The Catching Kind

by Caitie Quinn

  Free at last.

  ELEVEN

  "Everything okay?" He dropped that arm around me and steered me toward the farmers market a few blocks away. When I just nodded, he stopped and looked me over.

  "Oh. Yeah. Jenna's just having a hard couple months. I thought it might be good to get some girl time. Good for both of us."

  We walked on, just enjoying the sunshine till he stopped in front of Starbucks.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I need more caffeine." He pulled the door open. "Do you want anything?"

  "No. We just came from a place that has really good caffeine."

  "Right, but today's goal is to have our picture taken out being couple'y. I know you didn't want The Brew to become a hangout, so I thought we should carry other cups."

  I stopped halfway into the store. It was amazing how he could come out with things so...thoughtful.

  "Thanks."

  He shrugged as if it was no big deal. As if anyone would have thought of it. I hadn't thought of it and I was the one trying to protect my private life while dealing with living in his spotlight. Of course, I wasn't used to having to think things through like that. I was used to no one looking at me. The most I had to do was look reasonably cool when I went to a book signing or talk.

  Which, yeah. Me, cool? But, people expected writers to look like writers, not actresses so it was typically all good.

  Connor went in and stood in line, me at his side. Almost right away people went from glancing our direction to out-and-out staring. It didn't take a genius to realize the old-fashioned shutter click was the sound of a cell camera snagging our image. How quickly it got texted or emailed or tweeted to the world was anyone’s guess.

  Part of me was annoyed. I mean, that was the entire point of the morning and yet in the irrational back part of my head I was thinking, What's wrong with these people? Would they like their Sunday morning to be documented by the masses? Can't we just grab coffee and be left alone?

  Connor brushed my hair over my shoulder and ran his hand down my back and up again. Down and up. Every time I started to stress, Connor reached out. I’d never been around such a toucher before. It was like he needed ways to ground himself to the person he was with.

  I leaned into him a bit, wishing instead of being lit up by his fame I could hide in his shadow.

  He ordered himself another coffee and a tea for me. I listened as he made small talk with the girl behind the counter who kept giggling. She couldn’t get through a sentence without the nervous sound squeaking out. Of course, he couldn't get through a sentence without her doing it either.

  But, she was young and nice and star-struck. I tried not to blame her, but all I saw was the entire afternoon stretched out in front of me with a constant stream of giggling.

  Somehow, he kindly separated us from her small talk and moved us toward the door. We were stopped twice by fans. Both times he was incredibly gracious.

  Outwardly I smiled and stood by silently attempting to look trophy-like.

  But Connor was patient with everyone, even when I could see the edges starting to fray. He stood with a little girl wearing a pink Nighthawks’ shirt for a couple pictures. He introduced everyone to me as they introduced their friends.

  He treated every single person like we were at a dinner party and he was really excited to get to hangout with them. It was impressive. It was gracious.

  It was exhausting.

  When we finally cleared the doorway and hit the street, Connor took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

  "You'll get used to it."

  "I don't think so." I really didn't. And, I didn't see why anyone would want to. I was feeling a little shell-shocked and wondering if I could head home…and crawl under my bed.

  "It's not so bad.” He whispered, his nose just brushing by my ear. “The fans are the reason I have a job."

  I stopped. Just stopped walking. It took him two steps to realize I wasn’t with him, giving me a jolt when his hand gave mine a little yank.

  "What?" He took a sip of his coffee and glanced around.

  "It's just that..." I was more than a little surprised I was about to say this.

  "It's just that what?" he asked.

  "That's my job too."

  He looked like I was speaking a different language and I realized how disjointed my entire thought process had become.

  "Fans. That's my job too. I have to have fans or I don't have a job."

  "Oh." Out came that grin. He was using it a lot today. "Well then, see? We do have something in common."

  It was true, but it was really unexpected. Of all the things I'd thought to find in common with Connor Ryan it hadn't been this.

  Okay, so I hadn't really expected to find anything in common with him. But, if you'd told me there was something—anything—for us to have in common, it would have been something really stupid. Something obvious. Like, we both have agents. Or we both breathe air.

  Not something as important as valuing people who made our jobs—our lives—possible.

  He gave my hand a little tug as he grinned at me again.

  I just fell in step with him and tried not to ponder the fact that he had a value system in at least one area that I didn't think was shallow and worthless.

  It was a start.

  Of course, in the power balance of value-systems, womanizing still outweighed his kindness to fans way more than a few photos could ever make up for.

  TWELVE

  The farmers market was more of the same. At first we walked around fairly inconspicuously. Then, one person noticed him and the whispering started.

  The guys were easy. Unless they had a kid with them. Most of the guys just nodded and said, Hey, man, as if they knew him.

  The girls were a different situation all together. It began to feel like every girl within a twenty-block radius had honed in on the fact that OMGConnorRyan was there and wanted to get a picture or autograph…or a date.

  Six girls in fifteen minutes offered their number. One girl offered up more than that.

  Each time Connor just smiled and said, "Sorry, darlin'. I'm off the market."

  Half of them glowered at me. The other half just looked confused.

