The Boyfriend List

by Novelle, R. S.

  “Get back here you pretzel stealing coward!” She screamed as the anger slowly found it’s way through, though the demand did little more than draw attention to herself. Perfect, Reagan thought as several pairs of eyes glanced in her general direction, followed by a few giggles at her appearance, just perfect. And she laid her head back against the sidewalk in surrender to the universe. “I give up.” She mumbled to herself.

  Thankfully, the vendor took mercy and instead of playing the innocent by stander this time, he actually moved toward her to assist with a wad of thin paper napkins in his hand. Reagan accepted the hand he reached out to her, and apologized for covering it in soda when she was back on her feet.

  “Some day, huh?” The awkward smile he offered must’ve been an attempt to make her feel better. But it didn’t work. She was fairly certain that nothing short of miracle could at this point. Her body was sore, there would certainly be bruises within the hour, and she felt there was a definite possibility that she might be bleeding – however slightly - somewhere as well. If not her body, definitely her ego.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” She bitterly agreed as she rubbed her elbow and assessed the damage to her satchel. Then she looked toward the napkins he’d provided, and relented. “Thank you.” Reagan took the stack of thin napkins from the vendor and began to soak up the liquid from her skin and shirt.

  However unacceptable the situation was, all was repairable, she determined after a thorough assessment to her possessions and body. Unfortunately, she was now considering all the dozens of people who would see the giant soda stain over her wet shirt as she walked through campus back to her apartment. That would be awesome for her already precarious reputation. But a taxi, another taxi, was out of the question. That just wasn’t in the budget again, and now more than ever she wished she could get her car back soon.

  To complicate matters even more, the muffled call of her cell phone began to chime from the inside of her satchel. Still harboring the fear it might not be working properly, she was in for a pleasant surprise when all functions seemed to be in working order.

  “Yeah.” Was the only greeting she had the energy to muster.

  “Hey.” Petra paused, realizing her friend’s greeting didn’t have its usual cheerful ring. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just…a mess right now.” Reagan admitted as she glanced down at her appearance. “Literary. Listen Petra, now’s not a good time. I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

  “Oh really?”

  Guessing from the suggestiveness of her tone, and knowing exactly how Petra’s mind worked, it seemed her friend was expecting her to divulge some juicy morsels of information. Unfortunately, Reagan would have nothing scandalous to give her and felt compelled to explain her circumstances so as to not get her friend’s hopes up. “No. Nothing like that. It’s just, I saw Brett on the sidewalk and decided to follow him. Then I lost him in a crowd and stopped for a drink. Then this stupid dog,” she yelled down the sidewalk, hoping the dog owner would still be able to hear her, “wrapped itself around my feet and I fell on my ass on the street and now my soda’s dripping down my shirt and I’m wet and it’s cold.”

  Petra said nothing in response when she had finished, but laughed hysterically. To the point where Reagan had to actually hold the phone away from her ear, or allow her eardrums to suffer the consequences.

  “It’s not that funny.” The roll of laughter continued. “Petra.” Reagan tried to interrupt. “It’s not.” But by this time the entire situation seemed so ridiculous, and Petra’s laughter was so contagious, that she couldn’t help the little smile of her own that tried to creep out. She let out a final, liberating sigh and looked down at her messed up state. She supposed it was pretty funny. A giggle even managed to pop out. Though only for a second.

  But through the laughter, just as they were both becoming composed enough to continue with normal conversation, Reagan heard an exaggerated whistle from behind her. It was a suggestive whistle in every possible way, and she was familiar enough with the tone to know exactly what the implied message was. Yet - though extremely annoying - she had no idea that it’d been intended for her. Until, that is, she caught the eye of the vendor, who was motioning with raised eyebrows that she should look behind her.

  She tried to ignore it as best as she could, but the sound came again, this time a little longer and a little louder than before. There was no ignoring it now. “Hey sexy! You need a ride?”

  That did it. There was only so much a girl could take in one day, and this girl had just about reached her limit. God help her, but this guy was about to get the brunt of her frustration.

  “Hang on Petra.”

