All of Me

by Emily Duvall

  “I would prefer to kiss him first. See if he’s any good.” I think of holding his hand in the jewelry store and a ripple of want hits my stomach.

  “First kisses are the most important test,” she says with an easy smile.

  “Why are we talking about this? Caleb is with Sara. Libby says they’ve been dating for months.”

  “You’re right. That is a bit of a problem. You don’t want someone who cheats on his girlfriend for you and if they’re still together, then there’s really nothing you can do, but I thought he was looking at you in a more than friend way the other night.”

  I only think of the way he went home with Sara. “I think about him when we’re not together.”

  “That’s important. You need to get him to take you out as a friend. Show him what he’s missing. Do you have a favorite bar?”

  Like that, the Caleb discussion is over. I shudder, thinking of that awful night last fall. “I did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pierce’s used to be my favorite bar, but I don’t go there anymore.”

  “Oh. Really? Wow. That’s the one with the guy…the owner and those girls.” She types away on the keyboard and announces, “I’ve sent you a link to the hottest bars in the area. Next time you want to go out, give me a call. We’ll go together. I’ll prep you for hanging out with Caleb.”

  “What about Sara? I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

  “You’re not. You’re his friend. Let Caleb decide what he can handle.” She waves her hand in the air. “We’ve got to get to the meeting. We’ll figure this out later.”

  All this Caleb/bar talk takes away from work. I don’t like any reminders of Pierce’s. I have been keeping that night to myself for months and with the talk about Libby moving, I’ve been better about not replaying what I saw. I can still smell the rain on the asphalt and feel my cold fingers as I was getting Libby’s sweater out of the car. I can hear the music from the bar and I see the owner standing in front of that car and he’s yelling at the driver and he’s…I won’t go back there and maybe Charlotte’s list of bars will help me find a new place to have a drink.

  “Are you coming?” Charlotte says.

  “Yeah, I am.” I push the chair back. I push those thoughts away from that night.

  ***

  The month goes by in what feels like a matter of minutes. Libby’s apartment has changed. The photographs are removed and packed. Her drawers in the kitchen are cleaned out and the décor is placed in boxes with labels. She’s made three trips to New York to find a place to rent with my father and they are back in time for her going away party. Caleb and I have only jogged a couple of times, but mostly, he hasn’t been hitting the same path as me, but I still look out for him while taking a break on the bench. Charlotte tells me things have a way of working out, and that, I need to wait for him to make a move. I’m worried though that I’m the only one waiting.

  The employees at Hockley & Lyon are throwing Libby a going away party at a restaurant. My parents and I are invited, and I arrive with Libby. She helped pick out a black cocktail dress and chunky necklace with large square rhinestones for me. We enter through the double doors and the hostess leads us to a private dining area in the back.

  The room is crowded between the people, the high tables, and the bar. A large table with appetizers, cheese and crackers, and fruit is off to one side. Right away, Libby is snagged by one of her coworkers. She’s whisked away and in the middle of it all. My sister is smiling big, and her features stand out with her hair tied in a low bun at her neck. Not a moment goes by when someone isn’t at her side. She throws her head back in laughter; she touches someone’s arm, everything about her makes interacting look effortless. The men are captivated by her. Why is she single? A twinge of fear is in my stomach. What if she gets married and has children? Marriage. Weddings. Children. Past. Present. Future. Libby is going to get married one day. What if I don’t?

  I get a glass of white wine to ease the anxiety building within. I can hold my alcohol fine. Well, most of the time.

  “I was wondering if you would be here.”

  I freeze at the sight of Reed. He’s got his hand extended. I don’t let my hand anywhere near his. “No,” I say strongly.

  He straightens. “Sorry about that thing I said to you at the museum. No hard feelings, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  His eyes narrow. “Look, what I said was stupid.”

  “And gross. Does that ever work with women?”

  “Most of the time.” He scratches his neck and gives a shifty glance to one of his coworkers. “Excuse me.”

