by Bria Quinlan
Didn’t he know how important this stuff was?
But, his dad. That made sense. Much safer than Dex. But his dad was really far away. What if he couldn’t get here in time? Maybe Dex would be better. And me. I’d want to know if something happened to him. What if no one called me? What if people didn’t know to call me?
“What about me? Would someone tell me if you’re not okay? You have to make sure people know to call me. I don’t want to find out you’re dead on Facebook.”
Connor was shifting again, trying to unlatch my legs and arms from around him, but I was even more set on the nuzzling. There was no way he was going to get up and go die and no one tell me.
I felt the tears on my cheeks, panicked tears.
“Hailey.” He pulled at my arms again. “What’s going on? You need to let go just a little bit so I can see you.”
I slid my arms down and then latched them under his arms instead of around his neck so I could look up at him, still holding tight.
“First of all, I’m not going to die. And if I did, we’re like one of the most famous couples on the East Coast. I’m pretty sure people would know to contact you. And, I’ll call my dad tomorrow and make sure he has all your contact information in case he needs it.” He ran his hand down my back, giving me a look full of worry. “I can even add you to the insurance notification if you want. But, what is going on here?”
“It’s just like you not knowing I’m a koala.”
He looked at me, a long patient look, as I rubbed the tears into his shoulder trying to pretend they weren’t there.
“My emergency contact information is just like you being a koala?”
“Yes! Exactly!”
He nodded, smiling down at me. “Okay. I see exactly what you mean and we’ll take care of all of it tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Something didn’t seem right with that. I wasn’t sure how we’d take care of everything tomorrow, but it seemed better to tackle these things in the daylight. “Okay.”
“So, maybe we could just go to sleep now?”
“Okay.” I let him pry my arms from around him as he shifted us to lie down and pulled the comforter up over us before I snuggled back in.
“Hails, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” Or at least, I thought I did.
10
I woke up the next day with a gut-sick feeling that didn’t have to do with the alcohol.
It was becoming apparent to me that Connor and I had a lot to learn about one another before anyone could start discussing maybe talking about maybe getting engaged.
The ways we didn’t know each other could add up faster than snails on a rock—or something. (Don’t judge me, I’m hungover). And I’d never see them coming.
I had to do something to prepare. Both of us. But especially me. To make sure I was ready and knew what I was getting into if Connor had been serious about this marriage thing. The emergency contact felt slightly less urgent, but still seemed important.
From under my pillow where I hid from the morning sunlight, I could hear Connor banging around in the kitchen, probably happily making himself more caffeine with that space-stealing coffeemaker than any one human truly needed.
Glancing toward the door and seeing the luggage sitting in the corner of the room reminded me we had a relationship that meant grabbing your time together while you could. Spring training was a few short months away, and with it was Connor’s move south for over a month. Today he was jetting off to California to meet with a new athletic wear company who was courting him to be their spokesperson. They were small but passionate, and they wanted someone who had the shine to bring them a lot of attention.
Of course Connor was on their short list. The question was, could they make him feel so passionate about their brand he’d be willing to pass up the type of money Nike or Under Armour could pay?
I wandered out to the kitchen, eyes half-shut and trying to ignore the cotton taste of my mouth, to find him dressed and ready to go. It had to be later than I’d thought.
“Look who’s up!” he all but shouted at me, the masochist.
I wandered over to my stool at the counter and climbed it like it was Everest. Which was valid since it probably took as much effort. Where the heck was a professional Sherpa guide when you needed one?
“So, good time last night?” Connor set a cup of tea down in front of me. “Dancing and all that?”
“Yup.”
He reached overhead and pulled the sugar out before slamming the cabinet door shut.
“You guys get a little crazy?” He grinned.
“Nope.”
“No? Really?” He opened the silverware drawer, rattled it around looking for just the perfect spoon—the torturer—then gave it a hard shove shut.
“Nope,” I repeated.
He laughed like Satan, a loud booming laugh I’d always found endearing until today.
“Hails, it’s clear why you don’t go out very often.”
I laid my head down on the counter, trying to drown out all noises of another human being within a mile of me. A cool hand landed softly on the back of my neck rubbing little circles there, easing the tension away.
“The bartender fell in love at first sight with Abby and every time we turned around there were shots.” I turned my head a bit so I could glance up at him. “Did you know there seems to be a point where you’ve lost track of shots and are just drunk?”
“Yeah. That’s called getting drunk.” Connor looked at me like I was nuts.
“I’m not really a get drunk girl. They’re so little…litttttle, tiny shot glasses. How do they hold so much alcohol? It’s like a magic clown car glass. And then…”
“You were. Well, thank goodness you walked home from the cab all right.”
“Huh?”
He chuckled—a kinder, softer laugh—and moved away.
Apparently I was missing something.
I tried to remember what it might be when his phone started ringing as loud as a boat horn. Connor gave a muffled answer all the way from the living room six feet away and then shoved the phone in his pocket while he pulled his coat on.
