“You’re apologizing because you said my apartment smells nice?” I raise an eyebrow. “I mean, I’m assuming that’s what you meant.”
“It smells great. I never actually thought you’d let me up here.”
“Ah.”
“So, I didn’t actually think this part through.” He seems like a giant in my apartment. A nervous, bumbling giant. After all his bravado over the phone, Graham’s not sure where to put his hands. He settles them on his hips and stands like I imagine he does on the sidelines. I’ve never actually watched any of his games. He could have been running around naked for all I know. Except I probably would have ended up watching that.
“Well, let’s unpack some of this stuff. I’ll get plates.” I point him in the direction of the kitchen table and he goes willingly, somehow fitting his enormous frame into one of my kitchen chairs. When I set a plate down in front of him he looks up, startling me. His blue eyes stare into my green ones with something that looks like relief.
“Thanks for not sending me home,” he says as he reaches for the bag and starts pawing through it. “I was going crazy sitting there by myself.”
“And the first person you decided to torture is me? I would have thought you’d hit up those guys from the bar. Don’t those guys eat?”
“Oh, they eat, but during the preseason they aren’t around to have Chinese food with me. And they’re not really supposed to be eating like this anyway. Too much salt.” Graham takes a pair of chopsticks and breaks them apart, rubs them together. When he hands them to me he doesn’t hold my gaze for long. He reaches for another pair of chopsticks and goes through the motions for himself.
“But you’re okay with Chinese? Not afraid of ruining your health?” My joke falls flat. Graham sticks out his bottom lip a bit before giving me a shrug.
“Not so much anymore.”
I know this isn’t exactly true. Graham still treats his body like he’s using it to make a living. He’s still at the gym, still walking around with so little body fat you could bounce a quarter off his ass. But now that he’s not part of a team I can see how he’d be lonely.
“You missing it?” I let my voice soften. He obviously does, but I’m not going to push him. It’s a weakness he might confess to Julia or confide in her father about, not necessarily something he’d tell me. It would expose a bit of him I might use against him.
Graham surprises me with a sigh and a yeah that hangs in the air long enough to embarrass him. He clears his throat and straightens up. “But I’m fine. Football couldn’t last forever.” He reaches for one of the takeout containers and pulls the flaps open. “And now I can show up unannounced at your house.”
“That’s true,” I tell him as we open the other containers and start filling our plates. “But don’t pretend we’re both not going to run two extra miles tomorrow to work this dinner off.”
Graham smiles.
“And after we eat, we can do something fun.” I watch Graham’s expression change from solemn to molten in a split second.
“Like what?” I can feel him sliding his chair closer to mine.
“Wait and see.”
After dinner I make Graham watch television. He sits on my couch, taking up entirely too much room, arms folded over his chest.
“This isn’t what I thought you were talking about,” he tells me accusingly. “Not at all.”
“What? You can’t appreciate a good MacGyver episode?” I ask innocently. “I have all seven seasons on DVD, but they may be on Netflix now. Do you want me to check?”
“Only if it inspires a little Netflix and chill, which I don’t think it’s gonna.” Graham’s sullen but there’s no way I’m going to let him convince me to have sex with him in my apartment. Every time we’ve been together there have been time constraints, location issues, restricted nudity. Okay, maybe not the first time, but every time after that. In some way I’ve convinced myself that this makes those times not count. Bringing Graham to my bed would most certainly count, especially after he paid for dinner. I put the DVD in the machine and press play. Graham shifts in his seat, angry muscles bunching.
“You said this wasn’t a booty call,” I remind him. “Just two friends having dinner.”
“And I was fine with that until you promised something else.” Pouty Graham turns out to be both hilarious and annoying. He’s like a toddler in time out.
“I told you we’d do something fun. Watching MacGyver is fun.”
“What you alluded to before was not watching MacGyver.”
I settle myself on the chair across from the TV. “What exactly did you think I was alluding to?”