  I’m not sure what that was about. Fine by me if he’s gone. Reed is not someone I want to lend thirty seconds of my time.

  I look towards the entrance at the same moment Caleb Allan walks through the doorway. Energy pulses through me, causing my heart to beat fast. Charlotte’s comments about Caleb stick to my skin as if each one was a marker that I must remember. I hold my wine glass close to my chest. I scrutinize his face. One breathless glance does me in. It’s undeniable, how much I’ve wanted to see him, and at the same time, hurt flashes through me that we haven’t been running much.

  The navy suit he wears goes well with his dark hair and eyes. There’s no fancy name or clever comparison for the exact shade of his eyes. They are nice, and light, and brown. Never before have I paid attention to someone’s features this closely, but I can see him with striking clarity, and with my whole heart. His crooked lips. The way his hair is pushed to the right. The hint of authority in the way he cocks his head. His lean, muscular body. What—I think, taking a gulp of wine—does he notice about me? Does he notice my eyes? Is he aware of how I part my hair? Does he like anything about my face? I have been told I am pretty, but descriptors like that are inconsequential. I can’t quantify them on a scale or ranking order.

  Caleb scans the crowd until our gazes meet—briefly. Nerves flood my middle. I lift my hand in a wave, but his back is already turned. I am left standing with my drink in a corner near the bartender and suddenly aware with blood rushing to my heart how much I like Caleb. Every step he takes, he is stopped. He takes his time getting to this side of the room. The side where people are in semi-circles and I’m the only one standing alone, except for the company of the bartender.

  The bartender nods at my drink. “Another round?”

  “Yes,” I say desperately.

  He empties the bottle of white and puts the glass on a napkin.

  Caleb stops at the bar, placing his hands on the edge of the counter. I’ve got a front row view of his profile, except—he hasn’t looked at me. He hasn’t said a word to me. I inch closer. He puts in his drink order. “Vodka tonic.”

  The bartender looks from me to Caleb with a goofy expression. “Here you go,” he says to Caleb.

  Caleb swivels around, meeting my stubborn gaze. He brings the glass to his lips. At the last second, his gaze flickers. He inhales slowly and lowers the glass.

  “Caleb,” I finally say, unable to stand the silence.

  “Maren,” he says with a somber voice. “First name only now?”

  “It isn’t funny anymore and you asked me to stop.” I’m different around him tonight. My stomach churns, and I no longer want my drink. I like his face so much that I want to feel his lips against mine.

  Caleb’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “I was in a bad mood when we first met,” he says sincerely.

  “You have a lot of those.”

  His lips quirk up at the corner. “You making a joke, Maren Cole?”

  “No,” I say from the heart, “but I promise, first name only from here on out.”

  “Technically, your name consists of two first names. Cole is a boy’s name.”

  My mind is alive with memories of conversations which I sift through like a speed reader. Has anyone ever pointed this out? How did I not know?

  “You going to talk or keep your thoughts inside your head?”

 
Achievements! Ask about his accomplishments. Flatter him. I give my hair a little flip like some of the other women here tonight, but it whips too far forward and drapes over my wine glass. “You look better wearing jogging clothes than when you wear a suit,” I say, pushing the strands of hair out of my face.

  “Duly noted.” He grins into the glass and takes a sip. “What’s with the personal wardrobe appraisal?”

  “I told Doctor K about you. She says I should ask you three questions and since I haven’t seen you jogging much, I’m a little behind.”

  “Right, but, you haven’t asked me anything yet.” He stares at me like whatever I have to say is the most important thing in the world.

  “Wait. Now?”

  “Why not? We’re at a party. People ask each other questions. They talk to one another.” He gives the glass in his hand a slight jiggle.

  “Are we friends?” For one heartrending moment he says nothing. I’m on the verge of asking again.

  “Next question,” Caleb says in a softer voice.

