Maybe Someone Like You

by Stacy Wise

  “That makes two of us.” She turns back to her work, her brow furrowed and jaw tight. For the first time since I’ve known her, she looks vulnerable.

  When we near the door, I say, “I hope that guy leaves her alone. She looks worried.”

  He holds it open for me. “I have a feeling he won’t come back. Jazzie’s a no-bullshit kind of girl. I’m sure she made it clear to stay away.”

  I step out onto the turf area. It’s big but certainly nothing like a track. We’d have to run in tight circles. “It’s a little small to jog here, isn’t it?”

  He levels his gaze at me. “Yes, it is. That’s why we’re running out there. Into the night.” He grins and moves to the gate. “Follow me.”

  No need to ask twice. He has the ability to make a warm-up exercise feel like an adventure.

  “Let’s head up the hill so we get the tough part out of the way first.”

  The cool evening air swirls against my face, invigorating me. Ryan and I run side by side in silence, our bodies gradually moving in sync. The repetitive sound of our shoes hitting the pavement is soothing, like a metronome keeping time.

  After a block and a half, he says, “You have good pacing. Do you run often?”

  “Often enough, and I ran cross-country back in high school.”

  “You have a lot of medals and trophies in a closet somewhere, don’t you?” His elbow touches my arm as we veer up the hill, and I stay close, willing it to happen again.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe, my ass. I see how competitive you are.” He tilts his head toward mine. “So why the long night? Work or fun?”

  I consider giving him a nonresponse loaded with innuendo to make him wonder, the same way he made me wonder about his salsa dancing, but he’d probably see right through me. “Work. I’m not sure I know what fun is anymore.”

  “This is fun.”

  I smile in spite of myself. “Yes, it is. You’re lucky to have such a fun job.”

  “I’d say you’re pretty lucky to be an attorney. It’s impressive. Did you always know it’s what you wanted?”

  “My mom is an attorney, so it seemed like a natural choice. And I like the idea of helping people.”

  “We have that in common.”

  “It’s funny, when I was a little girl, I remember watching commercials that showed these tragic little kids, and for only pennies a day, you could feed a child. I wrote down the number and convinced my grandma to let me use my allowance to feed two kids.”

  “That’s really sweet. When I was a kid, I was pegging my sisters with Nerf gun darts or wrestling with my brother.” He laughs. “Although I did spend some of my time doing less derelict things. I learned to draw.”

  “Really? What’d you draw?”

  “All kinds of stuff.” He holds an arm in front of him. “I drew these.”

  I grab a look. “Your tattoos?”

  “Yep.”

  My labored breathing prevents me from responding immediately. When I get enough air, I say, “I had no idea. Your angel… She’s stunning. It’s hard not to stare at that one.” My face grows hotter with the realization that I’ve admitted to checking him out. “I don’t mean I stare—”

  “I get what you mean.” There’s a smile in his voice that eases away my embarrassment. “I like looking at my arms, too.”

  I choke out a laugh. “No self-esteem issues with you.”

  “Not a one.” He motions to the block ahead. “We’ll turn there.”

  Seconds later, we’re heading down the hill. As a runner, I know it’s important not to sprint down hills because it can mess up your shins and knees. But the desire is there, urging me to run full speed with the wind in my face and my hair flying out behind me. It’s enticing, but I hold back.

  We reach the bottom of the hill and turn the corner. Too soon, Ryan’s pulling open the gate back to reality.

  Inside, he takes my wraps from where they sit on the bench and begins unrolling them. “Hold out your hand.”

  “You don’t have to wrap them. I can do it.”

  “I know.” He smiles as he takes my hand. “So can I.”

  I stretch my fingers apart as he begins to weave the fabric through them. Does he enjoy this as much as I do? His gentle touch soothes me. It’s like having someone else brush my hair. As he tucks in the end of the wrap, I notice a tattoo on the side of his pointer finger that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s the word “relentless,” etched in a tiny font that looks like barbed wire. It makes me think of clawing to the top, ignoring pain or obstacles. I want to ask about the stories hidden in all his ink, but I won’t. Instead, I blurt, “Did it hurt?”

