Satisfied, we hop out of the car and make our way to my apartment. He hangs back behind me a bit, his head down and his fingers flying across the screen of his phone. He’s probably missed a thousand calls on the way here. I wonder how often he has to communicate with his “people” and about what. I get my answer when we burst through my apartment door and he plops down on the couch without so much as looking around.
“Never a day off,” he says. He shows me stats of missed texts, an email inbox with seventeen new messages (he says he just cleaned them out this morning during his insomniac moments) and four voicemails. All within two hours. One of the texts, I see, is from Robbyn Forderly. Yes, the Robbyn Forderly. Jase’s sister . . . and Niles’s ex.
Oh, man. This opportunity is too prime. I cannot let this go.
“Soooo, Robbyn,” I say, nodding toward his phone. I know I shouldn’t go there. I really shouldn’t go there. But I really, really can’t help myself.
“Jase’s sister? Yeah?” He makes it sound like she’s just some girl.
“You guys dated for quite a while, right?”
Niles looks at me a moment, then straightens his lips and casts his eyes up to my ceiling. He stares up there for ages, as though magical instructions for answering a crazed fan’s question about your ex-girlfriend might be hiding amongst the terrible popcorn patterns. After an eternity, he drags his eyes back to me and says, “My and Robbyn’s relationship—or should I say dynamic—is pretty complex.”
Complex, huh? What does that mean? Since his eyes immediately settle back onto his phone, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to offer much more information than that. All righty then. Strike a nerve, much?
I walk to the kitchen to pour a glass of iced tea and, for the millionth time this morning, think about my desperate need for a shower. But will I actually hop in while he’s sitting in my living room? I would die if he saw me sans makeup. I already look like a wreck enough as it is.
I gotta get him out of here and onto the trails so I can pull myself together. When I ask him if he plans to go running soon, he perks right up, asking if I’m sure I don’t want to go with him. Of course I do, but I don’t want to keel over in his presence, so I remind him of my hangover status and he nods in understanding. We agree to grab a quick bagel on the way to the trails, and I’ll drop him off and come back for him in an hour and a half. It’s impossible to get lost on the trails, and I pledge to take him to a more remote spot that will better ensure his anonymity. Good. This is all good.
He heads to my bathroom to change (OMG, Niles Russell is taking his clothes off in my bathroom!) and saunters out wearing gym shorts that look like they’ll fall off and a tank top you could fit three more people into.
“Dude.” I yank at the hem of his shirt. “You’re making the big bucks now. You should probably spring for some sleeker running clothes.”
“Meh, clothes just get all sweaty. Who cares? These shoes, though? These sons of bitches cost me a mint.” He kicks his right foot out for my inspection, and it’s true. His shoes are terribly kickass.
We walk past the girls’ bedroom on the way to the kitchen and even though the door is partially closed, he stops to peek in. I cringe, knowing what’s coming next.
“Girls, huh? How old?”
And there it is. The “kid” conversation. I knew it was bound to come up, even though I was totally hoping to avoid it. It seems weird admitting I have young kids with someone else when the book I wrote was so clearly not written from the Kallie the Mom side of my personality. But something about the wistful look on his face and the genuinely interested tone in his voice makes me feel like it’s okay. He’s not judging me. He’s legitimately curious. About me. About my life.
“Um, Jillian’s seven and Alana is nine.” Before the words are even fully out of my mouth, my mind goes to them, picturing their little bodies bouncing on their beds, singing goofy songs and giggling loudly. I see Jilly’s blond hair wave past her shoulders, while Alana’s brown ringlets stop at her chin. They look nothing alike, yet they each favor their parents (Jillian, me; Alana, Brad.) I wonder how they’re doing. What they’re up to. If everyone is getting along.
“Ah, you’re missing them hard,” Niles says. My eyes fill up as I nod my agreement. “Yeah, you just got that ‘mom’ look. My mom still gets that look whenever I leave after a visit home, and I’m thirty-freaking-one.” He pulls their door closed. “Where are they? At your ex’s for the week?”