  I forgot what Charlotte and I had talked about. My mind is like a blank slate and I ask about something that interests me. “What’s your favorite kind of weather?”

  “Tornadoes.”

  “Do you play Countess Coins?”

  “No.”

  “That’s disappointing. Do you like hot dogs?”

  “Depends. If they have mustard and relish, then yes. Who’s Doctor K?”

  “My therapist.”

  He grimaces. “I hate talking about my feelings.”

  I nod my head emphatically. “I can’t get through the week without giving her a report on if I’m happy or sad or anxious.”

  He comes a little closer and doesn’t pull his gaze away. “Are you anxious now?”

  Sweet torment rolls through my breasts. “Yes.”

  “Because of me? Or because of all these people?”

  “Both. I’m trying to get this social stuff right.”

  “Stop trying so hard.” He leans in to me so closely that his lips almost touch my ear and his breath is warm on my skin. “Do you know what I think?”

  I angle my face to his and my gaze stops at his lips. A curl of pleasure spins through my stomach and I take the next step, holding my breath, and staring into his eyes. “You’re going to have to tell me.”

  The corner of Caleb’s mouth tilts up ever so slightly. “I’ve missed our jogs too.”

  “Then where have you been?”

  “Working mostly and figuring out stuff.”

  My hand moves closer to his and the tips of my finger brush against his wrist. “Are you going to talk or keep it in your head?” I echo his words.

  “Ask me that first question again.” His finger outlines mine.

  “Are we friends?”

  “I think, we’re on our way to becoming good friends.”

  Chapter 8

  Caleb

  I shouldn’t have told her that. I should have kept my distance. Maren reaches out and takes my hand, tracing her fingers around mine. I pull away at once and finish my drink.

  Her hand recoils and I wish it didn’t. “I’m sorry.”

  “Look, I said we were friends. Not more. And Sara and I are seeing each other.” I make sure she hears the rough part of my tone. “Just because we run once in a while doesn’t mean anything.”

  “But you talk to me like—”

  “I’m talking to you because no one else in the room is.”

  Maren’s taken aback, and so am I. “You don’t have to be so mean,” she says with equal parts anger and pain.

  “Then why did you try to hold my hand?”

  “You had a string on your finger.” She holds up the navy thread. “I wasn’t trying to hold your hand. I know you’re with Sara.”

  “Good.” I cover my tracks and get out of this situation. I hadn’t meant to lash out, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve been the one avoiding her on the trails. “Excuse me, Julie’s waving me over.”

  Strong, fast adrenaline pulses through me. I’m too much a coward to look back and see her reaction. I don’t want to want her. I want to hurt her, so she stays away, and I feel awful for doing so. Have I become so desperate for female attention that I’m hitting on Maren? That I’m talking friendship and reminding her that, technically, I’m not single? Screw that. Screw this funk I’m in thanks to standing around and watching my coworkers congratulate Libby.

  You’re such a liar, my thoughts spin. Okay, so I might have researched people with spectrum disorders over the weekend. Information is abundant for children and diagnosis. Few articles exist on adults over the age of eighteen. She speaks clear. She looks me in the eyes, sometimes. The job she has is brag-worthy and she lives alone. She locks her door every night, not Libby. I’m not sure where that leaves her. I came here, nervous in a way I haven’t been in years. I’m at the end of a relationship with one woman and my attention is driven to the most unlikely of all of women, standing across the room looking beyond incredible in a cocktail dress. I laugh to myself, wondering what Libby had to bribe her with to get her to wear it.

  Ignore her all I want, she’s here, inside my head, even as I fight every thought.

  I look at her, expecting not to find her attractive, to not feel my pulse race a bit faster, but it does. My thoughts are totally selfish and full of need. That’s the reason I have missed jogging on purpose.

  Maren stays close to her family and I don’t blame her. To use her reasoning, ninety-five percent of people in this room are insensitive douche bags, myself included. I’m in hell and I can handle them. Can she?

