Maybe Someone Like You

by Stacy Wise

  I try not to flinch. Of course she would wonder that. “He’s an artist. And my trainer. My friend.”

  She raises a brow. “Young people today… It seems there’s no long-term thinking. It’s only about right now. What happens when he decides he doesn’t want marked-up skin?”

  “I’m not sure. Laser removal?” I throw the words at her, but her expression doesn’t waver. I’m pretty sure this isn’t the last I’ll hear of Edward Benner.

  “Okay, then. I’ll touch base with you later.” She stands and gives my office a last look. “I’ll order you a plant.”

  “Mom, no. I’m not ready for a plant. But thanks.”

  I fully expect her to start in on a lecture about how my office is a direct reflection of me, but she simply nods and heads out the door. I slink back in my chair and survey my office. The credenza has a little bit of open space on it. I suppose I can put a plant there. I only hope she sends a succulent.

  My head throbs as I merge onto the freeway. I click off the radio and roll down the window, breathing in the cool air, hoping to kill my headache. Food is probably the only thing that will help. I stupidly allowed myself to skip lunch today and instead nibbled on a protein bar from the dwindling stash in my drawer. The stress of the day got to me, and I realized too late the sick feeling was only hunger.

  As I pull up to the gym, I see Ryan standing on the sidewalk, phone in hand. I park and step over to him. “Hey.”

  He looks up. “Hi. I was just texting you again. A pipe blew twenty minutes ago, and we’ve closed the gym until it’s fixed. We can’t work out today.”

  My gym bag slides down my shoulder. “Oh no. I shut off my phone when I left the office. To be honest, I probably shouldn’t have, but I needed a few moments of peace.”

  Ryan nods. “Understood. Sorry I didn’t reach you sooner, though.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe it’s best I can’t exercise tonight. I might’ve passed out on you. I’m starving.”

  He pockets his phone and grins. “We can’t have that. You in the mood for a burger? I’ve been craving Bud’s all day.”

  The prospect of food instantly lifts my mood. “Oh my God. I love Bud’s. The All-American burger is pure heaven.”

  “I can’t say no to heaven.” He runs his eyes over my clothing. “I’d offer to drive us, but I have my bike. Not too sure you want to sit on the back of a motorcycle in your skirt.”

  “Uh, probably not.” I pull my blazer close around me. “Let’s walk. It’s a pretty night, and I’ve been sitting all day.”

  “You’re cool walking in those?” He motions to my heels.

  “Right. Hang on. I’ll be just a second.” I unlock my car and toss my gym bag to the back seat, scooting in behind it before swinging the door closed. With my back to the door, I wriggle out of my nylons and tuck them into my bag, my heart racing. It’s not a date. It’s just a meal in lieu of training. I step back out, heels in hand. “I’ll go barefoot and can put these on when we get there,” I say, holding up my shoes.

  “Why don’t you put on your sneakers?”

  I try not to roll my eyes. “Because I’m not a forty-year-old power walker on my lunch break.”

  “Point made.” He gives my neck a friendly squeeze.

  I shudder without meaning to. “I think you hit a knot.” He moves behind me, landing his hands on my shoulders as though it’s something we do all the time.

  He presses down slowly, adding pressure as he digs his fingers into my muscles. “Damn. You’ve got so many knots I could work on you all night.”

  Yes, please. My heart skips a beat. Does he even realize what he said? It’s a good thing he’s behind me, or he’d see what his words did to me. I close my eyes, basking in the feel of his touch. He kneads my muscles, then circles his thumbs up my neck. “You hold all your tension in your neck and shoulders, which isn’t that uncommon, especially if you sit at a desk all day. I think I’ve solved the mystery as to why you punch with your shoulders tensed toward your neck sometimes.” He moves his body closer to mine as he works, and I catch my breath. My headache dissipates into a foggy memory, and my hunger pangs disappear. It’s okay if you want to work on me all night, Ryan.

  He sweeps my hair to the side, and his hands find their way under my blazer. Oh my God. His fingers flutter against the front of my shoulders as he rocks the heels of his hands along the top. Just an inch down and his hands would be on my chest. Is he aware? It doesn’t matter. I’m too entranced by how good it feels to care.