Graham scowls and slumps lower on the sofa. “Fine. Maybe I was reading too much into things. We’ll watch your show, but I just want to let you know, for the record, that I’m staying here because I’m polite. Not because I’m interested in watching some old sitcom with you.”
“Because you’re polite?” I almost snort repeating what he’s told me. “Let me just say, for the record, that no one has ever found you polite. And MacGyver is an action show, not a sitcom.”
“If you say so.” Graham gives me a grunt. “But you don’t have to watch it from way over there.”
“Yes I do.” I pull a pillow in front of me for good measure. “Now be quiet or you’re going to miss all the dialogue.”
Graham snorts, but stops talking. It takes all of ten minutes for him to become engrossed in the show, occasionally yelling at the TV and giving me a play-by-play of how implausible he finds not only the storylines but the stunts.
“What’s with that barrel roll there at the end? They just decided to have some guy roll across there thirty seconds after the shooting stopped? This show is ridiculous.”
“You’ve actually never seen this?” I’m incredulous. “I thought all boys watched MacGyver.”
“You’ve obviously been hanging out with the wrong kind of boys,” Graham tells me with just a hint of righteous indignation. “I mean, the idea of making a bunch of inventions or whatever out of a piece of chewing gum and a shoelace is kind of cool, but come on.”
“It’s a classic,” I argue, sitting up straighter and preparing to launch the pillow at Graham’s head. “And they’ve even come out with a new version so obviously I’m not the only one who likes it.”
“A new version of this?” Graham seems unconvinced. “Who would watch that? And there’s no way you can call this a classic.”
Of course I take the bait. MacGyver not a classic? Who is he kidding? “Okay then, Mr. Television Expert, what are you going to say is a classic?”
“I’m less into TV than movies.” Graham shifts to face me. “And you’d have to give me a genre.”
“A genre?” This is getting ridiculous. I cross my arms over my chest.
“Yeah, a genre. Like, ask me about a classic musical and I’ll give you an example.” He’s serious. There’s not even a hint of sarcasm on his handsome face. Not even the slightest shadow of a smile on his lips.
“Alright, then let’s just start with that one, shall we? Classic musical. Hit me.”
“Too easy. I don’t even have to think about that one. Singin’ in the Rain, obviously.” I wait for him to burst out laughing, but it never happens.
Instead, Graham just stretches out his long legs and crosses his ankles, motions for me to continue. “Go again. Next genre.”
“Um, okay, horror? That’s a genre, right?” I’m feeling like I’m on shaky ground here. Is Graham some kind of film aficionado?
“Here everybody else would say Psycho and I agree that’s a great movie. I mean, you can’t go wrong with Hitchcock. But have you ever seen Repulsion? That’s Polanski and it is freaky as fuck.” Graham waits for me to answer but I’m having trouble getting my mouth to work. Who is this person?
“What?” he asks me, completely unaware of the seismic shift going on in my brain. “If you haven’t seen that we should watch it now. Maybe we can find it online somewhere. I’ll hold your
hand through the scary parts.” He gives me a raised eyebrow, but I’m not even bothered by his suggestion of physical contact.
“Are you actually into movies? Old ones?”
“Sure. I took a class in college and that kind of sparked my interest, I guess.” He looks confused. “Is that weird or something?”
“Not weird, exactly. Just unexpected. I thought you’d be spending your time throwing tractor tires around, not watching black and white movies.”
Graham is starting to look uncomfortable. “I am doing the tractor tire thing, but when you travel the way I have been, you need something to occupy your time. I can’t read on a bus so I started watching movies. Now when the team’s flying between games I just… Well, when I was flying with the team...” He stops and gives me a half-hearted shrug. “I like movies. I do things other than football.”
