Definitely, Maybe in Love

by Ophelia London

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” I replied, looking up at her from my bedroom floor.

  “I’m not disappointed.”

  “Sorry, disapproving, I meant.”

  “I’m not…” Julia broke off when I smiled. “Are you really going out with him?”

  “If by him you mean Alex, then yes. My shift at the restaurant ran late, he’ll be here any minute.”

  She didn’t say anything as she watched me slip on my shoes, but she was humming. In Julia’s case, that was worse than outright complaining.

  “Do you have something you’d like to share?” I asked.

  The humming stopped. “No,” she said, but the timbre of her voice was unnaturally high. “Where’s he taking you?” She was behind me now, fingering my braids.

  “Dinner.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Disapproving again,” I said as I rolled to my knees then stood, reaching to turn off the radio on my desk and simultaneously shut my closet door.

  My room was uber-tiny, but I loved it. It used to be an attic, but the owners decided to squeeze one more rental fee out of the house the year I moved in. The one and only downfall was that the attic stairs were supremely loud and creaky. Last year, I paid an engineering student a hundred bucks to construct a retractable rope ladder outside my window so I could come and go without waking my roommates. To keep out any unwanted visitors, I secured a padlock on the outside of my window when I was out, and when I was in, the ladder was retracted, window locked from the inside.

  Before lowering the blinds, I made sure the ladder was down and the window was padlocked, in case Alex and I were out late.

  “I wish you were hanging out with us instead,” Julia said. There was a slight pout in her voice. “We’re watching a movie over at Dart’s.”

  “I told you, there’s no way I am hanging around that person.”

  A few days after the street party, I’d told Julia what had happened between Henry Knightly and me, the things I’d heard him say. By then, I was talking to a brick wall. She’d been hanging out with Dart every day and she just knew there had to be some kind of logical explanation. After all, any friend of Dart’s couldn’t have possibly said such mean things about me.

  I grabbed my purse and hooked the strap over my head and shoulder.

  Julia flopped down on my bed, humming again, but lifted her head when we both heard the doorbell two flights down. Following that was the sound of Anabel’s high heels rushing to answer. I moved toward my door, half worried that Anabel would find a way to steal my date right from under my nose.

  “When will you be home?” Julia asked.

  I was halfway through my threshold when I said, “When will you be home?”

  She exhaled a dainty giggle. “I hope you have a really nice time, Spring,” she said sincerely.

  I waved good night and hopped down the stairs.

  “Hi, Alex.”

  “Hey, you. Ready to go?” He was wearing that same attractive, carefree swagger from the party. “Looking good.”

  Personally, I thought Alex was the good-looking one as he stood under the porch lamp. His light brown hair was a little damp and messy, and his face had a glow that looked liked he’d just come from the gym. His hooded blue eyes sparkled as I advanced toward him.

  “Are you checking me out?” I asked, arching my eyebrows.

  He knocked his shoulder against mine. “It’s any man’s natural instinct to check you out.”

  “Try a little subtlety next time,” I suggested.

  We strolled down the walkway toward his car. It was a modest little gray Accord.

  “Sorry,” he said as he opened his door, “my, ahem, Bentley is being detailed.” He pointed across the street to where that odious black Viper was parked crooked in the driveway. Alex lifted his middle finger, making a universally known gesture in that car’s direction.

  I smiled in agreement and climbed in the passenger seat.

  “You two looked pretty cozy the other night,” he said after we’d pulled away from the curb. “I saw you talking.”

  “Who?”

  “Henry.”

  “He was talking, not me,” I corrected. “Uninvited.”

  “I wish I’d known that,” he said, watching the road. “I would’ve swept in and whisked you away with me. Far away.”

  Obviously, Alex was a big flirt. Perhaps that was why we didn’t hook up freshman year. By going out with him now, I was breaking my rule about not dating past the second week of the school year. I smiled at him, already at peace with my justifications for accepting the date. Something about him was too charismatic to pass up.