  The sound of voices drags me back to reality, and I look up to see three twentysomething women clad in black leggings toting yoga mats as they head into the studio. Ryan’s hands fall away from me, and I step forward. “Thanks. That helped,” I say casually, wondering if it’s only me who felt something.

  “Sure. You should roll out with a tennis ball when you get home. You don’t want that shit to get worse.”

  He felt nothing.

  Of course he felt nothing. It was stupid of me to think otherwise.

  A leaf drifts to the sidewalk in front of me, and I tuck my hands into the pockets of my blazer, suddenly chilled. Maybe it’ll be cool Saturday night for my date. That’s where my focus needs to be—on a reality, not an impossibility. Lachlan will wear a tartan scarf and black gloves, looking very much the proper Englishman. We’ll stroll down the street, hand in hand, perhaps stopping in a quaint bar near the ocean for an after-dinner drink. Mulled wine, or some such.

  By the time we reach Bud’s, Ryan’s touch is the furthest thing from my mind. Well, maybe not entirely, but that’s what I’m telling myself. I pause to buckle on my heels before heading inside. Football games blast from flat screens in a symphony of color. Thankfully, only the TVs in front have the sound on or my headache would surely storm back with a vengeance.

  As Ryan orders us a couple of beers, I study him from across the table and wonder what it’d be like to date him. Ugh. My plan to stop thinking about him isn’t working so well. More like it’s been shot to hell. He’s the epitome of a physically superior male. His muscles are tight and solid. There’s something entirely confident and capable in the way he moves. He seems fearless.

  “So what’s new, Katie?”

  I have a terrible crush on you that I’m trying to ignore. “Uh—”

  “What’s that smile about? Or is it a grimace?” he asks with a laugh.

  “Neither,” I rush. “Or maybe both?”

  Before I can finish, the server appears, sliding two frosty mugs to us, and I thank her profusely, relieved for the distraction. Heaven knows I need to come up with something else to talk about. I’m so amped up right now I’d probably dive into the horrid tale of Kenneth and his head wound.

  We both choose burgers—mine the All-American and his the portabella—and Ryan insists we try the oak-grilled artichoke and sweet potato fries. He clinks his glass to mine and sips.

  “So, how’s work?”

  “Okay. To be honest, it’s different than I’d imagined.”

  “What kind of cases do you work on?”

  I twist my hands, wishing I had something more admirable to share. “Well, right now I’m working on a personal injury case. It’s an animal bite.”

  “Huh. Is that typical?”

  “I’m grateful for the case and all, but it’s not the kind of thing I want to ultimately make a career of.” I sit up straighter. “One of my professors in law school told us stories of all the people he’d helped fight the good fight. It inspired me in a big way, you know? Like that’s what got me out of bed before sunrise to study. It’s what made me work hard even when I thought my brain was going to explode across the library.” He looks at me with such intensity that I’m sure he thinks I’m a complete book nerd. “Excuse the rant. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “It was passionate. I like it. And one way or another, I think you’ll find the good fights. You lit up when you talked about it.”

  His cell phone buzzes on the table, and we bo
th glance at it. “Should you check that?”

  He picks it up, reading the text. “Give me one sec. I need to respond to this.”

  “Sure.” Even though we’ve ordered, I scan the menu.

  He types quickly and sets his phone in front of him. “That was Gina, the girl I was talking to outside the gym the other day.”

  “Oh.” My heart sinks all the way down to my feet as though it’s on the Pacific Plunge. I grapple for something else to say, but my mouth won’t work.

  He spins his phone with a finger and slides it across the table so it lands near the wooden condiment holder. “Kind of an awkward situation. We went out a few times—totally casually, like a month ago. I wasn’t feeling it. She’s a cool girl and all, but you know that all-clear sign you talked about?”

  “Yeah.” My heart stills and stiffens, as though preparing for a punch. Cupping my hands around my frosty mug, I tell myself to change the subject. But my mouth is up and running and way ahead of my brain. “Is it there with her now?”