  Julie Hockley walks over to me with a glass of red wine. “You’re too handsome to be in a corner all by yourself.”

  My boss is halfway through fifty although no one would guess with the way her looks have stayed the same since I began at the firm. She reminds me of my younger sister with her pantsuits and wide collar shirts. Gold hoop earrings, bracelets, and a hefty diamond ring on her finger. They’re both lawyers and when I look at Julie, I swear I see my sister’s future.

  “Careful, I might file sexual harassment with a comment like that.”

  Julie laughs. “You go right ahead. Just don’t let it get in the way of your job.”

  Our gazes move to Libby and our moods become serious. “Having second thoughts on the promotion?”

  A swift, piercing glance and her face relaxes. “I had anticipated you would question my decision.”

  “I did.” I do my best to sound indifferent. “I wanted Manhattan.”

  A sideways glance tells me she sees through me. “You’re too valuable here. You saw the case I put you on. I need you to trust the direction I’m taking your career.”

  “I didn’t want another case.”

  Her hand flitters apathetically. “George Lyon is leaving the practice he helped create.”

  Say what? This changes a few things. It sets my mood up a notch. “When?”

  “By the new year.” She raises her glass to a colleague across the way and mouths, “Just a moment. Caleb, what I’m about to say, keep between you and me.”

  I like where this is going. “Go on.”

  “The sensitivity of handling our client, Paul Pierce, requires someone capable of using satin gloves.”

  “I keep an extra pair in my desk drawer, which is why, you made me lead counsel.”

  She gives a listless smile. “Then you know we find ourselves at the juncture of small business owner and lawsuit. You also know that two of the three girls are now in comas at a long-term care facility. This could go any way.”

  Since I have been doing preliminary work on the case, sifting through the mistakes of Paul’s previous lawyer, I have a solid take on the prosecution’s side. “I read that the driver, Beth, only suffered minor injuries.”

  Julie feigns disdain at her empty glass. “She did, yes, and those non-life-threatening injuries are healed and she’s hungry to tell the world her story. She’s going to be the star w
itness and the voice of her friends and their families—three families that are suing Mr. Pierce collectively for fifty million dollars, plus medical expenses, and the cost of care to keep the two girls alive. They’re holding him responsible for letting their daughters drink in his bar and leave intoxicated. The police have charged him with a felony. Seems a bit unfair.”

  “Sounds like we have a lot of room to debate what happened.”

  “The case is going to pull at the heartstrings of the public. The parents are going live with their story this week on a major news network. I trust you’ll focus on making sure Mr. Pierce gets the attention he deserves. The last lawyer he hired wasted time and resources and was unable to reach a deal between Mr. Pierce and the families. He’s come to us with the case and we will not disappoint.” She lowers her voice to an icy whisper. “Quit whining about New York, Caleb. Tell me you want this, or I’ll give it to someone else.”

  I want this case like a bull headed towards a red flag. It’s the one that I need. My heart is pounding, and my fingers clench my glass. “Yes.”

  “We go to trial eight weeks from now. Play this case right, and Lyon’s position is yours.”

  Oh shit. Yes. My name will be next to Hockley on the building, on the memos, and in the fine print wherever the company name appears. I touch my glass to hers. “Send over the rest of the files this weekend.”

  “Excellent. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  The opportunity gives me back the upper hand that Libby took away. Big case. National spotlight. A country divided and talking about the trial. Energy courses through me.

  Libby walks over. “Hey, you,” she says with a tentative smile. “Looking cozy with Julie.”

  “Nothing interesting. Office talk.”

  “I doubt that.”

  The prospect of putting my defense lawyer skills to the test makes me feel like a team player for half a minute. “You ready for the move?”

  Libby sighs. “Mostly.”

  “You know my congratulations are sincere.”

  She eyes me carefully. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  “I see you’re wearing the necklace Maren picked out.”