The Boyfriend Contract Page 7

  Conrad texted me back: “Yeah, closure from what though January?”

  I didn’t answer him back. Instead, I re-blocked him.

  Petty, but a girl has got to do what a girl has got to do. Anything to survive heartbreak. And the only thing I could do to survive it was to block him. I needed to block my heart from him. If I had any sort of access to him, I knew I would stalk him. I refused to be that pathetic.

  … Though apparently he already thought I was.

  Jerk!

  CHAPTER 27

  A couple months after Conrad moved away, Paige started talking about North Moretti again. Apparently he was in her Government class, and gave her his cell phone number, so they could get together to ‘study.’

  “With guys like North that’s code for ‘make-out,’” I warned her.

  “I know!” she exclaimed with glee. But then she added sheepishly, “Only, it was my idea.”

  She sighed gloomily. “I was the one that suggested we get together to ‘study.’ And I had to ask him a bunch of times before he gave me his phone number.”

  I pursed my lips together. “Oh.”

  She looked so dejected, I reminded her what I always did about him: “The guy is trouble, Paige. You’re way better off not getting involved with him.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know,” she grumbled. “But lately I’ve been sitting by him in class, and he’s started flirting with me—sort of.”

  After a moment of deliberation, she announces with a (delusional) smile, “I’m going to text him.” She glances at me, “What should I say?”

  “Um,” I fake-deliberate dryly, then answer even more dryly, “—nothing.”

  “I knew you would say that,” she grumbles.

  Yet even as she says this, she texts him: “What are you doing?”

  North texts back and she squeals like his responding to her proves his feelings for her are as deep and delusional as hers.

  He texts, “Cleaning the gym with my teammate, Tommy—coach’s punishment.”

  After a long moment, like he had no real interest in asking, but hey, he was cleaning a gym: “What are you doing?”

  “Hanging out with my friend, January.”

  North immediately texted back: “You and your friend January should definitely come to the gym.”

  Paige read his message and squealed again with happiness.

  I rolled my eyes. “He probably wants us to help clean the gym.”

  Her happiness sagged. “Oh.”

  She quickly wrote, “We don’t want to clean the gym, sorry.”

  “No. I wasn’t suggesting that. We have a pizza here. We’ll share.”

  “Oh! Ok. We’ll be right there.”

  She hit send before I could stop her.

  “Paige,” I groaned. “Haven’t you been listening to any of my warnings about the guy? He’s a thug—and a player.”

  “But he’s really cute,” Paige said. “Come on, I’ve just been dumped by a ‘nice’ boy. I deserve a little bit of a bad-boy. At least for one night.”

  “I’m not going,” I told her.

  “You have to. In all good conscience, you can’t let me go alone. Not if he’s so bad. You have to come and chaperone. Come on, please? There will be pizza—and a guy for you. Tommy—you like Tommy okay, right?”

  “He’s okay,” I mumbled grudgingly.

  “Great! So let’s go,” she said, pulling me to her car.

  The guys were playing basketball when we got there. But the gym was spotless, I had to admit.

  Once we came into the gym, the guys stopped playing.

  North smiled and gestured to the pizza. Paige gleefully skipped over to him. I groaned and nervously trailed behind, not exactly thrilled that I remembered his exquisite kiss so vividly.

  “I’ll go get us drinks,” Tommy says pointedly, “—if someone will come with me and help me make good soda choices.”

  That’s my cue, I suppose.

  You know, so Paige can have her heart’s desire and be alone with North. (Sneaky plan.)

  I hop up to follow Tommy, but North puts his hand on my shoulder, gently pulling me toward him. “You’re staying with me.”

  My heart slams against my chest. I stammer out, “Paige was planning on being with you. I was going to go with Tommy.”

  North eyes me sardonically, “Do you have a strong hankering for Tommy?”

  “Uh, not really.”

  “Then you’re staying with me, since I have a hankering—and it’s not for Tommy. Or your friend.”

