisfying to see he hadn’t gone home and changed first, but came right over after his event—Best. Friend.

  We had a fabulous time making fun of the movies we watched, then had a fabulous time talking about whether he should ever shave again, or if he should grow an old-man beard and freak his parents out. I was all for a compromise—he looks hot with stubble.

  Finally, we talked about dragging ourselves upstairs to bed for quite a while, but neither of us actually did it. Too tired. And comfortable. But at some point after we had both drifted off to sleep on the couch, Conrad picked me up and carried me to my bed. He softly kissed me on my forehead, and I held my breath, pretending to still be asleep. Then he crept out of my room and went back downstairs and slept on the coach, though I’d told him earlier he could sleep in my sister’s room. (She’s married now and never comes home.)

  But no, I found him on the couch in the morning, sprawled out with a tiny blanket over him—well, over his arms.

  “Sleep well?” I asked when he finally opened his groggy eyes.

  “You tell me,” he said, “Since you were spying on me.”

  “You slept well,” I inform him.

  I look away from his adorable rumbled bed-head, and the memory of him kissing my forehead. “I made you eggs.”

  “Thanks—slave.”

  “Hey, that’s over. That was a one-time thing. The eggs are a best friend thing—and repayment for keeping away the vampires.”

  “That will cost you toast as well.”

  “Already on it,” I tell him just as the toaster pops up.

  “Good service,” he says.

  “To go with good company.”

  “Hear, hear,” he says as he toasts me with his orange juice.

  Again, I have to look away from him. His sweet kiss haunts my brain.

  This is bad!

  CHAPTER 16

  Late In The Afternoon After The Sleepover

  As soon as Conrad comes through the front door after his hockey practice, I give him a brownie—and a mini-lecture. “Conrad, don’t be a dork and sleep on the couch tonight. My sister’s bed is really comfy. And her bedroom has a bathroom attached—so total privacy.”

  “Yeah, I was worried you’d sneak in when I use the bathroom,” Conrad says sardonically.

  He yawns. “I didn’t sleep so well last night. I guess I’ll see how ‘comfy’ your sister’s bed is for a while—if you can spare being away from my presence for a while.”

  Actually, I’d spent a lot of the day away from his ‘presence’—and I’d missed it. But he’d had hockey practice most of the day, as it’s a three-day holiday, and the coach likes to take advantage of that.

  “Fine. Go.” I wave him off. “I’ll try to manage without you.”

  “Good luck with that,” he says playfully and heads up the stairs.

  Then I scramble to the kitchen to make a surprise fancy dinner for him.

  By the time Conrad comes back downstairs, it’s starting to get dark out, and my dinner is complete, and the table is set exquisitely fancy, and I’m so ready to have a great night with him.

  “Man, it smells good down here—” Conrad stops in mid-sentence when he reaches the bottom of the stairs and sees my elegant candlelit dinner and my elegantly displayed table. “—wow.”

  His eyes go from the fancy table-setting, to the messy kitchen, to the dinner, then to me. “What’s this?” he murmurs huskily.

  “Surprise!” I tell him excitedly, though now a little nervous too, for some reason. What’s that about? I guess it’s because of the way his eyes are on me—so intent and bewildered and something else that I can’t quite read—and the way his voice was all husky and sexy and low, plus now thoughts of his gentle kiss on my forehead and the tender way he had carried me to my bed last night is zooming around in my confused brain making me dizzy and breathless. This is so weird—we’re friends. Been friends forever. We have a contract. So, I try to ignore all this stuff—this sudden hormonal tension that is both awkward and yet turning me on big time, I will fight the acknowledgment of such feelings to the death. So I go on all eager and isn’t this super bestfriendy-like.

  I gesture dramatically at the table, “I thought we could enjoy my spectacularly prepared candlelight dinner, then give each other pedicures—aka: foot massages—while we watch my favorite movie—Pretty Woman.”

  “That sounds, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck and eyes the table again, “—romantic.”

  “Oh, right.” I quickly blow out the candles. (He has a girlfriend!) “… no candlelight—or foot massage. Just two friends eating dinner and watching a movie—friendly friend stuff.”

  Conrad’s jaw muscles flicker as he seems to be weighing the situation in his head. He says softly, “It sounds really great, and smells delicious. But January, I have a date.”

  I swallow. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Look, you know I want to stay,” he says softly. Only then he adds, “—but I shouldn’t. Fawna made the plans with me weeks ago. I can’t bail on her to be with a friend.”