  “Don’t worry.” I patted his shoulder. “Your classes will get busy soon and you’ll forget about your obsession with me.”

  “That’s what you think, gorgeous.” He downshifted and revved the engine. “I’ve never let a little thing like school get in the way of a good time. You’ll see.” He shot me a grin that I felt in my toes. “So, what’s the story with you two?”

  “What two?”

  “You and Henry.”

  Him again?

  “There’s no story,” I said. “I met him the night of the street party, we’re neighbors, that’s it.”

  “Hmm.” Alex fingered the patch of hair on his chin. “Bet he’s the big cheese already?”

  “Doubtful.” I rolled my eyes and gazed out the window. “But you know him, right?” I bit my bottom lip, wishing I could suck the words back down my throat. I shouldn’t have asked a question like that. By the way the guy had been glaring daggers at Alex the other night, it felt way too personal, and probably something Alex didn’t want to talk about.

  My date turned to me. “I guess you caught what happened at the party?”

  I nodded hesitantly, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, especially about something Knightly did. The guy and his Viper nearly ran me over this morning. Okay, so maybe I’d been walking too slowly through the crosswalk, and maybe I didn’t really have to tie my lace-less shoe in the middle of the street, but there was no need for him to lay on the horn like that. Was he trying to piss me off? Well, I was trying to piss him off, so I guess we’re even.

  Alex turned his attention back to the road, staring forward. “The thing is, he and I go way, way back. But between you, me, and the bedpost, I’m probably the last person who should talk about him.”

  That was fine with me—I didn’t care about gossip, even Henry Knightly gossip. Right now, I was only interested in Alex. He was a business major, that I did remember. Maybe he might know a thing or two about the economics of sustainability.

  Hold on. Oh, buddy. How sweet would it be if the one person who could help me with research for my thesis, the one person whose brain I would have to pick clean, the one person who I was going to have to stick to like a conjoined twin for the next few months…was Alex Parks?

  “We practically grew up together,” Alex continued. “But we haven’t spoken in years.”

  I opened my mouth to ask who he was talking about, and then remembered. Knightly was already becoming a tired subject.

  “Guy just won’t bury the hatchet,” Alex said. “Hopefully he’s changed, but there are some things a man can’t forgive. Live and learn, right? Like I said, I’m the last person who should be talking about him.”

  Alex did talk, however. As we drove downtown, I learned that Knightly and Alex had attended the same prep school in Los Angeles. For two years they were “thick as thieves,” as Alex put it. But at the beginning of their senior year something happened.

  “I got expelled, thanks to that guy.” His voice was harsher than I expected, his long fingers gripped tightly around the steering wheel.

  I pictured the way Knightly had looked the other night. Part egotist, part sexy beast. It was easy for me to ignore the sexy part, harder to block out the jerk.

  “How?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “We were both on the soccer team. Same position. Henry was first string, I was bench. Wh
ich I didn’t mind,” he was quick to add. “I didn’t need the spotlight like he did, but when I started getting more time off the bench, he got pissed, and the next thing I know I’m being hauled into the dean’s office. A laundry list as long as my damn arm of bogus infractions thrown at me. The grapevine said it was Henry. ” He scratched his chin. “I was expelled the next day.”

  “Why didn’t you protest?”

  Alex didn’t speak for a few minutes; he was staring blankly through the windshield, as if remembering something unpleasant. I didn’t want to add to that.

  “Because of his family and connections,” he said at last, “there was nothing I could do. He was the one born with a silver spoon in his mouth, not me. I’ve had to work like the effing devil for everything I’ve got.”

  I understood this. I could also understand the bitterness he was harboring after four years. What I couldn’t understand was how he’d bent over and taken it, hadn’t fought the decision of his expulsion, hadn’t disputed it.