  I glance over to Paige, but she’s already being whisked out the door by Tommy. (Quite willingly, I might add.)

  Um.

  North smiles, apparently a little amused that I’m so flustered. He edges closer to me, “This is fate, right? Conrad’s gone and I’ve wanted to continue that kiss that you gave me at that party—but without the audience.”

  As he says this his lips softly press on mine before I fully grasp what’s happening. For a moment I’m so stunned (and enthralled) I lose my mind and let it happen—the magnificent kiss. But then I remember Paige, and all my warnings to her, and—mainly—that she wants him, not me. Well, right at this second I do—badly. But it’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Before the kiss really gets going (though what I’ve sampled is glorious) I push him away.

  “Sorry,” he says huskily. “I guess I should have waited for permission.”

  “It’s not that—well, it is. But mostly it’s that Paige likes you.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “But I like you.”

  He says it like what ya gonna do?—fate and everything.

  “Okay, well, I get that. But—but she’s my best friend.”

  North raises an eyebrow. “I thought Conrad was your best friend.”

  I sigh. “He was … but now he’s not.”

  “Right, he’s gone. Which is why I finally felt free to make my moves on you—but no? You’re not into my moves?”

  Well I could be. Easily, apparently.

  … but I don’t tell him this.

  Because I’m trying to be a good friend.

  And smart.

  Also, all those warnings I gave to Paige about him. My warnings were true. He’s not a guy a girl can trust her heart with. But boy oh boy, he can kiss. Yowza.

  “So, should I drive you home?” North asks.

  “No, that’s okay. I came with Paige. She drove.”

  “Yeah, but she’s busy.” He shows me a selfie Tommy took of himself and Paige, totally making out.

  I stare at the picture. “Oh.”

  North grins. “Sure you won’t change your mind?—it seems she has.”

  “Um …”

  “I have better moves than what I gave you,” he tells me. His lips drawing near mine again he says softly, “I can go slower.”

  Right as his scrumptious warm lips brush against mine again I leap away from him.

  My heart pounding wild, I tell him, “That’s really not that slow.”

  He grins. “No?” He runs a hand over his lips to hide his amused smile. “I thought it was.”

  “I’m not your type,” I assure him.

  “Actually, you are. I just blow it with girls like you—because my slow is apparently too fast.”

  “You should stick with girls like Willa and Sabrina.”

  He smiles weakly. “I don’t want to stick with girls like Willa and Sabrina. Look, I can go slow. Probably.” He tries to peek into my (purposely) averted eyes. He says softly (seductively), “Won’t you give me a chance?”

  Feeling dizzy, I take another step away from him. “No.”

  He grins slightly. “Why not?”

  “I told you, I’m not your type. Also, as I told you, Paige likes you.” Then I blurt out, “—but she’s not your type either.”

  “Right. She’s not. I already made it clear—you are. I’ve been thinking about you ever since you kissed me at that party—I’ve been thinking about your kiss.”

  �
��Well—thank you.”

  For a moment I’m thrilled and filled with flattery that such a tough, handsome, experienced guy would fantasize about me all this time. But then reality smacks me in the face and yells, ‘Wake up, January!’

  “Ohhh, you’re good,” I gush out, taking yet another step away from him, though he keeps closing up the distance every time I attempt to get some space between us. “You’re a smooth player.”

  “I’m not a player,” he says. “I’m telling you the truth.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but suddenly I realize it’s no use. Anything I say, he’s going to huskily seduce away; any distance I try to get from him, he’s going to move closer to me. It’s a game to him. He’s a cat, I’m his mouse.

  Without another word, I run away.

  “January!” he calls after me sounding amused. Very highly entertained.

  The cat!

  I keep running.

  CHAPTER 28

  A car pulls over as I’m running home.

  I try to run faster, since I’m afraid it’s North going to try some more of his “moves” on me (and probably succeed this time, because hey, I’m only human. A girl can only take so much awesome kisses before she gives in and kisses back) but as I try darting away from the car, the car keeps up with me (hey, it’s a car).