  “Right. You should go.”

  “Look, you know I want to stay.”

  I shrug matter-of-factly. “Then stay.”

  “January,” He draws out a breath
, “I shouldn’t.”

  “Okay, then don’t.”

  He peeks again at my elegantly set table. His jaw muscles flicker. “It looks really nice, and smells amazing. Maybe I can text her that I’ll be late. Then I can eat this delicious looking food—then go see her, and then when I get back here we can watch the movie.”

  “Okay.”

  He runs a hand over his face. “Only, January, I shouldn’t bail on dinner with her to be with you. She’s been planning on me for a long time.”

  “Then go.”

  “Yeah, I should. Look, save the food okay? When I get home we can eat it—while we watch your favorite girlie movie in all the world. I can eat while I watch you get all goofy over your favorite part—where the guy climbs onto the fire-escape with roses to declare his undying love.” That is my favorite part! He goes on, “But no candlelight—and no touching each other’s feet.”

  CHAPTER 17

  So yeah, I got jilted that night. Well, okay, not jilted. But usually Conrad would have changed his plans for me. I totally understood why he didn’t—of course. But still I was hurt. I just was. He knew it, of course, because he knows me. So, when he left my house that night he seemed all apologetic. He kept peeking back at my untouched dinner like he was full of guilt, though he had absolutely no real reason to be. And he came home way early from his date. And we did watch my movie. But still … things felt different.

  So when the movie was over, I tried to keep things light, like he didn’t come home early for me, and like I hadn’t made him a candlelight dinner.

  “Did you have fun on your date?” I asked.

  He nods slowly. “Yeah, it was with another couple—a double-date.” He studies me closely as he adds, “The guy was someone you know.”

  A chill goes through me from the way he says that. I jerk my head up. “Who?”

  “A guy whose heart you broke.”

  He grins when I just tilt my head, still not quite sure who.

  He smiles mildly, “Need me to narrow it down?”

  “If you want me to know who you’re talking about.”

  “Spencer Hamilton. You had seemed sad when you stopped jerking him around—unlike most the guys you date.”

  “Okay, changing the subject,” I murmur.

  “Oh come on,” he laughs. “I thought you wanted to hear about my date. That’s what I heard about on it—how you jerk guys around and break their hearts.”

  “Yet I’m home alone on a long weekend.”

  “No, you’re with me on a long weekend.”

  “I get the leftovers after your date,” I mock-grumble, since really I’m extremely grateful.

  Slowly he smiles. “Okay, I guess that’s my cue—time for my peace-offering.”

  I cock my head. “Oh yeah—what ya got?”

  “An early birthday present for you, since I’m going to miss your birthday this summer due to hockey camp.”

  I already knew this. Still, the information stings anew. I try to ignore it though, ‘cause what ya gonna do? The dude’s life is hockey, and he gets to go to this prestigious fancy hockey camp on a full-ride scholarship due to his awesomeness on the ice.

  “Ready to be wowed?” he asks.

  “So ready.”

  He places in my hands two tickets.

  I stare down at them and scrunch up my brow, not quite sure what to say.

  “It’s for high tea,” he explains. “Paige said high tea is super fancy and girls love that.”

  “Oh, you consulted with Paige?”

  “Yeah. The other ticket is for you to take her.” He raises his eyebrows, “High tea is a girl thing.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “Paige said you’d love it.”

  “Oh … I do.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he says with a sardonic laugh. “Okay, here’s your other gift.”

  I rip the wrapped box open at record speed then stare at what’s inside, once again unsure what to say. In fact, I’m speechless.

  Conrad breathes out a laugh, “It’s that doll you said you always wanted when you were a little kid, but you never got it—ever—and you were sad.” He smiles adorably, “So to take her with you to high-tea—since you missed all those coveted little tea parties with her.”

  He leans in confidential-like, “To be honest, I don’t get the high-tea thing. But enjoy.”

  “I love it. I really do,” I tell him earnestly. “Especially that you remembered about me always wanting the doll. I never told that to anyone else.”

  I go on, not able to look at him for some reason. I whisper, “I’m touched you remembered. It was thoughtful.”

  “Well, I’m a thoughtful guy.”

  Yeah, he is. Thoughtful, and wonderful, and—

  I quickly change the subject, scrambling for something light to say. After all, he has a girlfriend, and—well, I need something lighter than what I’m feeling towards him at the moment.