  One poor girl asked if he'd started dating someone.

  Connor looked at her like she must be a little slow.

  "Yes. Hailey." He'd taken his hand from mine to sign her hat. Now he took my hand back and gave it a little squeeze, pulling me forward into their tiny circle that had felt so exclusive a moment ago.

  The girl just looked at me, a long, confused stare.

  "This is your...girlfriend?"

  Her voice carried so much sarcastic doubt that it was as if she knew for a fact I couldn't be. That somehow she'd gotten word from someone in the know that this was all fake.

  "Yes."

  I stared, shocked by the vehemence in Connor's voice. He seemed really annoyed to be questioned. I guess I'd get that way too if my life was laid out constantly for people to ask about and judge.

  She just kept looking at me, studying me like I was supposed to tell her something. Then it dawned on me she was running through some type of fan guide to celebrity. She was trying to figure out who I was. How I could possibly have snagged the elusive bachelor.

  "Oh. Are you…?” She stared at me, looking for the answer in my face. “You're one of the Day-Martins? The tire family, right?"

  I almost said yes. She sounded so desperate for me to fit somewhere. But the last thing I needed was to be outed for masquerading as one of the heiress daughters of the Tire King.

  "Nope." I tried to think of something to add to that, but nothing else really seemed to help.

  "So, who are you? I mean, you’re famous or someone, right?" She seemed so adamant that I had to be someone I almost felt bad for her. “I mean, you couldn’t be a model or actress, so you’re someone’s daughter or something, right?”

  "Yes. She is.” Connor’s voice had dropped an octave to a pl
ace that showed, for the first time he was controlling his annoyance. “She’s someone who is smart and kind and funny."

  I squeezed his hand. I had no idea where this was going, but I knew it had to be something he really did not want to hear.

  "But—"

  I gave Connor's whole arm a tug, trying to get him those first few steps to get moving. "It was nice to meet you." I grinned at the girl, giving her my best, wasn’t this great? smile as I tried to ignore the fact that she was standing there all but outright insulting me to my face.

  But Connor was deciding to show me yet another facet of his personality: Stubborn.

  "But what?" He shifted toward the girl so he could look down at her and flashed her one of the most devastating smiles I'd ever seen. That would include on the big screen.

  I wanted to shout, Don't do it! Do not believe that smile!

  "Well, you only date famous women, so she’s not…you know, your type."

  I could feel the last bit of ease slip out of Connor's body only to be replaced with alert tension.

  "She's not my type?" he asked very, very carefully.

  "Not really."

  "And yet, I asked her out. We've gone on dates. Last night I stayed at her place so we could spend today together. We were just talking about getting a dog."

  I started laughing. It was amazing how he could get away with that absolute pile of absurdity when none of it was true because none of it was a lie.

  "What?" Now he was giving me A Look. "Were we not just talking about a dog?"

  "Oh, we were definitely talking about a dog.” I shook my head at him because what else was I going to do at this point. “We were also talking about your crazy schedule and how I'm not going to go around picking up dog poo all the time because you're on the road."

  Bit by bit, he started to relax. It was as if the moment had let him step away and realize how stupid it all was.

  "I'd hire a dog walker,” he stated as if that were going to solve all the problems of the world.

  "And where's this dog sleeping when you're away?"

  "At your place."

  "Where in my place do you think a dog is going to fit?"

  "There's a perfectly good corner in the bedroom behind that cushy chair thing."

  "There's a lamp behind that chair."

  "So, we move the lamp."

  "To where, the fire escape?"

  Connor was laughing, the tension gone, the girl all but forgotten. "Fine. I'll get a dog sitter for when I'm out of town."

  "You're going to have a dog nanny. He's going to be so confused about who his daddy is. He's going to be one of those kids who calls the nanny mom by accident. He'll chew up all your shoes because he's feeling angry and neglected and there's no way around that."

  "Of course there is.” He grinned, the last bit of tension seeping out. “Shoe trees."

  "Shoe trees? That's your solution to doggy abandonment?"

  "It's better than shipping him off to boarding school."

  "Is it? Is it better?” I demanded, poking a finger into his very solid chest. “At boarding school, he could play with other dogs."

  "He'll play with other dogs when the dog nanny takes him to the park."

  "But all he'll want is for you to take him to the park, but you'll be too—"

  "Wow." The girl, the one who'd started this absurd argument, was still standing there watching us argue over an imaginary dog we'd never get because we weren't really dating. "You guys really are dating."

  She turned on her heel, shaking her head at what she must believe was the ruination of one of the hottest men in sports.

  "Nice meeting you,” I called after her as she headed toward the coffee shop. Then I pulled Connor toward the street, his hand still tight in mine as we got to the sidewalk.

  "Sorry." He sounded embarrassed.

  "For what?"

  He shook his head and just kept walking, eyes straight ahead.

  "What are you sorry for?" I asked again.

  "I didn't expect anyone to talk to you like that. Even once she started, I thought I had to be misunderstanding her. And then, when I should have let it go I was just too ticked off."

  "I don't mind." I did, but I didn't. I'd been expecting it.

  "How can you not mind her insulting both of us like that?"