“Hails, Mac is here to pick me up.”
I whimpered a little knowing there was an answer I was supposed to give, but unsure what it was.
His hand landed on my back again, giving it a soft rub. “I’m off to California. I’ll be back in three days. You know all this.” He swung his bag over his shoulder. “Why don’t you take a bath? I’ll text you when I land and you’re back to normal.”
“I’m never going out with Abby again.” This must be her fault.
“Okay. So, I’ll talk to you tonight.”
“Yes. Don’t run away with a model while you’re gone.”
“Hailey.” I heard the reprimand in his voice. I really was trying to get past the model thing. But it still slipped out sometimes.
“Sorry. I love you.”
He kissed me on the top of my head and whispered, “Love you too, you little koala bear.”
Whatever that meant.
11
A hot bath and seven gallons of Gatorade later, I recovered from my second hangover ever. No idea what that bartender was putting in those shots, but I couldn’t understand how I could have been that drunk. Or that stupid. I stretched out in bed wondering how I was going to motivate myself to move.
Of course, with Connor gone for the weekend and the girls probably feeling the same way, there wasn’t a lot I needed to do…except work.
But it was Saturday and even writers deserved a day off occasionally—if their sanity could handle it.
I was stretched out on my couch watching Gladiator and wondering if Connor had landed in LA yet when there was a gentle knock on the door.
I thought about ignoring it, but feared that soft noise would turn to a loud, insistent knock and might as well cut that off at the knees.
My building was pretty good about not letting people in, and Mrs. Lyman called the cops and reporte
d “dangerous intruders” every time a solicitor got in to go door-to-door. It made for some interesting hallway moments.
I opened the door to find Ms. Jansen from upstairs on the other side, smiling sweetly.
“Hello, dear. Is your young man home?”
I laughed at the traditional view of calling Connor my young man, even while I kinda-sorta liked it. There was something very sweet about thinking of yourself as half of something so real.
“I’m afraid Connor isn’t here right now.” I refrained from mentioning he didn’t actually live here. “He’s gone to California for some business meetings. He’ll be back in a few days.”
I was really hoping she didn’t want autographs for kids. He loved to do that and would be disappointed he wasn’t able to help her out.
“Oh, that’s too bad.” She looked past me like she didn’t know what to do since Connor was away.
“Would you like to come in?”
“Oh, no, dear. But thank you.” She looked around again and seemed to come to some type of decision. “Would you give him this?”
She handed me a card in an envelope. It was sealed. Which honestly was disheartening. I’m not good with my curiosity being stymied like that.
“Of course.” I gave her my best smile wondering if I could just get it out of her. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Just tell him I appreciate all he’s done and…well, that’s it.” She gave me the loveliest smile and headed toward the stairs.
She was so fragile looking that whenever I came across her in the hall, I always felt I should walk her to her apartment. At eighty-four she was still, as my mother would say, a hot ticket. But a fragile looking one who should be escorted to her apartment anywhere that involved stairs.
But Ms. Jansen was extremely independent. Apparently she still hosted a poker night the first Wednesday of every month. She and the HOA tyrant, Marjory, had it out last summer about her and her senior partners-in-crime wild ways.
I totally wanted to be her when I grew up.
I was deep in the world of Joan Wilder when, far across my tiny apartment, my phone started to buzz since I’d turned the ringer to vibrate.
I dragged my body up off the couch and across the room to my office-slash-coat-closet in the dining room to where my phone was plugged in after a hard day of Candy Crush. The phone stopped buzzing and I considered turning around and heading back to Romancing the Stone, but figured while I was four feet closer to the kitchen, I should take advantage.
It was time for microwave popcorn and Diet Coke. Dinner of champions.
Sometimes it was great to be single. Sitting around, watching my choice of movies in a worn-out pair of PJs, eating whatever I wanted and not sharing.
Way better than going out to crowded clubs.
Of course, it would be nice if someone were here to rub my feet.
And cuddle with.
And try to out-quote our favorite scene.
But, really. A girl sometimes just needs a solo night in to enjoy herself.
Which I would be getting plenty of when spring training rolled around.
The sad part was, I loved being solo. I never had a problem being by myself. Most guys didn’t last through an entire book writing/publication cycle. I was used to that. But, in just a few months, Connor had managed to fit himself and his crazy schedule inside my life and my crazy schedule.
And now here I was popping popcorn by myself and wondering why it was so quiet.
The popcorn was done and I was pouring a healthy amount of vanilla extract in my Diet Coke when my phone buzzed again. I glared at it across the room. The worst that happened if I went and checked was I’d have it for more Candy Crush now that it was recharged.
But when I picked it up my heart did a little flip flop as I saw Connor’s smiling face looking up from the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hails.” Connor sounded tired…and relieved.