  “Huh?”

  “Getting all the tattoos?” The thought alone makes me cringe. “Stupid question. It must’ve.”

  He finishes my right hand and fastens the Velcro on my gloves with a squeeze. “You’re funny. The worst was my hands, but you forget pain. It doesn’t stay with you.”

  Some does. The thought is so automatic it startles me. But what if I could forget the pain of losing my dad and hang on to only the good memories? My eyes blur, but I smile and say, “You’re such a badass.”

  “Thanks for noticing.”

  “Hard not to,” I murmur.

  “What’s that?”

  But I can’t repeat it. I’ve already said enough today. “Nothing.”

  His gaze rests on me for a second before he says, “All right. Time for some bag work.”

  Phew. It’ll be easier to face off with the bag than Ryan. I step into fighting stance.

  “Keep your arms up. I want you to get in the habit of always protecting your face, even though the bag won’t hit back.”

  I nod and square off. My punches stop shorter than when I hit the pads. I shift and go in for another, but it feels wrong.

  “Try again, and stop with your arm extended.”

  Doing what he says, I end with my glove touching the bag. Before I can turn to ask what’s next, his hands are on my shoulders. “Keep these down.” His words land on my neck, his breath cool against my warm skin. “You need to keep your shoulders relaxed and loose, the same way you do when hitting the pads.”

  As he slides his hands away, I wriggle my arms, trying to loosen up, but the memory of his touch lingers on my shoulders. I blink and focus on the bag in front of me. As soon as I throw the first punch, I know it’s robotic and wrong. I huff out a breath and try again, but all I can feel are Ryan’s eyes on me. Do I have a huge circle of sweat on my back? Or is he too busy focusing on my technique to notice?

  “Stop for a second?” He reaches a hand to slow the swinging bag.

  I turn to face him, my arms hanging by my sides. He lifts my right hand and rips my glove open, tossing it to the floor. He repeats the action with my left. Before I can ask what he has planned, he grabs my hand and steps back. I follow automatically, not wanting to fall. “What are you doing?”

  “Showing you how to get out of your head and move.” He takes my other hand and pulls me close, then quickly extends his arms, pushing me back. He’s dancing with me. “Relax and follow my lead. Close your eyes if it helps. I won’t let you fall.”

  The exhaustion fades, replaced by screaming adrenaline. His words ring in my ears. I won’t let you fall. I’m not sure he can stop me. Everything he does is making me fall. I shut my eyes, but they spring back open when he twirls me.

  “You’ve never done any cowboy swing dancing?”

  I shake my head as his hand circles my waist. “No. You have, though.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.” A mischievous grin lights his face, and he grips me tighter, more assuredly, as though now that his secret is out, he’s free to show me how good he is. Our bodies are in perfect rhythm. I don’t think; I just follow his lead, trusting him so easily my heart flutters. I want to bottle this moment, save it, treasure it.

  He spins me, holding to the tips of my fingers with a touch that sends chills down my arms before they spark in my chest, making
me feel like I could light up an entire town. He dips me, then swings me back up so our faces are only inches apart. My breath catches somewhere in my chest, and time stops. His eyes are magnets, drawing me in, hypnotizing me. I bite my lip, wondering, wanting…

  But he steps back. “That’s how you get out of your head,” he says in a low voice. “Trust yourself to get after that bag the way you trusted me just now.”

  I nod, keeping my eyes on his. God, does he realize how captivating he is? Maybe I don’t want to know. It’s possible he acts this way around every girl, honing his powers of enchantment to use when he’s with someone he’s actually attracted to.

  He passes my gloves to me one at a time. After they’re both on, he tightens the Velcro, running a hand around it to make sure it’s secure. It’s a natural move, but if I didn’t have gloves separating the space between us, it’d feel like a caress. He dips his head, making sure I’m looking him in the eye, and says, “You’ve got this, Katie. Five minutes and you’re done.”

  My first punch is solid, causing the bag to drift from me. As it swings back, I meet it with a quick left hook followed by a right cross.