  “But, ya know, I never owned up to the crimes.” Alex chuckled, but there was a bite of anger underneath. “Kicked out on my ass, anyway. It was a shame, too, because I actually liked the guy, thought of him as a brother. I know his family, his little sister.” He muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t hear while he ran a hand through his light hair. “But after a while, you gotta call a spade a spade, right?” After he pulled into a parking space, he turned to me with a sigh. “I guess money can buy you anything. It even bought him admission to Stanford Law. Guy hasn’t worked an honest day in his life.” He touched a finger to my chin. “Believe me.”

  “Well, the bigger they are the harder they fall,” I offered, caught up in Alex’s rainfall of cliché sayings. “I mean, I do. I believe you.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Ready to eat?”

  “I’m starving.”

  The main drag of downtown Palo Alto was packed. Seemed all of campus was out attempting to savor one last bit of freedom before life as we knew it completely stopped. We had only a few blocks to walk, and once I was able to actually stroll beside him, Alex made it a point to laugh at whatever I said and touch me—my hand, my elbow, my shoulder. It was the usual repartee that goes along with a first date, when you don’t know much about the other person. I was an expert at the first-date routine because I seldom allowed myself a second.

  “Have you ever heard of a movie called Annie Hall?” Alex asked as we stopped at a crosswalk.

  “Woody Allen.”

  “You know The Wood-Man?” He nudged my shoulder. “I might have to marry you.”

  The light turned green, and we joined the queue of other crossers.

  “Do you remember what happened on Alvie’s first date with Annie?”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. Did Alvie forget his wallet? How typical.”

  “They were bantering in that neurotic Woody Allen way,” Alex said, shooting me a sideways glance. “Kind of like we were doing the other night.” He took my hand and tucked it into the crock of his elbow. “Alvie said to Annie something like, ‘At the end of this date, I’ll want to kiss you, but it’ll be awkward and embarrassing from all the tension. So, why don’t we get it out of the way now while there’s no pressure.’”

  “Clever,” I said.

  Alex peered at me with that lazy smile he wore so well. “The thing is,” he said, raking a hand through his hair, so charmingly nervous, “I think I’ll be feeling some similar pressure at the end of our date.”

  He stopped walking. So did I. It took two seconds for my mind to catch up to where his already was.

  After correctly assessing my grin of agreement, Alex stepped up and placed a hand on my cheek. But then he paused and glanced around, inspecting all the people ambling down the sidewalk around us. The next thing I knew, he grabbed my hand and was pulling me away.

  We walked very briskly next to each other for about five seconds, and I followed him around the corner to a parking lot. It was valet only and, aside from the dozen or so parked million-dollar vehicles, it was vacant.

  Without a word, he grabbed my free hand and yanked me forward. There was barely time for me to giggle before the kissing began. His arms were strong around me, and his lips were soft on my lips and chin and neck. Just as he had done on the dance floor, his hands were on my hips, swaying me like we were moving to music. His mouth had a minty taste, not exactly toothpaste, something sharper.

  Not that I was a prude, but even at the end of a date I would not have completely sucked face with a guy…and here it was the beginning of our first date. But for whatever reason, I wasn’t letting anything slow me down. I felt determined and a bit defiant, like I was trying to prove something to someone.

  Plus, it had been a long, dry summer back in Coos Bay, Oregon. My mother spent most of June complaining about how my father had refused again to pay for any of my tuition. Not that I was surprised…I hadn’t expected anything from my father in years. My two brothers and I decided ages ago that the sooner we forgot about him, the better. The rest of the summer, Mom delved deeper into her crystals and tarot cards. My brothers came home for only one visit. I was working two full-time jobs, anyway—no time for dating or fun. Maybe that was why I was so into Alex’s kisses.

  His hands slid to the small of my back, still rocking us to the beat of an unheard rhythm.

  Julia had a theory about there being two kinds of kisses. The first kind of kiss is when you want to experience the purely physical pleasure of kissing. There can be heat and excitement and plenty of sparks during this first kind of kiss, but it’s mostly just doing whatever will bring personal gratification. These kisses are fun and freeing and preferably non-committal. The first kind of kiss is corporeal, touching only your body and the shallowest of senses, but never deep emotions, and never your soul or your heart.