  He shakes his head. “No, not at all. When she showed up the other day, I was surprised. I haven’t seen her since the last time we went out.” His eyes go wide. “She wanted me to go to a party with her. Totally random.”

  “Just out of the blue, like you weren’t texting or anything?”

  “No.” He frowns. “Well, she’d texted me a few times to do this or that, but I told her I was busy. And it’s not like there’s anything wrong with her. It was me. I wasn’t myself around her. She made me uncomfortable. That’s not someone I want to pursue. I mean, a relationship should be easier, right?”

  “I don’t know. You realize you’re asking someone who sucks at them, right? You may want to seek advice from someone better informed.”

  He laughs. “I think they’re supposed to be easier.”

  “That’s the word on the street. Maybe it’s a know-it-when-you-see-it type of thing.”

  Our server arrives, placing giant burgers in front of us. When she leaves, Ryan raises his glass to mine. “Cheers once again.” He tucks into his burger as I check mine. It’s stacked high with crisp lettuce and tomatoes, the thick patty topped with a slice of cheddar and two slabs of hickory-smoked bacon. I have to admit, it looks amazing, and I take a delicate bite.

  “I feel like I need a disclaimer with this thing. It’s going to be messy.”

  “Who cares? The messier, the better.” He holds up his burger. “This one’s awesome, by the way. You want to try it?”

  “Sure.”

  He passes it to me, and I hand mine to him, as if we share food all the time. I take a bite. “Oh my God. I never would’ve guessed mushrooms could be so good.”

  “Can’t go wrong with portabellas,” he says as we switch back. “The bacon is awesome, too.” His eyes meet mine, and he laughs. “This is one of my finer training sessions. I’m feeding my client bacon.”

  “To be fair, I’m feeding myself the bacon. You just aren’t stopping me.”

  “Good point. I’m off the hook.”

  Will my date with Lachlan be this easy? I start to ask Ryan if he’s ever asked out a girl he just met, but think better of it.

  I can barely make it through half my burger, but Ryan polishes his off, along with the rest of the sweet potato fries. When the bill arrives, we both pull out cash without any discussion.

  “This was a great training session. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His hand lands on the small of my back as we stand. It stays there all the way to the front of the restaurant. Granted, it’s crowded, and it could be his instinct to lay a protective hand on any female he’s with. But I like it just the same. If someone were to see us, they might think, she’s with him.

  He grabs a handful of mints at the hostess stand and unwraps one before dropping it into his mouth. “They’re peppermint. Want one?”

  What I want is your hand back where it was. “I’d love one. Thanks.”

  He plunks a mint into my hand. “I always keep a stash of these. Wouldn’t want to lose clients because I have bad breath.” He winks. “Or worse, stink.”

  “We’re all eternally grateful for that. And please tell me if I ever stink.”

  He looks at me sideways as we step outside. “Now that you mention it…”

  I jab him in the arm.

  “Kidding. You smell great.”

  Three little words and I’m melting. I pause next to the bench by the door, resting my hand on the back of it. “Hang on a sec.” I slip off my shoes and hold one in each hand, and we stroll up the street. A storefront with Madame Clary, Psychic Readings and Tarot painted on the window in swirly script catches my eye. Madame Clary, or one of her cohorts, sits out front, bundled in a crocheted blanket. A crystal ball and a candle with hanging clumps of amber wax adorn the round table where she sits. “Ah, beautiful couple. Come, come,” she says, motioning toward us like the wicked witch in Snow White before offering the poisonous apple. “I will tell you your love forecast.” She smiles serenely. “Only twenty-five dollars.”

  Ryan holds up his hand. “Thanks. We’re not a couple.”

  I try not to glare at her. If she were a real psychic, she would’ve known better. Ryan’s response plays in my head. It flowed out so effortlessly, as though our being a couple would never happen. I wish he would’ve stumbled on his words at least a little bit, for no other reason than it would’ve made us feel like a possibility.