  “That’s it! Follow that bag, and keep those arms up.”

  I hear his words of encouragement, but they aren’t the reason I’m attacking the bag with everything I have. I’m pounding thoughts out of my head. He’s not my type. He’s a player. But the memory of his breath on my neck and his hands on my body as we danced begs me to think otherwise.

  My punches become slow and sloppy as the energy seeps from me. My lungs scream for air, and I stop, dropping my hands to my hips as I try to catch my breath. Sweat drips into my eyes, along my nose, and makes a path down the center of my shirt.

  “One more minute, Katie! Bang it out with nonstop punches. Jab, cross, jab, cross. You’ve got this!”

  I glance at him with burning eyes. “I hate you right now.”

  He turns to pick up his water bottle. “Hard to believe it when you’re smiling,” he says quietly, his voice teasing.

  “I’m not smiling. That was a glare.” I drag my arms into position. “I might pretend you’re the bag.” Using the last reserves of energy I can muster, I fire off punches. One, two, one, two, one, two… When he tells me I can quit, I whack the bag with a final cross that causes it to swing out.

  Ryan stops the bag with a slap. “Nicely done. You killed it with that last one.” He steps back. “And look at that. You’re still smiling.”

  “It’s because we’re done. Finally. That was tough today.” I tug my gloves from my hands and tuck them under my arm. “So I’m guessing you really do salsa dancing. I thought you were joking.”

  “I was. The only reason I know how to swing dance is because my sister forced me to be her partner.” He winks.

  “Oh.” Questions race through my mind, but I can’t ask. I’d only sound nosy.

  His phone lights up in his pocket, and he reaches for it, checking the number. “Speaking of salsa dancing, I need to take this. Good job today, Katie.”

  “Thanks.”

  He turns and answers. “Monique! What’s up?”

  After setting my gloves on the bench, I begin to unravel the wraps from my hand, taking my time to reroll them as I go. Taking my time so I can eavesdrop.

  “Is your friend on for tomorrow night?”

  There’s a pause, and I wonder who Monique is. Probably some girl he’s dating.

  “You got it. The Shell Room at seven thirty. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  I ball the wrap in my hand and hurry to the cubbies. What the hell is the Shell Room? A bar? And Monique must be a friend who’s setting him up with someone. Like he needs any help.

  He clearly has lots of female “friends” and is always on the lookout for more. I swing my bag to my shoulder and duck out the door. The Shell Room grows bigger in my mind, and all I see is Ryan surrounded by beautiful women dressed in mermaid costumes.

  Lauren sits on the sofa, her bare feet resting on a beach towel that’s draped across the coffee table. Tissue is looped between each toe, her nails a nice shade of plum. Bridget Jones’s Baby is on TV. “Hey, it’s just starting. Come join me. I have a pizza baking. Feel free to paint your nails if you’d like. I have a pretty blue, too, if you feel like going funkier.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How was the gym? Are you enjoying it now?”

  I flop onto the opposite side of the sofa. “Too much. I think I’m falling for my trainer.”

  Her eyes widen, and she reaches for the remote to pause the movie. “Are you serious?”

  “Sadly, yes. It’s stupid on my part, because I’m pretty sure he has more than a few girlfriends. I just…I just need to know how to stop liking him. How do I do that?”

  “Short of hypnosis, you’re out of luck.” She smiles as I start to protest. “I’m kidding. Do you think it’s possible you’ve developed feelings for him because he’s already dating someone, and there’s no chance anything can happen?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Possibly. It could be a self-preservation thing. Maybe your trainer is a distraction for now. A safe one.”

  “Maybe. But he’s so…” I press my lips together, trying to sum Ryan up in a word. “He’s captivating.” I sigh. “But even if he isn’t a player, our worlds are way too different. I could never date someone like him. Just the thought of my mother’s reaction is enough to keep me away.”

  “Well, at the end of the day, a crush on a new guy isn’t so bad, even if you can’t act on it. Just be open to other guys you meet, too. It’ll happen.”