  The driver of the car rolls down his window. “January?” he calls. “Are you alright? Do you need a ride?”

  Surprised by the unexpected voice, I whip around to look at the driver, because it’s not North.

  Hmmm.

  It’s Nate—the dude that I’d mistook for a computer salesmen and ended up dating (sort of).

  “Um, sure,” I tell him after a moment. “I could use a ride.”

  ***

  Nate became my first real boyfriend. I mean, North Moretti texted me only moments after Nate offered to give me a ride. North texted to make sure I got home okay, but I realized: If I stay single a moment longer, I’m going to be mouse-meat.

  Because I was very, very attracted to the cat.

  Besides, Nate was nice.

  And I needed to move on.

  Cat-less.

  CHAPTER 29

  I hadn’t seen Conrad in almost a year, then one Saturday while Nate and I were shopping the outlets near our house—wham! My heart pounced; it totally ricocheted off my ribcage, because—whoa! There was Conrad. Conrad!!

  My heart filled with a bewildering mixture of pleasure, yet pain seeing the gorgeous boy again. Because on the one hand, it was Conrad. (Conrad!) But on the other, he hadn’t even let me know he was back in town. So … ouch.

  I stood breathless and amazed at the sight of him, totally not able to breathe. I just watched him a moment as I entered the store, my heart pounding wild. Conrad—here. Back in town. And not just for a visit, obviously. He was actually employed here—at the outlet sports shoe store. He had a nametag and everything.

  “What? What is it?” Nate asked since I stopped chatting in mid-chat. He waved a hand in front of my face. “Are you okay? What are you looking at? You’re all white, January. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I did. The ghost of my childhood. Seeing Conrad chatting casual and semi-flirty-like with his girl co-workers tugged at my heart. My heart huuuurt.

  “Uh, maybe we should go to a different store,” I told Nate.

  “What?” Nate scrunched his brow. “Why?”

  He huffed a little as I continued to stare at Conrad. Only he didn’t realize I was staring at Conrad.

  “Is it because Vivian is over there?” Nate asked. “Just ignore her. There are plenty of other workers. Here, I’ll grab one.”

  He stood in front of a girl that was whizzing by us. She had an armload of shoeboxes in her hands and a name-tag that said ‘Hi! I’m Jenny.’

  “Hi Jenny,” Nate said, not letting her continue on her focused trek to the back of the crowded shoe store. He planted the printout we brought of the shoe I wanted in front of Jenny’s face. “My girlfriend wants to try on these shoes in a size six, and also a size seven.”

  “Alrighty,” Jenny said with a smile, taking the printout from Nate as though this is the way things are done. She smiled cheerfully, “Have a seat and I’ll be right back with them.”

  “Thanks Jenny,” Nate said like they were great friends instead of total strangers, then he turned back to me and gestured to the bench with flourish. “Have a seat, my lady.”

  “Well, thank you, kind sir,” I said. Then I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes at him mocking coy. “It’s so hot when you take charge.”

  “I know, right?” he sat down beside me. “I have no idea how you can stand the heat.”

  “Well, it’s not easy, I assure you.”

  Right then Conrad saw me—finally. The easy smile he had been flashing at Vivian froze. His lips parting slightly, he sucked in his breath as he stared at me.

  For a moment my heart stopped beating and it seemed his did too. It was like there was no one else in the world—just me and Conrad. I couldn’t look away from his staring eyes or breath.

  Then without a word to his cluster of groupies, he sauntered over to me, “January—hi.”

  “Hello … do I know you?” I asked crisply, wishing Nate hadn’t wandered over to the guy’s section to look at socks. I wished he was still sitting beside me and we were making-out hot and heavy. Okay, so that wasn’t exactly appropriate for a shoe-store. But hey, I didn’t care. I hadn’t seen Conrad in almost a year, yet he hadn’t even bothered to tell me he was back. And it wasn’t like he’d just come back either. He’d obviously been here a while. I mean, he was now employed and ultra-comfy and chummy with his co-workers. (Bleck.) He’d obviously been working here longer than say an hour (or day, or weeks). Yet he obviously didn’t care enough about me to come see me. So screw him.