  His words he just said remind me of something I’ve been curious about for some time now. I take a deep breath and plunge. “So, I’ve been reading stuff about you,” I tell him.

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Where did you find “stuff” to read about me?”

  “On the girls’ bathroom walls.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh yeah?” He bites his lip with a small smile while he stares at me as though negotiating in his head whether he wants to hear it from me. “Do I want to know what it says?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It makes you sound really generous.”

  He gives me a quizzical look, then a quizzical chuckle. “What does it say?”

  “According to the bathroom walls, you’re ‘The Giver.’”

  “Oh.”

  His eyes meet mine for the tiniest second, then he looks up at the ceiling with a tiny smile. “Do you like the doll?” he asks, like he’s trying desperately to change the subject. “She comes with different outfits—and a dog.”

  I fish, “Do you spend a lot of money on girls?—give them a lot of presents?”

  With a laugh he informs me, “You’re the only girl I give presents to—well, besides Fawna. But she’s my girlfriend—it’s expected.”

  “So why are girls writing about you being ‘The Giver’?”

  He sighs, then finally explains, since he knows I’m not going to relent. “When I broke up with Trisha, before I got together with Fawna, I went through this phase. I kissed a lot of girls. I mean, a really lot of girls.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say dryly, ‘cause yeah, I’m aware. “And—?”

  “They say I kiss really good. I gave them tingles.” He tilts his head with an amused twinkle in his mischievous eyes. “You want me to give you a different present?—you want tingles?”

  I choke on my water. And go up in flames.

  He breathes out a laugh. “Relax. I’m not really offering to kiss you, January. We’re not like that,” he gives me a tiny peek, “Right?”

  He has this cocky way of raising his eyebrows which is both sexy and adorable and makes my heart beat hard and wild.

  He raises his eyebrows at me now and I can barely breathe. “Right?” he says.

  “Yeah, right,” I say dryly. “Of course. I mean, you know me, I jerk guys around and break their hearts.”

  Conrad’s jaw muscles flicker a moment, then he slowly relents on my sudden change of subject. He gives me the weakest grin. “Spencer was really hurt. He said you never really liked him.”

  “What?—why’d he say that?”

  Conrad looks at me quizzically, then says with a curious note in his voice, “Because you wouldn’t kiss him.”

  “Oh,” I swallow. “He told you that?”

  Conrad’s answer is a slow nod.

  He asks softly, “Why wouldn’t you kiss him?”

  Ugh! I don’t want to go into this with him. He won’t get it, since he goes around giving girls “tingles.” I let out a long breath, then just confess, since I know he’s not going to let me change the subject this time
. “It would have been my first kiss. I wanted it to be special, not just—”

  He swallows. “Y—your first kiss?”

  “Yeah, I wanted it to be special.”

  Conrad looks beyond bewildered. “You didn’t kiss all those other guys?”

  “No. I wanted it to be super, super special.”

  —and give me tingles, I want to add. Because I do want that—of course. I want it really, really bad. But I can’t say that to him, since he just told me he’s basically a professional tingle-maker. He might think I’m asking him to kiss me. Which okay, I dream about him doing, constantly, but can’t tell him that.

  His eyes go all soft and I can’t read them. “That’s nice, January. Now I wish I would have waited too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Then he shrugs with a whimsical smile, “But instead I’m The Giver.”

  (Sob.)

  CHAPTER 18

  That night I woke up hugging and—(!!)—kissing my pillow.

  Yeah, my first kiss—a pillow.

  Super special.

  (And of course I’d been dreaming about Conrad.)

  CHAPTER 19

  That whole summer while Conrad was away I sent him pictures of me and Betty (my doll) doing all sorts of fun things—riding rollercoasters, eating at fancy restaurants, dating this cute foreign exchange guy that didn’t know much English and didn’t really seem to get that bringing Betty along with us was a joke (but he had a dreamy smile and great hair).

  In all the pictures that I sent to Conrad I’d caption them: “Me and my best friend.”

  After a bunch of pictures with me and Betty and our companion, dreamy Paulo, Conrad texted back, “At least I don’t have to worry about a guy trying to score with you when you’re now bringing a doll on your dates.”

  “You used to worry about guys trying to score with me?”

  “Well, until I learned you weren’t even kissing them.”

  Hm. Interesting. Well, and embarrassing—since, you know, he’s up on the fact I’m not truly “dating.” Just sampling. And barely.