  Maybe because she was just insulting me?

  "Um, because?"

  "She's standing there telling you you're not good enough to go out with me and that I'm so shallow I'd never date someone who wasn't..."

  Hello corner. How's all that wet paint surrounding you?

  I cocked an eyebrow and waited to see how he was going to extricate himself from this.

  "Wasn't?" I let it sit out there, waiting to see how he'd finish it.

  "Wasn't my typical date,” he finished, pink rushing up his neck.

  Nice save. Well, as nice as it was going to get.

  "Alright then.” I said, trying to let him off the hook. Trying to let both of us off the hook and just get back to our nice, laid back weekend. “Let's just go do your walking-around-people-seeing-us thing."

  I expected him to be all gung ho about it. It had been his idea to head somewhere really public. But now he seemed like he didn't want to go anywhere.

  "Oh. I get it." I slipped out from under his arm and stepped away. "Let's just head back."

  The look of relief was more insulting than anything that girl could have said.

  "Sure,” he agreed quickly, glancing around. “We can do that."

  Obviously, he was done being seen in public with me for the day.

  I couldn’t believe how much that hurt. What had happened to, let’s be friends and let’s just chill?

  "Yeah. Don't do me any favors." I passed by the Starbucks and wondered if tactless girl was looking out the window to see Connor following a few steps behind me.

  "Hailey, wait up."

  Storming off hadn't been my best idea. For one, it didn't fit in the plan. We already looked like we were fighting. For another point, Connor was an athlete, even if I'd started running down the street—which in these new shoes was so not an option—he'd have caught me before I'd gone four feet.

  His hand wrapped around my upper arm, slowing me down but not spinning to face him.

  "What are you so ticked off about?" he asked. It was a fair question.

  Okay, no it wasn't. Anyone in his right mind would see that having people insult you would begin to wear.

  "I know I'm not your type. Every person on the planet knows it. I know other people are going to point it out over and over again. I know I'm going to be humiliated in the magazines and online as girls just like her—ones who don't have the nerve in person—all go on the warpath. But I do not need it from you. I haven't exactly thrown myself at you so I think you can relax and realize that this 'not my type' thing goes both ways."

  He looked kind of thunderstruck. Like he was really hearing me this time. I'm not sure anyone had ever told him that...besides me. Maybe it would sink in this time.

  "I'm a writer. I work with words. I create guys who girls fall in love with. And, here's the thing. It takes smarts. I'm not an idiot. So, if we were in my world—if I took you to a writers’ conference for instance—and everyone would ooooh and awwww over you and your chiseled looks and your flat abs, but at the end of the day, everyone would also know it wasn't going to last. The phrase dumb jock would be bandied around more than a boilerplate contract someone got her hands on that no one was supposed to see."

  Connor looked like I'd just smacked him across the face. And, yes, what I was saying wasn't nice. But I'd had enough of being on the receiving end.

  "Don't look at me like that." I was not going to feel bad about this. "I'm not saying you’re a dumb jock. I know you’re incredibly intelligent. I'm just saying that's how people would perceive you from your actions and media coverage. Your world judges based on looks. Mine judges based on books...or intelligence. Perceived intelligence."
r />   I pulled my arm away as his grip loosened and started back toward my house. Connor soldiered on next to me, sipping at his coffee and keeping his mouth shut.

  Which proved he wasn't a dumb jock, because his life was in serious jeopardy if one more wrong thing came out of his mouth.

  At my building's front door, I expected him to just go on his way, but he trudged in behind me and followed me up the stairs. I was really hoping he wasn't planning on coming in. I wasn't in the mood for one of his Apartment Conversations. I'd already started calling them ACs in my head just because thinking about all the things I couldn't say in public now needed to be abbreviated.

  I took out my key and tried to gauge what he was thinking.

  When nothing came, I slid the key home and opened the door. Stepping in, I was relieved and annoyed to see him waiting in the hall. After all the liberties he'd taken with my home in the last twenty-four hours, this seemed a little silly.

  "So. I'll give you a call,” he said, not even looking at me this time. Just as done with me as I was with him. “We'll figure out what our next move is later."

  "Okay." I walked back to the door when I realized he wouldn't even come in for an AC.

  "I have to meet with Dex and my trainer. So, I'm not sure what my schedule is. I'll make sure to have my calendar in front of me so we can line up some dates…I mean, outings.”

  "Okay."

  "Great."

  "Yup."

  "See ya."

  "Bye."

  Brilliant.

  THIRTEEN

  "What were you thinking? This is an emergency." I looked at the bag wondering what could possibly have caused such a lack of planning. "What kind of friend shows up without chocolate to an emergency meeting?"

  Jenna rolled her eyes. "Dude, this is just the alcohol. Kasey's bringing the chocolate."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah. Oh,” Jenna echoed. “What has gotten into you?"

  What hadn't? I'd been feeling guilty all day. I don't know why. I’d just fought fire with fire. It wasn't my fault he couldn't take what he dished out.

  I'd left the door cracked so Kasey and Jayne could let themselves in and join us in the kitchen as I put together the drink mix Jenna brought.