“Try the whole summer. Brad took them to his parents’ in North Carolina. They usually go for a few weeks at a time—Brad is a teacher—but this summer, they’re staying longer.”
“Whoa. That’s gotta be rough. I can’t imagine.” He rubs my back for a second, then takes my shoulders and turns me toward him. “Hey, I have an idea. I’m not sure if you’d even be down for this but how about . . .” he inches closer, “how about I do what I can to keep you distracted this summer?” His funky eyes search mine, turning my knees into mush.
Well, this is unexpected. I don’t know what he means by that, but it sure does sound intriguing. And if it means I’ll see and talk to him again, I am all in. Like, all in.
“How about,” I breathe, “that sounds amazing!”
CHAPTER NINE
Friendly Fire
It takes longer than I remember to get to and from the trails, so by the time I drop Niles off, I have only forty-five minutes to shower and apply makeup. A nearly impossible feat. So, I’m thrilled when he texts to tell me he needs another hour. Apparently, his run has gotten his juices flowing and he wants to spend a little time thinking through some lyrics. I hate thinking about him sitting alone in the woods, but I’m thankful for the extra time to spruce up. And maybe call Sara!
Upon phone inspection, it appears Sara has called me six times since midnight. She’s probably pissed I haven’t called her back yet, but what I have to say is well worth the wait. I also see there is a quick text from the girls, saying simply, “Love you and miss you, Mom. Talk to you soon.”
I close my messages and scroll through my photos from last night. There are tons, though I don’t see the now nearly famous (between Niles and me) Tongue photo. I’m sad. I really, really wish I had that one on my phone. If nothing else, for proof that we came thisclose to intimacy. Okay, that’s a total lie, but still. I flip through them one by one, remembering each moment and the way it felt to be so close to him. Last night was wild and fun. Today feels different, though it’s still very exciting and actually rather comfortable.
My stomach squeezes when I think again about his promise to “distract” me this summer. We didn’t get into details (I was rendered positively speechless after I eked out my “sounds amazing,” and he didn’t say anything more either). But “summer,” to me, means more than one day, right? As in, we’ll see each other again after he leaves today? Where? When? How? My mind goes crazy, considering all the options.
I finally call Sara while my hair dries and I start the laborious process of putting on my face. (I am so not a natural beauty. To look even “natural” takes a lot of work. Sigh.) She answers after a millisecond of a ring, her voice a raspy, scolding whisper.
“Did you have sex with him?!”
“What? No!” Sara was never one for extreme tact.
“Then what the fuck took you so long to call me back?” I envision her hand cupped around her mouth and phone, shielding her kids from the by-products of her sailor mouth.
“You won’t even believe me when I tell you.” I seriously don’t know where to start. I rehearsed a bit while in the shower, but now not one word I planned to say actually comes out.
“Swear you didn’t have sex with him?”
“Yes, I swear. I wish, but no, we didn’t. Promise.”
“Did he try?”
“No.” I suddenly feel weirdly bummed about this. Why didn’t he try? “He’s been a perfect gentleman.” That’s why.
“Did he kiss you?”
“No. Well, yes.”
“Yes?? Kallie, I told you not to kiss him! But holy shit, that’s kind of amazing!”
“Relax. It was just on the cheek. Insert sad face here.”
“No sad faces needed. Cheeks are enough right now. Did you flirt? Did you get along? What’s he like? Is he an ass in real life?”
I suck in a breath. He is the opposite of an ass. I tell Sara that. I tell her all sorts of stuff, but keep some of the good stuff to myself. Namely, the tongue touch and our hotel nap. I figure those details will come out eventually, but for now, I hold them close.
“Where is he now? Back on the bus?”
“Uh, not even.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Let’s just say that if you went for one of your beloved runs on the Greensbury Trail right now, you’d see someone interesting.”
There’s a long silence on her end. I can pretty much hear the hamster wheels turning in her head.
