The Catching Kind

by Caitie Quinn

  “I did that. It still doesn’t taste the same.” Connor’s voice slipped through the door sounding frustrated.

  I ran a brush through my hair as I listened for the muffled response. It sounded high and fast. Was Jenna here? I found it hard to believe she’d just be hanging out with Connor while I slept.

  “Right. Okay, so I’ve put those in the oven and I split the two K-cups.” Something banged shut. “Wait, the oven isn’t warm. I put the little preheat button…”

  Mumble, mumble, mumble.

  I snuck down the hall and peeked around the corner to see Connor glaring at his phone.

  “I did. Why isn’t the oven warm?”

  “Did you pick a temperature and set the timer and everything?” Abby’s voice asked over speakerphone. “I should have known you'd need the cooking virgin directions.”

  “Don’t mock me, Abigail.”

  I smothered a laugh as Connor pulled a muffin tray back out of the oven and dropped it on the counter.

  “You’re extremely mockable, Connor,” Abby taunted.

  “Can I just stick these in the microwave?” I watched him slide a glance at the appliance like it might solve whatever issues he was having.

  “No. You can’t. Also, your pan is probably metal.” Abby sighed as if this were the biggest struggle ever. “I told you to just come down here and get her a muffin, but nooooo. You want to be all Cute Morning After Guy.”

  “Hey! That’s not what this is,” Connor sounded almost as annoyed by that as by the betrayal of his beloved microwave. His head jerked up, as he realized what he’d said. “I mean—”

  “Dude, trust me,” Abby interrupted. “I’m not an idiot. You guys aren’t dating. It’s a secret. Dane wants to kick your butt and Jenna’s watching you, and you’re—”

  “Um…” Connor picked up the phone and took it off speaker. “What do you mean?”

  He nodded and scowled and checked the oven to see how warm it was.

  “Abby, you get the weirdest ideas.” He forced a smile as if Abby could see him. “You need to get out more.”

  I could hear her high-pitched voice memer-memer-memering from where I’d snuck to the edge of the counter to watch as Connor continued to scowl.

  “It is not cute,” he declared. “We’re just friends. And, she likes muffins…Right…So, once the oven is warm, put them in for how long?...That long?...Fine, right. Okay. Thanks. And, Abby?” He waited for her reply. “Not a word of any of this, got it?”

  He hung up the phone, shaking his head as he did and went back to the Keurig that had magically appeared in my apartment. He better figure out where that thing was getting stored, because it wasn’t on my counter top. I stood there, wondering what was going on and if I should just go back to bed while my—hopefully edible—muffin baked. But, just as I was thinking of slipping back to my room, Connor caught me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Hey, Hails.” His smile was surprised, like he didn’t expect me to be up yet. “I figured after your big night you’d sleep in a bit.”

  “It’s almost nine.” Which was sleeping in.

  Connor glanced at the clock then back at the oven before mumbling, “Exactly how long is it supposed to take to make muffins?”

  Since I’m pretty sure this question was rhetorical, I wandered over to the counter and pulled out a stool, waiting to see what exactly was going on. Connor turned to the sink and worked through rinsing everything and putting them in the tiny dishwasher squeezed next to my fridge.

  “I was making you a muffin.” He looked almost guilty as he explained.

  “I heard.” I waited for him to expound, but instead he just went back to cleaning the kitchen.

  Don’t get me wrong, after I’d gotten over the cuteness of pro-athlete sized Connor trying to bake in my tiny kitchen, I’d wondered who was going to clean this mess up. But, now that he was doing it, I was kind of more curious what was going on.

  “Connor, you didn’t have to make me a muffin.” Because, four blocks away were the best muffins on Earth, but why set the bar impossibly high. I’d settle for “edible and didn’t light the kitchen on fire” at this point.

  “I know.”

  Well, that didn’t give me a lot to work with.

  “Okay, let’s try this a different way.” I waited until he glanced my way and went on. “Connor, why are you up early, making me a muffin?”

  His nose squished up in a way that made him look much younger and he set the sponge down and came to stand across the counter from me.

  “You know the other day, the fight we had?” He asked as if our post-paparazzi throw down was easily forgotten.

  “Yes.” I really hoped this wasn’t his way of fixing something we’d already gotten past. I didn’t want to go backward.

  “And, how we talked about being friends?”

  “Yes.” Now I was worried he was going to brush me off for good.

  Maybe he realized he had opened the door for something he didn’t want. Our time was almost over. He’s probably trying to soften the blow that we’re not really friends. As if I don’t know this.

  But, he should have waited until the last day. Which was tomorrow, but I wanted to enjoy my last day. Maybe he just wanted to get it out of the way, though, instead of waiting and then being all, Hey, this was great and I’ll see you around but probably not. Maybe even roll it into the whole fake breakup thing. You know, we can’t really hang out because people think we broke up.

  I slid my hands down my pajama-covered thighs, realizing I was sweating a bit. How do you be friends with someone who announces ahead of time you’re not really friends?

  “Well,” he drew the word out like he didn’t know where he was going to go from there. “I just wanted to say…thanks.”