“I thought you had meetings all evening.” It was hard to hide how happy I was to hear his voice. The text when he’d arrived was great, but disappointing.
He hadn’t been able to talk because they’d landed so late that he had to go straight into a meeting with Dex to prep.
“I’m hiding in the bathroom.”
I would have thought he was kidding except for his hushed voice and the flush that echoed in the background.
“Why in the world are you doing that?”
“This meeting is going on forever. These guys drink like fish, and honestly, you’re a cute drunk but I’ve maxed out on adults who can’t hold their liquor for the year.” He laughed at the end letting me know he was teasing.
“Yeah, yeah.” Like I had a defense. “Oh, Ms. Jansen stopped by.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone before he replied. “She did?”
Either my Spidey senses were tingling or that was suspicious.
Or I was still a wee bit hungover.
“Yup. She left you a card for helping her out with something.”
“Oh. That was sweet.” He sounded relieved again.
“Are you having an affair with Ms. Jansen?” Because strange women showing up at my door and a suspicious acting boyfriend typically leaned that way.
“What? Hails, really.” He actually sounded put out. “Even my powers of attraction are only so strong.”
“Um, right.” Who knew I’d have to humor him even from across the country? “Anyway, it’s here for you when you get back.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Okay, that was enough with the freaking pausing. My curiosity was obviously stronger than my restraint.
“Connor…”
“Hailey…”
“Why did Ms. Jansen bring you a card?” This seemed like a really weird thing to have to pull out the Direct Approach for.
“I helped her out with her moving thing.” He said this like it was common knowledge.
“With moving something?”
“No,” he went on in that hushed voice. “With her moving thing. She’s moving.”
“Ms. Jansen is moving?” My stomach did a quick flip. “How did I not know this?”
More change? The things I didn’t know about my own community were adding up way too quickly.
“I’m surprised she didn’t mention it while she was there.”
Yeah. Me too. What was going on? Maybe she hadn’t let the Board know and didn’t want to put me in a tough place with Marjory. Which, granted, we were already going head-to-head on enough things this year.
“I have to go.” Another toilet flushed behind him. “I just wanted to hear your voice and break up the monotony of men arguing over who had the better career when none of them played more than two years.”
I could picture him, sitting at the table, his whiskey neat in hand, wanting to scream, “Me! I had the better career! That’s why you’re trying to hire me if you don’t bore me to death first!” But instead pasting on his public smile and trying not to nod off while fighting to keep his ego in check.
“Okay. Have fun!” I put a particularly perky upbeat on that, knowing that only one of us got to go back to popcorn, Romancing the Stone, and Candy Crush.
Because, no matter how awesome I was as a girlfriend, I was just as super-powered solo.
I glanced around the apartment again, feeling like I’d found my stride. All this change was just one more little bump in the road of world domination…
12
Monday morning I was back on track and off to the gym.
It was surprising how easy it was to fall back in my solo routine even though I missed Connor. Still, part of me wondered if I was relieved to have all my space to myself again…well the space not taken up by his Xbox, Keurig, clothes, and collection of athletically minded shoes.
The gym was nice. I got in a yoga class before heading home, enjoying one of those rare mid-winter days that was war
m enough, dry enough, and calm enough to be outside without four coats on. Even so, when I got to my building I was happy to have the new sheltered foyer to hunt down my keys and get the door open.
Fine. Score one for Marjory—darn it. Foyers kind of rocked.
I was rummaging through my gym bag when the inside door opened. Perfect timing.
I glanced up to thank whichever neighbor was coming out only to be facing a stranger. In a uniform. Smiling.
“Ms. Tate. Welcome home.” A stranger who knew my name.
Um…
“I’m Dan, the daytime doorman.”
“The daytime doorman?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A doorman.
Or, a daytime one.
This had more Connor’s obsession with safety and the HOA written all over it. I tried not to glare at the man politely holding the door.
“And so we have you during the weekdays?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here during the weekdays. And Joe will be working the evenings. And we’re still looking to hire for the overnights and weekends.”
Overnights and weekends. There was going to be a man standing in our brand-new foyer twenty-four hours a day. Not to mention the man currently standing there wasn’t what you expected in a nice, little doorman.
This one was hot. And young and fit. Honestly, he looked more like one of Connor’s teammates than a doorman. A doorman was like Frank, the older man who made me sign into my agent’s office building when I went to visit.
“So you’re here to let people in?” Because that seemed like a huge waste of money—and not a big enough job for Marjory to push for.
Dan looked for a moment like he didn’t want to explain his job, but then heaved a sigh as if he’d known this was coming.
“We’re hired to do a little more than that.”
“Okay. Like what?” Because I was really confused about the sighing and such.
“Well, we’ll screen anyone stopping by. We’ll also buzz you to see if you’re available and want to allow them up. Mrs. Lyman will no longer have a reason to call the police a few times a week about stalkers when it’s just door-to-door sales guys.”