“Kallie, what the hell? Are you even saying Niles Russell is here? In town? Running on our freaking trails? While I’m here listening to my kids fight and damn near kill each other?”
“That is what I’m saying.”
“My God! How did he get here?”
“He drove. My car.”
“Jesus. You are such a liar.”
Before she can accuse me further, I tell her the whole story of how and why he’s here. I tell her how he changed in my bathroom and how he dresses like a bum, aside from some pretty spectacular running shoes. (This impresses Sara. She has more running shoes than anyone should.) I tell her how I almost barfed during the car ride home and how we walked through my courtyard without a single raised eyebrow from onlookers. She begs me to take her with me when I go to pick him up, but I tell her no way. I want to squeeze every second I can out of our time together before he takes off for their next stop. Besides, that’d be kinda creepy.
After listening to her pout profusely, I shut Sara up by telling her about Niles’s promise to distract me this summer. I can tell she’s hovering on the diving board of the Squee Pool, but she won’t quite jump in.
“Dear, sweet Kallie,” she tsks. “From what you say, Niles does sound like a pretty cool guy. But, again, I think it’s worth reminding you who he is and where he’s been. He could probably have any girl he wants. He maybe does have any girl he wants. Not that you’re not gorgeous and wonderful, honey, but I’d keep your guard up. With a guy like that, you have to wonder what he really wants with little old you. You know?”
I know it’s in the Best Friend Doctrine to keep watch over your favorite girl, but I’m still a little miffed by this statement. Of course I’ve wondered the same thing. But then I remind myself that I wrote a book about him. That’s kind of a big deal. Who wouldn’t want to meet the person who wrote a book about you? That’s why he called, and we’ve connected on a hundred levels since. Less than eighteen hours after actually meeting, we’re easy friends. And there is no denying there’s some super-hot sexual tension there. She can be as skeptical as she wants, but I’m taking it as it comes.
And as of right now, everything’s coming along pretty darn well.
CHAPTER TEN
You Can Run, But You Can’t Hide
“Thanks for meeting me,” Niles says. He spreads out the blanket he asked me to bring and settles onto his back. “Seems pretty quiet out here. Nobody but me is stupid enough to run on a hot day like this.”
I almost didn’t find him. We’re on the furthest trail from the park entry and the terrain to get here was a little rough. He’d found a clearing and settled in for an impromptu inspiration break. When he texted me to join him, my own creative fire was stoked and I couldn’t imagine a single thing better than hanging out in the woods with my muse. I mean, please. Maybe I’d get some great ideas for Nash and Emily #2.
“I fucking despise writing lyrics sometimes,” he whines, looking up through a canopy of leaves.
I shake my head in an attempt to dislodge the words I just heard.
“Seriously? Your lyrics are amazing.” There is no way my muse struggles with lyrics. No way. They’re too perfect. Too him. Too—seemingly—effortless.
“You write,” he says, turning to look up at me. “Sometimes it flows, sometimes it doesn’t. Right?” Just like at the hotel, he pats the spot to the left of him. “C’mere.”
I plop down, but again, not too close.
“Somebody’s shy today,” he says with a smile. Of course, my face catches fire once again. And, of course, he notices it. “That’s okay. It’s cute.”
He props himself up on his elbows, his chest and stomach creating a nice, hard, straight line. His shirt is so big, the back of it droops toward the blanket and through the oversized armholes I get a nice eyeful of his sides and back. His skin is smooth and flawless. Not a single freckle in sight. Ohmagaw.
“So, Nash was a pretty romantic guy,” he says. “Did Emily ever get freaked out by that?”
Freaked out? By a romantic guy? Uh, no.
“Not once they got to know each other.” I shoot him a knowing look.
“Do you think he ever felt like a pussy? You know, for being so soft?”
A pussy? My Nash? Not a chance!