“I know.” I can’t keep the defensiveness out of my voice. I’ve actually never considered what Graham does outside of football. Never actually really considered Graham at all. He’s always been on the edge of my world, but I’ve managed not to give him much thought other than when he annoyed me. And now when I think of him it certainly isn’t for his brain; it isn’t for what he thinks or how he feels. Hot shame rises in my belly but I’m quick to tamp it down. “Give me another one.”
“Another movie? Um, okay. Citizen Kane is probably one of my favorites. That’s film noir but some people classify that as a tragedy because it has the elements, you know? And I like the usual stuff. Casablanca. That’s a romance but I still like that one.” He tilts his head and shifts on the couch again.
“Casablanca’s a romance? But they don’t even end up together.”
“Well, sure, but that whole story is about the relationship between the two characters. And he gives her up in the end so she can be safe. That’s why everybody loves that movie. You think the characters are one way, but then they make different choices. And the ending.”
“What about the ending?” For some reason I want Graham to keep talking. I have absolutely no interest in classic movies, but I want to keep hearing the timbre of his voice and watch his mouth move.
“You don’t remember the ending?” He’s shocked, furrowing his brows over those cornflower blue eyes. “Come over here.” Graham pats the space next to him as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. And even though I know the dangers of putting my body next to his, I stand and join him on the couch. He’s busy jamming his fingers on the screen, face knotted in concentration. “I’m sure there’s a clip of it on YouTube.” He’s so engrossed in finding the information that he barely notices our bodies joined from the hip down.
But I notice. Against my will my entire body lights up. It’s a virtual yes, please to feeling the heat of his leg against mine, the spicy way he smells, and the rock-hard planes of his body. He’s got a little stubble on his face and I immediately think of how it would feel under my palms, between my legs. I lean in closer until our faces are almost touching. I need to see the phone screen, obviously, but it gives me an excuse to let my chest slide against his arm. Graham doesn’t seem to register the contact, still searching for the scene he wants to show me.
“Here! This one.” He’s triumphant as he turns to look at me, his face inches from mine. He startles a bit at the closeness and then lowers his voice. “We can watch it, if you want to.”
I don’t want to. What I want in this moment is to close the extra two inches between us and suck his lower lip between mine, to slide my hand up his thigh and feel the muscles of his leg strain against the fabric of his athletic pants. These are all terrible ideas that will lead to much worse ones down the line. I know this and I do it anyway, enjoying the surprised look on Graham’s face before he realizes what’s happening.
“Cassidy?”
“Hmm?” I mumble as I plaster my mouth along Graham’s neck, tasting the warm skin there with my tongue.
“Do you want to show me your bedroom?”
Yes, yes I do.
11
Graham
“I think Cassie might be seeing someone.”
I choke, sputtering iced tea down my chin and onto the front of my shirt. “What?” I strangle out as Julia hands me a wad of paper napkins.
“I think Cassie’s seeing someone. She won’t tell me anything, but she’s been out with this guy more than once.”
“Like, on dates?” I ask, trying to look uninterested. If Cassie’s going out on dates—repeaters—with some guy, I want to know about it.
“Not on dates. Well, maybe on dates, I don’t know. Like I said she’s all hush hush about it.” Julia reaches out to steal a fry off my plate. “Probably she’s just sleeping with him. I can’t imagine he’s convinced her to actually go to dinner or something. Either way it’s been more than once.”
“More than once?” Cassie’s been with me more than once, but that still leaves plenty of time for this mystery person. And we never set any ground rules. We’re not exclusive—we’re accidental—so I can’t really get upset if she’s seeing other people. I can feel the sandwich I’ve just eaten turn to stone in my stomach. “How do you know that?”
“She accidentally told me.” Julia goes back to chewing. “But when I pressed her for more details she got all defensive. That’s a sure sign.”
“Sign of what?”
“That she likes him. You know how she is. She’s usually hit it and quit it. No repeat performances. But this guy’s gotten a repeat, maybe more than one.” Julia leans in conspiratorially. “And she even knows what he does for a living.”