  But once again, I need to face the facts: we have a professional relationship. That’s it. We’re friends—nothing more. God, maybe he answered so vehemently because he’s concerned I’m getting the wrong idea.

  His voice jolts me from my musings. “I’ll tell you your future. You’re going to end up with frostbite on your feet if you keep walking barefoot.” He turns his back to me. “Hop on.”

  “Like a piggyback ride? No way. Besides, my skirt will creep up and the world at large will have a view of my undies. No thank you.”

  He faces me. “So tie your jacket around your waist. Look, I can’t feed you bacon and have your feet fall off all in one night.”

  To be honest, my feet are cold—certainly not to the point where I’ll get frostbite, but still. I shake off my blazer and tie it around my waist. “Just climb right on? I won’t knock you over?”

  “Oh, please. Have you failed to notice these arms?”

  A million times a day. “Very funny.”

  “I try. Now get on up.”

  He turns, and I grip his right shoulder as I hop, fumbling to catch his left shoulder as he grabs my legs and jostles me into place. A blush rises up my neck. It’s been so long since I’ve had a piggyback ride I didn’t consider his hands would be on my bare legs. My bare thighs, if I’m being technical. I focus on keeping my shoes from whacking him in the face so I don’t have to think about his hands. Words fly out of my mouth like nervous little birds flitting through the air. Ryan chuckles as he trudges up the hill. When he laughs, his grip tightens. I’m sure he isn’t aware of it.

  We reach the top of the block, and he gently sets me down next to my car. “You’re like a gnat. I could hardly feel your weight.”

  “Ha. It’s because of those fierce biceps.”

  He smiles and runs a hand along his arm, pausing at the timepiece tattoo.

  “How’d you come up with that? The timepiece bursting from the skull is cool.”

  “Thanks. I drew it when I was stressed about whether or not I should quit school. It felt like I was running out of time, and if I made the wrong choice, I’d screw everything up and it’d be too late.” He taps the skull with a finger. “But then I realized it was only in my head. Time means nothing unless we allow it to dictate what we do. I don’t ever want to feel like I can’t do something because it’s too late. If it’s worth doing, time doesn’t matter.”

  “But sometimes it does matter.”

  “Because?”

  “Because you don’t know when your time is up.”

  He touches a h
and to his chest. “No. We don’t.”

  I tip my head down. “Sorry. I don’t mean to get all pessimistic on you.”

  His hand finds my shoulder, pressing with a reassuring touch. “You don’t need to apologize. Look, I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent, but I can only imagine how painful it is. All I can say is, I bet your dad would want you to live in happiness, not in a frantic race. Looking at his photographs, it stood out to me how he captured moments. Like he really stopped to see things and appreciate them.”

  I take a step back. I have to. He’s not supposed to notice things about my dad’s photography like that. He keeps inching his way into my heart, and if I don’t start doing a better job of blocking him out, my heart’s going to shatter. He doesn’t feel that way about me. How many times do I have to remind myself before it sinks in?

  He looks down at his hands. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to make assumptions.”

  “No, it’s okay. What you said was nice. Thank you.”

  He studies my face, his eyes moving side to side as though I’m a page in a book. He touches a hand to the back of his neck and steps closer to me. “I’m glad we got to hang out. I had fun with you.” He pauses for a flicker of a second and throws his arms wide to hug me. It’s a friendly gesture. Nothing more. But I can’t stop myself from tucking into his strong arms, breathing him in. It doesn’t escape me that he smells amazing and his shoulders feel solid beneath my fingers, like he could catch me if I fell.

  Even though I don’t want to, I step out of our hug. “Text me if the gym’s still closed for my next session. I hope they fix it soon.”

  He nods. “Yeah. See you later, Katie.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kenneth prattles on about the depo he just returned from in which he annihilated the defense expert. He wheezes a weedy laugh. “Their frigging expert supported our case! It was beautiful.”

  “That’s great!” I say, hoping I sound impressed rather than bored.

  He slaps the desk. “Now, I need to know you’re on top of Culpepper. I’d like to review the photos this afternoon, and I need the settlement demand brief by Monday at the latest.”