  What I was experiencing in that dimly lit parking lot was the first kind of kiss. Obviously so, since I was cognizant enough to realize that Alex was merely filling a physical desire and nothing more. My emotions, soul, and heart were all fully intact. Perfect.

  According to Julia, however, there is a second kind of kiss. This kiss comes with a whole list of prerequisite regulations. There is commitment, caring, giving, sacrifice, compromise, relationship, and especially love. Apparently, all of the above-listed rules make the second kind of kiss something more magical and earth-shaking than even the steamiest first kind of kiss.

  As Alex’s hands moved up and down my spine like I was his bass fiddle, I couldn’t imagine a thing like that were possible. But Julia did have her harebrained theories.

  First kind or not, Alex was a great kisser. Very creative. I probably could have kept it up for the full fifteen minutes—that was usually my limit before I grew bored—but when a valet attendant tried to push past us to get into the blue SUV Alex had me pressed against, we pulled apart.

  “Well, you’re full of surprises,” I said, a bit breathless.

  He touched my chin with one finger, then ran it down my neck. “Want to go back to my place?”

  “What?”

  Almost as if he were snapping out of a trance, his intense expression dissolved and his lazy smile was back. “Come on, gorgeous.” He took my hand, linking my arm through his, and we walked out of the parking lot. “You pick the restaurant.”

  “I can’t believe you stole your moves like that,” I said, thinking what a pervy beast Woody Allen must be in real life.

  Alex laughed and shot me a sideways glance. “If that’s what gets your engines blazing, I’ll be sure to talk about Henry more often.” He put his hand over mine and squeezed.

  Knightly? I almost tripped over my own feet. Why on earth would Alex be thinking about him? Or assuming that I would be thinking about him while we were kissing?

  Chapter 7

  “I’m sorry. No more empty tables.”

  I moaned and glanced over the hostess’s shoulder at the unusually, overly packed café.

&
nbsp; “It’s the rain,” she explained with a shrug. “No one wants to be outside.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, perturbed that all of Stanford apparently chose to eat at Oy Vey Café that morning.

  “You can get your order to go,” she suggested, then pointed behind me at the dozen or so people already standing in line. I guessed that was my only option.

  “She can join me.”

  Henry Knightly was sitting at a small, round table by a fogged-up window, gesturing at the empty chair across from him.

  “Is that okay?” the hostess asked me.

  “Um, well…” I looked over my shoulder to the queue at the To Go counter. Had it doubled in the past five seconds?

  “If not,” the hostess continued, “I could really use this chair at another—”

  “She’s joining me.” He pushed out the chair with his foot. “Have a seat, Spring.”

  “Jeez, be a caveman, why don’t you?” I muttered under my breath as I walked toward the table, confused, but cold and famished. Stupid rain.

  I sat across from him, ordered my breakfast, and pulled a paperback from my bag, preparing to ignore our close proximity. Not that we were exactly strangers anymore. Classes had been in session for three weeks—I ran into him practically every day, though we usually didn’t speak. All those things Alex told me on our date were hard to forget. I didn’t trust this guy…I barely liked him.

  “What are you reading?” he asked.

  I peered at him from over the book I’d been using as a shield and lowered it an inch. “Huis Clos, suivi de Les Mouches,” I answered before flipping off the French-to-English switch in my head.

  His eyebrows twitched. “Jean-Paul Sartre?”

  I put in my bookmark and placed the paperback on the table next to my poppy seed muffin. “Are you taking French?”

  “No, no.” He took a bite of the bagel in front of him. It had some kind of pink spread on it.

  For some reason, I found that extremely odd. Was it strawberry? Henry Knightly ate strawberry cream cheese?

  “I’m studying Latin,” he continued. “It helps with the law terminology. Plus, it’s a dead language.” He eyed me, kind of deadpan. “I’m trying to resurrect it.”