“Why’s that weird? Is he a circus clown or something? A stripper?” I pretend to laugh.
“No, she just usually doesn’t find out the details, that’s all.” Julia’s back to her sandwich, taking another bite and chewing.
“So? What’s the guy do for a living?” I wait while she chews for what seems like an eternity. How much chewing does one bite take? And why am I so impatient to find out more about this guy? Because he’s your competition, dumb ass, I remind myself. And because he’s a repeater which Julia is making sound more and more like a unicorn.
“She was vague. She thinks he’s an analyst or something. I don’t know.”
“An analyst. Like a stock market guy?” I picture some nerdy guy with glasses making out with Cassie although I’m pretty sure if he’s with her it would be more of a Clark Kent situation. Fucking Superman underneath his button down. I pick at the lettuce on my plate. “That’s what she told you?”
“She didn’t really tell me anything. She got all evasive and pretended she had to be somewhere. She hasn’t said anything to you? You haven’t seen some guy hanging around?”
“Me?” I almost squeak before coughing to cover it up. “Why would she say anything to me?” As far as Julia knows, Cassie and I are still sworn enemies who only put up with each other for her sake. She has no idea Cassie’s now the reigning queen of my dirty fantasies.
“I thought you guys were hanging out some,” Julia offers. “You seem friendlier.”
“Oh.” I try to play it off. “Um, I guess we’ve been hanging out occasionally.”
“But you haven’t noticed anyone in particular? She’s still just got her usual hook up stuff going on?”
Hearing Julia talk about Cassie hooking up leaves me with a sour stomach. I push my plate away and take a long sip of my drink. “I haven’t noticed anyone.”
“She hasn’t said anything?”
“Like what?”
“She hasn’t mentioned anyone? Maybe that she’s thinking about bringing a plus one to the wedding?”
“Nope.” Over my dead body.
“Well, I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” Julia says with way too much enthusiasm.
“You do that, Velma,” I respond. “You should really call Shaggy and the gang to help you out.”
“Let me know if you stumble upon any clues.” It’s all game to Julia. At least she didn’t try to make me Fred in this scenario.<
br />
“I’ll be sure to let you know if she confesses to having a secret boyfriend. Don’t know when I’ll see her though.” I pretend to be moving on to the next topic even as I pull out my phone. “Should we get the check? I need to get going.”
“Sure. I’ve got a million photos to edit.”
She’s waving down the waitress as I text Cassie to see if I can see her tonight. It’s time to up the ante.
“Work stuff?” Julia asks and I nod, hitting send.
“Always something.” Something like Cassie driving me crazy.
12
Cassie
“I thought having a destination wedding meant we didn’t have to help you choose stuff?”
Julia’s giving me what could only be explained as the stink eye. “What are you complaining about? This is the first thing I’ve asked for opinions on and it’s alcohol.”
She does have a point.
“I’m asking you to help us choose the champagne! I thought it would be fun.” Julia pouts. Luckily, Zach swoops in to save the day and plants a loud smacking kiss on her. That’s one way to keep her from talking, I guess. And she’s right—champagne tasting would normally sound like fun. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with their bestie and down a few bottles of bubbly in the name of wedding research?
A bridesmaid who happens to be secretly sleeping with one of the other bridesmaids, that’s who.
Or another member of the wedding party, I guess. Whatever the hell we’re calling Graham these days. Any way you slice it that person is me. The thought of having to pretend Graham and I hate each other for an entire evening is causing me levels of dread I usually find myself experiencing for a trip to the dentist. Because while Graham and I might not be best buddies, I’m finding it harder and harder to resist him. And not just in the bedroom. It may have started out only being physical attraction, but now? Now I find myself laughing at his jokes and wishing he was around. Missing him when he isn’t. Dangerous territory to be sure, made even more dangerous by an evening full of drinks and conversation.
Forget About It Page 8