  Conrad smirks at my ‘do I know you?’ comment. Or maybe his smirk is from what he sees, since—

  “Nice sweatshirt,” he says.

  Groan! I’m wearing his sweatshirt. Noo! I’d told him I burned it. D’oh!

  But really? Seriously? Those are his first words to me after not seeing me in almost a year?!

  Then again, he’s not as shocked to see me as I am to see him. I mean, he had to know the possibility might arise that we might run into each other someday. I mean I do live here, not in this shoe store, but this town (and practically in this shoe store—I mean, it’s a shoe store). But so, he knew there was a possibility of us running into each other. But me—no. I had absolutely no clue there was ever an option of that ever happening again.

  But whatever. Apparently we’re talking about his sweatshirt. Fine. (Jerk!)

  “Didn’t burn it after all, huh?” he asks with a grin.

  “I meant to—but then I totally forgot who it belonged to,” I lie inanely “ … but it’s yours right?—that’s what you’re implying?”

  “Yeah it’s mine. I’m touched that you kept it,” he raises his eyebrows, “And still wear it,” he adds, eyeing me with a gleam in his eyes, “—obviously.”

  “I just threw it on because my boyfriend and I were going to be busy today and get all sweaty. I wanted something that I could take off and not worry about losing.”

  “’kay,” he says, then leans towards me. “It’s good to see you too, January.”

  I peek up at him.

  He smiles slightly, “I saw you staring at me.”

  “I wasn’t staring at you. I was glaring at that skank you were talking to—Vivian. You two deserve each other.”

  “Oh, how’s that?” he asks with a small smile, like he’s willing to play along with my childish game. After all it’s just me—his childish friend that had been stalking him, so he left in the dust. Left without even saying goodbye, and would never date because that would be ‘terrible’ and weird.

  I grit my teeth. “You both think the world revolves around you. I mean, you thought I was staring at you. You, who I didn’t even recognize or have a clue who you
were.”

  “Yet you’re wearing my sweatshirt,” he points out.

  “By accident.”

  “More than a year later.”

  Where’s Nate?

  Conrad repositions himself in front of me as I scan the store for sweet Nate, making it impossible for me to look at anything but him, my ex-best friend, and his gorgeous staring eyes that I haven’t seen in so long I ache.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I gush out inanely.

  Conrad furrows his brow.

  “He’s right over there.” I gesture across the store to the sock section so Conrad will let me breathe by gazing somewhere other than my eyes. When he doesn’t, when he just keeps staring at me, I gesture again, more dramatically.

  Slowly Conrad finally trails his eyes off me. He glances over at Nate, then scratches his chin. “Isn’t he one of the guys you already dated?” He air-quotes the word ‘dated’ as he says it, then goes on with a smug smile, “One of the many guys you never kissed?” He raises his eyebrows, “—was that because of me?”

  I go up in flames, so not ready for a call-out—not from him, my once sweet Conrad; my clueless, but wonderful best friend. I gasp, “What? No.”

  I stammer it out like it’s a ridiculous speculation I can’t believe he would even for a moment fathom, because it’s just that crazy.

  Conrad mock-speculates, “Then because he’s gay?”

  I huff. “He’s not gay.”

  Conrad presses two warm fingers over my lips. “Okay, I can’t bear to hear he tries to have sex with you.”

  I fling his fingers away. “He doesn’t!”

  Conrad shrugs, “Then he’s gay.”

  I gape. “There is absolutely no winning with you.”

  “Exactly,” he says matter-of-factly. “Not when it comes to you with a guy. Especially if you bestowed him with the word ‘boyfriend.’”

  My lips still feel tingly and warm from his fingers pressing against them. This is so weird. This is what Conrad’s like all grown up, when he hasn’t seen me in a year?—one minute teasing as usual, the next minute staring into my eyes as though he longs to take me in his arms?