  “Thanks?” The shock in my voice came through so clear, I smiled to try to lessen the blow.

  “Yeah. I know this is lame, but I don’t have a lot of friends. My brother, a few guys from home, and a couple from my old team. But…” He ran his hand through his hair, the pink staining his cheeks giving away his discomfort even more. “I told you I burned a lot of bridges on my old team. That means that no one here really wanted to take a chance on me until they saw if I was going to be an as—a jerk. It’s been really nice to have a friend. I just, you know, wanted to say that.”

  “Oh.” I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. It had to be hard being in the spotlight all the time and not knowing who was a real friend. And, he’d been honest about the bridges thing.

  Part of me was amazingly flattered and thankful. It’s not often someone so private—because he was about the important stuff like his family—and so untrusting would welcome me into his world as Friend.

  The other part of me took the hit. It was one thing to know it, and another thing to hear it. But still, the place he’d offered me, it was valuable—coveted even—and not easily earned. So, I’d cherish it for what it was.

  “Well, then, at least we got something out of this whole mess, right?” I asked. “I could use another friend myself. I mean, you’ve basically met all my friends. Writers are hard to be friends with. In three weeks I have to start writing my next book after I finish this outline and, trust me, that’s a whole different Hailey. Then, when deadlines come around…Yeah, that’s known as The Breakup Segment of the Writing Cycle because the hours and focus are nuts.”

  “Like the playoffs.” He grinned, seeming really happy to have found a correlation.

  “Sure. That makes sense.” I smiled back, taking in a breath of the chocolate scent starting to come from my oven. “So, this is good.”

  He gave me a smile so sincere it almost broke my heart. No wonder the guy didn’t believe in picket fences. If he couldn’t find people he trusted to be a friend, how could he trust anyone in further than that.

  Right. Good.

  Yeah.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I did a once over of the outfit Becca had suggested. She’d been a bit melancholy when
I told her what the occasion was. I doubt she ever had to put together a Last Date Outfit. But, in her line of business, anything was possible. Plus, I think following us online had convinced her we’d get a happily ever after. And, if we could convince Becca, who was in on it from the beginning, we could probably convince just about everyone.

  Now, if I could just keep from convincing myself I’d be all set.

  The door buzzed and I let Connor in even though I’d given him a key after the first paparazzi incident. I’d never wanted to leave him standing out there vulnerable. But, if there was no reason for him to worry, he always rang the buzzer.

  It was a simple thing that made me feel like he appreciated the fact that this was my space.

  I opened the door, my heart flipping over more than a little at the sight of him. Somewhere along the line he’d stopped being the media sensation and had just become Connor.

  And that was more dangerous than anything else.

  He smiled down at me, looking as at ease as ever.

  “You look beautiful.” His gaze traveled over me in an assessment far less critical than the one I’d just given myself.

  I gave a little snort as I reached for my jacket and scarf knowing the night air wasn’t what it had been even a few weeks ago. The leaves were rushing off the trees, fall was rushing toward winter, and we were rushing to a finish.

  “Hailey.” He grabbed my hand, tugging me back around to face him as I went to grab my bag. “You look beautiful.”

  I looked up at him, really looked and saw there was nothing but sincerity in his gaze. So honest that I couldn’t even bring myself to throw out a comment about how we met or the women he dated. Instead, I stood there, enjoying the compliment and living for once in the moment of appreciation.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He laughed before adding, “Was that so hard?”

  I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Connor to challenge me with a compliment.

  We got to the stoop and he reached out and wrapped my glove-covered hand in his, turning me down the sidewalk.

  “I thought we’d walk. It’s only a couple blocks.”

  I nodded, feeling stilted and slow. Feeling like a woman walking to her own execution.

  Everyone had warned me. Even Catherine, once I was too far in to care, had tried to emotionally pull me out of this nose-dive. But, knowing it was too late, I decided to enjoy our last evening out together. The idea that after everything we’d been through together we’d be this uncomfortable was ridiculous.

  I gave his hand a squeeze and asked, “Are you excited about the SportsCenter thing?”

  He glanced down, blinking as if I’d pulled him out of another world. With a shake of the head, he gave me a Connor-smile that began to feel like it was just for me.

  “Honestly? I’m really nervous.” He rolled his eyes at himself as if to make his statement less important. “It’s a great opportunity. It’s basically a job interview. If you can’t pull off a guest spot, there’s no way you could carry a host position.”

  “And you’re thinking that’s what you want to do?” I guess I hadn’t considered what he’d do when his career on the field was done.

  “Maybe. I had thought…” He glanced away looking, for the first time ever, embarrassed.

  “What?” There was no way I was letting him off the hook with that blush creeping up his neck. Maybe he’d hoped to be an actor or a Playgirl bunny. Were the male versions bunnies too? That seemed a little emasculating.

  “I had thought I’d coach.” He shrugged, and glanced away, not meeting my gaze. “But, I’m afraid maybe I really did burn too many bridges. A coach needs a good reputation and starting out, coming off the field, mine isn’t that hot.”

  “You still have time to turn that around. I’m sure the next couple years you could work with some of the younger guys and see if it’s even something you like.”