  Ready to sling every nasty word in the dictionary in his general direction, and to include every other member of the male species in her tirade that looked even remotely suspicious - because god knows they probably deserved it for some reason or another - she whirled around to face the curb.

  “If you think for one minute, you sorry son of a…”

  But Reagan stopped abruptly, and all of the phrases she’d formulated only seconds before simply fell from her mouth when she saw the sleek body of the ’67 Camaro rolling up to the curb.

  “Ian!” She yelled, practically shrieking his name in surprised excitement. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been that happy to see familiar vehicle.

  “Yeah, you seem friendly enough now, but a minute ago you would have bitten my head off. Don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “C’mon.” She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer. “What are you doing here?”

  “Stalking you. What happened?” He pointed to the soda that was still dripping off her shirt.

  “Don’t ask. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Good enough. Get in, I’ll give you a lift. You can tell me on the way.”

  There was no need to tell her twice. Reagan didn’t care where he was going or when he’d be returning, the chance to hide the evidence of her horrible day was in itself enough to have her scooping up her satchel and plopping herself down in the black leather seat beside him. And while she longed to give him an appreciative hug, she’d have to refrain until she was a little bit cleaner. Instead, she blew him a kiss, which he returned with a wink and she tried to ignore the little flutter it gave her.

  As Ian pulled slowly away into the moving traffic, he nodded toward the phone that was still clenched in her hand. “Bout to make a call?”

  “What? Oh!” Having completely forgotten the phone was even in her hand, she quickly put it up to her ear, hoping her friend was still on the other end. “You still there, Petra?”

  “Fortunately for you.” There was a mild agitation behind the words. “What’s going on?”

  “Ian’s giving me a lift home.”

  “Oh, you might want to know I invited him to my party.”

  “You just now got around to that?” She replied to Petra, then covered the mouthpiece and turned to Ian. “She just now got around to inviting you?”

  “Who?” Ian questioned casually, his eyes remaining on the road.

  “Petra. Who else is throwing a monstrosity of a party this weekend?”

  Ian shrugged his shoulders and smiled deviously. “I was coming anyway, invitation or not.”

  “You would.” She grinned before returning to her call.

  “What are you two talking about?” Petra inquired.

  “Nothing.”

  “Have you hooked up with him yet?”

  Reagan froze. She could feel the bright rose flush climbing up her cheeks. Unaware that Petra had returned to speaking of Brett, Reagan’s mind had naturally and immediately drifted to her current companion when the question was posed. “I’m not answering that now.” But she was obviously flustered.

  “Oh, come on.”

  She lowered her voice as much as possible. “No.” She replied firmly.

  “No you haven’t hooked up, or no you’re still not answering my
question.”

  Reagan thought for a minute. “No to both?”

  “Figures.” But the appeal of a new idea had her gasping with excitement, and she was prepared to squeeze out every last detail here and now if she got the positive answer she was expecting. “But you want to, don’t you?”

  “No! How did you...Well, maybe.” Reagan reconsidered quickly, stammering as she tried to explain. “It – It’s complicated. You know? Very complicated.”

  “What’s complicated?” Ian wanted to know.

  For a heart-stopping minute, it occurred to Reagan that he might have heard every word they’d said and knew exactly what they were discussing. He wasn’t looking at her, but stayed focused on the traffic, shifting gears smoothly up and down. Yet there was something behind that question, something that hadn’t been there before that indicated he suspected their conversation. Or maybe she was just being paranoid, Reagan considered. It was probably just that, but she turned the volume down on her phone just to be safe before she replied.

  “Absolutely none of your business. Eyes on the road buddy.”

  “Ian doesn’t know either?” Petra chimed in.

  And now, Reagan was more confused than ever. “Ian doesn’t know what?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Ian’s eyebrow rise at the mention of his name. He was definitely listening in, she decided and grimaced at the potential consequences.

  “Whether or not you two hooked up.”

  “I…umm…what?”

  “I thought you two told each other everything.” Disappointment was definitely present in Petra’s voice.