  I look to the screen. “If Bridget Jones can take her time, so can I.”

  “That’s right. Go change and come back so we can watch.” The kitchen timer dings and she stands. “The pizza will be just the right temperature when you’re done.”

  “This is totally what I need. A chick flick, pizza, and a pedicure.”

  “It’s all any of us need sometimes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Patty waves me over as soon as I step through the frosted glass doors bright and early Friday morning, my emergency suit hanging over my arm in a black garment bag. The last thing I want is to chat with Kenneth’s leading lady. Heaving a sigh, I head to the reception counter, ever-present coffee in hand.

  “Hi, Katie.” She peers at me, her sable eyes uncertain. It’s a little late to show remorse, if you ask me. “So,” she says, leaning in and lowering her voice. “I hate to ask this, but did Kenneth mention if he’s saving the gift for an occasion? I saw him last night and thought for sure he’d give it to me, since he seemed so eager for you to buy it the other day.”

  “He said you hated it,” I blurt, setting my coffee on the counter. As soon as the words are out, the realization hits me, and I gape at Patty, watching her kind eyes fill with tears.

  “I knew it,” she whispers more to herself than to me. “It was a feeling, but I kept pushing it away.” After a few sniffles, she looks at me. “He’s seeing someone else, isn’t he?”

  The hurt splayed across her face fills me with anger. “Oh, Patty, I’m sorry. It sounds like he is, doesn’t it?”

  Fresh tears fill her eyes. “What am I going to do? It’s hard enough acting like I hardly know him when, in reality, he’s had me blindfolded and naked in his bed. Now I’m going to have to keep up another ruse. I can’t do this anymore.”

  I’m not going to lie—I tried to tune her out as soon as she uttered “naked.” It’s not something I want to hear about. Ever. “I’m so sorry.”

  The doors to our suite open, and Steven and Thomas, both clad in power suits, stream in, their presence sending Patty spinning in her chair. They nod in our direction before turning to their offices, engrossed in conversation.

  Patty turns and whispers, “You’d better get to work. And don’t worry. I’ll figure this out.”

  I utter my apologies again, not sure what’s left to say. I try to erase the knowledge of Kenneth and Patty
from my mind, but it continues to reappear, brighter and bolder than before. And while I can’t fathom finding Kenneth desirable—those words don’t even fit together—I feel bad for Patty. Getting through the day is going to be difficult for her. I’ll run out at lunch and bring her back a nice box of chocolates.

  My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I’ve been working on a settlement demand all day, but I’ve reached the point where I need help. Pushing back from my desk, I march to Kenneth’s office.

  His door is wide open, and he’s mid-phone conversation. I start to motion that I’ll come back later, but he holds up a hand, and I wait. He spins his chair to face his computer screen and continues his conversation. “No. No, no, no, and no. Jimmy, I’ve got the numbers right here in front of me.” He throws a hand at his screen even though Jimmy—whoever he is—obviously can’t see him. Jimmy’s response causes Kenneth’s cheeks to change from pink to red. He pounds a fist to his desk, and his lips form parallel lines. “You’re not on the same planet right now. Are you even in the goddamn universe? Get back to me when you’re ready to be reasonable.” He slams the phone into its cradle and curses at it. “Some people are frigging idiots. Now, what can I do for you?”

  Calm down? Leave early? I can come up with all kinds of things he can do, but of course, I say none of them. Wouldn’t want him to fire me. “I’m working on the settlement demand for Alvarez. How do you want me to value the case?”

  He pinches the ridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “Leave that blank.” He moves his hand and opens his eyes. “I’ll put the value in. I want this in final format sans the numbers. I don’t want it piecemeal. I don’t want a rough draft. I want it perfect.”

  “I understand. Thanks.”

  He lifts the silver lid from a candy jar and uses small silver tongs to drop gummy candies into his hand. After popping three into his mouth, he says, “I hope so. I took the time to read the article you sent, and it was substandard work.” He raises a thin brow. “And that’s being kind. I’ve seen better from first-year law students. Don’t ever give me something in that kind of shape again. Are we clear?”