“No, Niles, he didn’t. Not ever. Nash is a guy’s guy, all the way. But, shit, when you fall for someone, you tend to lose your mind a little, right? Emily had already lost it for Nash before she even met him. When they finally did meet, there was heat. No denying it. No tour or ex-lover or real-life situation could thwart that. He was touched that she dug him so much and that she could feel something so raw for him from afar. In real life, when they met, it was even better. So he turned to mush a little.” I raise my eyebrows to punctuate my passionate little impromptu monologue. “It happens.”
“Yeah. It does.” Niles takes my right wrist, which I have all my weight on, and pulls it out from under me. There’s nowhere for me to go but down. In an instant, I am inches from his face, my right elbow on the ground and my left arm draped across his chest.
“Do you think something like that is happening right now, Kallie?” he whispers.
I don’t even have a chance to answer; it all happens so fast. One second, his head is rising, his lips definitely traveling straight toward mine. The next second, the rhythmic stomp of running shoes and a far-too-excited, “Kallie?!” halts everything.
I fling myself off him and stare up at our intruder. Once my eyes focus, I see it’s Katherine Koch, the mom of Alana’s best friend. We’ve gotten to be friendly over the past couple years ourselves, and like nearly every mom in our circle, she is very aware of my book.
“Katherine, hey!” I try my hardest to be casual, but there is definitely a very, very big elephant in this room. “Gorgeous day, right?”
“Yeaaaahhh,” she says. Her eyes are no longer on me. At all. There’s no hiding this. She’s staring straight at Niles. Niles without a hat or sunglasses to hide behind because they’re sitting on the blanket next to him. Oh my God, we are so busted.
“Um . . .” What do I do now? I guess I have no choice. “Katherine, this is . . .”
“Wow, yeah,” she says, flinging her hand out toward Niles. “Huge fan!” Niles takes her hand and shakes it gently. He’s in rock star mode, just like that. He’s sitting up straighter and has that “look.” It occurs to me just how natural and normal he is when it’s just the two of us. I get a chill thinking about how I’ve gotten to see the “other” side of him.
“Thank you. Really nice to meet you. Sorry, I’m a kinda gross.” He smiles his gorgeous smile and I’m pretty sure Katherine melts just like I do.
“You’re fine, really,” she gushes. “Can’t wait for the new album. Hope it’s soon.” I think Niles nods, but this is all so surreal, I’m not really sure.
“I’ll, um, leave you two alone. Great to meet you. And Kallie, give me a call sometime soon, okay?” Her eyebrows lift so high that for a second I think they’re going to meet her hairline.
“Sure. And Katherine?” I gaze at her pleadingl
y. “Could you please keep this, you know, discreet?”
She looks at Niles again and then back at me. “Of course. Sorry to interrupt. Take care, guys.”
***
“So, I’m wondering something,” Niles says. He’s just gotten out of my shower (Niles was in my shower! Presumably naked!) and is standing in front of me wearing yet another set of clothes, his hair damp and messy.
I know it’s rude to blow him off when he’s talking, but I finally cannot resist a second longer. Against my better adulting judgment, my hand makes a beeline toward his head and hovers by his ear. “May I?”
“May you what?”
“I’m obsessed with your hair. Where do you think Emily got her obsession for Nash’s hair?”
He shakes his head and laughs. “You girls and your hair fetishes.” He takes my hand and steers it the rest of the way. My fingers plunge in and are happier than any fingers have ever been. I shiver, completely embarrassed that touching someone’s strands could make me so crazy.
“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” he laughs.
“And more.” My fingers don’t want to stop, but keeping them in there much longer would border on awkward, so I reluctantly pull them out and swear never to wash my hands again. “Now, what is it you were wondering?”
“Yeah . . . so . . . I was at this hotel once,” he says, walking toward the living room. I follow. “Not too long ago, actually.” He pulls me onto the couch and sits very close. “It was pretty late, after the after-party. I was settling in and before I turned on the TV, I heard something.” He fixes his gaze on something across the room, though I can’t tell what.
“Some hotels are more soundproof than others,” he continues. “This one apparently was not. At first, I thought it was someone, you know, getting it onnnn.” He turns to me and winks. “But then I realized it was someone crying.”
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