  I wanted to add, don’t head out and sleep with the first leggy blonde you see after I leave on book tour, but that seemed a little proprietary. And, also, not the Connor I’d come to know.

  That was just my fear talking.

  I was going to have to stop watching TV. And stay off the internet. And have my groceries delivered so I didn’t get bombarded with tabloids.

  This was going to be a long recovery.

  I didn’t want to talk about what this month had done for me. It wasn’t something that was measurable. It made me want things, things I thought were further down the road for me. Things I had assumed would take a backseat to my writing career 'til I could hopefully build a stronger foundation and get another series or a movie deal, or something.

  Things I was realizing I wanted with Connor.

  My love for Connor had snuck in like a soft breeze on a summer’s day—so light and refreshing that it was just what you needed and you didn’t even notice it until you felt better.

  He’d become My First.

  Not like the first people talk about. But my first for all the important now stuff. The person I wanted to tell things to first and call first and talk to first in the morning and hear his news first and be there for him when he needed support before he reached out to others.

  It was not something I’d expected. As much as Connor had warned me, he had warned me about something ridiculous and not real. Something that would never happen. An infatuation would have been a relief, but what I felt for him was so much more solid than that.

  Walking to our last date felt like walking to my own ending, because Connor had become such a part of me that when he was gone, part of me would surely be dead.

  And I doubted the loss would be as soft-footed as the falling.

  “And what about you, Hails? Is it making a difference for you?”

  I watched my feet move, one in front of the other, down the dust-grey sidewalk, ignoring how his voice had turned serious. Because, yes. It was making a difference for me and I was going to have to figure out what to do with that now.

  I’m not even sure how I answered him, but the joke I made seemed to fall flat.

  Neither of us were in the mood for funny apparently.

  We got to dinner and were seated right away—the magic of the celebrity reservation.

  I’d sure miss that.

  There was a script, we were supposed to play it out. A little bit melancholy, still happy to be with one another but both of us worried about where this was going.

  It wasn’t hard to act out since it was almost true. Except I did know where it was going.

  Connor reached across the table and took my hand, pulling my attention back from the flashbacks of the last few weeks running through my head.

  “Hey.” He whispered it before getting up and moving his chair around to sit next to me. “This is…this sucks. Hails, this just sucks. I know the plan and I get it. I even know that it’s right that we play it out like this, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends any more, right?”

  “Of course.” Because what was I supposed to say? No, I’m sorry. Being friends with you might kill me?

  “I mean, I need you, Hailey. You’re one of my best friends and I don’t think that if you were going to kick me out of your life now I’d be okay with that.” He ran a hand through his hair, giving it a tight tug at the end. “Of course I’d be okay with that. I’m not like a friend stalker guy or anything but…when I told you how limited my friend pool was, that was true. Some of it’s my job. Some of it’s bad choices I made. But, Hailey, you’re one of those few people I trust. I’m glad we’ve gotten to know each other.”

  “Me too.” I nearly whispered it because it was true. My heart was breaking but it was true.

  “So, we’ll do the rest of this. You’ll go on your book tour. I’ll go do that guest host gig. We’ll stick to the plan and maybe in a couple weeks we could do something. You know, hang out?”

  “Sure.”

  That was a lie. That was a bald faced lie. For a moment I feared he saw through it and r
ealized that when he left, when he took his little bag home with him tonight, that was probably the last time I’d see him for a really long time. Distance and time were going to have to do their job getting me over him before I could consider seeing him again.

  We sat there, his hand wrapping mine tight in its shell as he waited for the bill to come. The walk home was just as quiet. Neither of us talking but the heat of his hand seeping through my thin, fall gloves to warm my palm. He followed me up to my apartment, where his bag was sitting on the table next to the door waiting for him.

  He glanced around, as if taking it all in for the last time. No matter what he had said in the restaurant it seemed like he was saying goodbye too.

  “So, we’re taking off tonight.” He stared ahead, his gaze going straight past my shoulder as if the most interesting thing in the world was in the kitchen. “I texted Gavin when we left. He should be downstairs in a few.”

  “Great. That’s good.” I stood as still as possible, trying not to break. “I’m glad he’s going with you. New York’s a lot of fun.”

  “Yeah.” Connor dropped the bag and stepped to me, pulling me into a tight, solid hug that went on until my body finally relaxed against his. “Thanks, Hails. Thanks for everything.”

  I didn’t know what everything was, but I knew if it was even a portion of my everything, he felt like he was losing something. Maybe not his heart or a friend. Maybe just a favorite pair of shoes. But still.

  “Have a safe trip.” I gave him the warmest smile I could, opening the door and hoping that he’d be safely down to the lobby before I started to cry.

  He looked at me like I’d just hurt him. Like there was something else I was supposed to say. Maybe the script I thought we were going off of wasn’t the same one he had. But, as far as I knew, this is when he left and didn’t look back.

  This is when I got ready to leave on book tour in a few days and hoped that the hectic schedule and the time away made coming home to my suddenly huge apartment seem bearable.

  He pulled his bag over his shoulder and crossed to the door, pausing to look down at me.