  “Almost everything.” Reagan corrected matter-of-factly, then continued. “But if we had, I wouldn’t need to tell him because he’d already know, right?”

  “What?” Now it was Petra’s turn to be confused.

  “If I...” Reagan stopped, looked at Ian, then quickly looked away, “did what you said with him, he’d…”

  “Oh. My. God!” Petra interrupted, finally catching on to where the confusion had started. “You’re talking about Ian, aren’t you?”

  “Huh? Who else?”

  “I’ve been talking about you hooking up with Brett this whole time, and you’ve been talking about hooking up with Ian! You want Ian. You do!” Excitement flooded her voice and overwhelmed her, while Reagan’s flush turned from rose to dark crimson in less than half a second and she sunk low into the leather seats.

  “No.” She could barely breathe the word.

  “You want to be with Ian!” Petra sang. “Reagan likes Ian, Reagan likes Ian...”

  “That’s not what I said.” She was eyeing Ian closely, watching for any signal that he might be able to hear Petra. So far, it appeared she was safe.

  “You do! I knew it. Why are you still denying him? He’s obviously into you.”

  “Can we not have this convo right now?”

  “Well if you don’t want him…”

  “I never said that.” Reagan corrected before she realized what she’d done.

  “So you do? Oh my god! This is just too good.”

  Reagan couldn’t believe this was happening. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Wait, we need to…”

  “Goodbye.” She ended the call, cutting Petra off mid sentence, and was overwhelmed by the sudden pounding in her chest – partly from her admission, mostly from her confusion. But also because she realized that everything Petra had said had been true. And if it was true, then why was she putting up the pretense of this stupid checklist she’d created. She already knew Ian was perfect, all she had to do was take one look at him next to her and every cell in her body confirmed that. Her stomach tightened in response and she could feel a warm tingling spreading out from there. She drew in every ounce of him, her eyes lingering over his tight, muscular shoulders. There was an expression on his face that vacillated in an intriguing way between seriously concentrated, and mischievously playful, and she suddenly couldn’t get enough of it. Warmth practically radiated off of him, and she remembered how it’d felt to be in his arms, nestled up against him, however short that experience had been. It was intoxicating to sit and watch him like this...

  No, she declared to herself, Petra had backed her into a corner in the midst of a really confusing conversation, in the midst of a really messed up day. That was it. End of story. She didn’t really want Ian, it was just the power of suggestion that had been working overtime ever since they’d returned from spring break.

  Reagan looked toward Ian to see if he suspected anything more.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged as she replaced her phone. “Just Petra being Petra.”

  Ian wasn’t convinced. “And Petra being Petra is what has your face all red like that?”

  The pounding in her chest turned to full out racing.

  “Nothing. Just…” For half of a crazy second, Reagan actually considered letting him in on the little irony they’d just shared, then thought better of it. If she implied what Petra had accused her of, and didn’t get a positive response, she’d die of humiliation. Absolutely die. “…nothing. So you’re coming to the party? That’s good. It’ll be more fun.”

  He was willing to let the subject drop, despite his heightened curiosity caused by Reagan’s uncomfortable squirming and shifting, and her evasive, coded answers. Whatever it was she was hiding, he’d get it out of her eventually. One way or another. He might even let himself have a little fun with it. “Nice cover.”

  A victory smile spread over her lips and she gazed out her window casually as Ian’s slick car rolled to a stop at a light. It was a calculated attempt to avoid direct eye contact with him, and it seemed to be working. At least for the moment. But she never expected her eyes would land on a figure that was making steady progress over the sidewalk beside them.

  “Oh geez.” Reagan quickly slipped low in her seat until just the top of her head was visible from the window outside. Allowing her eyes to peek up over the rim of the door ever so cautiously, she kept an eye on her target to see if he noticed her. Why isn’t he driving that hot little car of his? She wondered to herself as Brett passed them.

  Ian was watching her quizzically. “What are you doing?” He asked with a half laugh.

  “That’s him on the sidewalk.” She was whispering as though it was even a possibility that Brett could hear her on the other side of the glass. “I don’t want him to see me.”

  But Ian ignored her harsh whisper and responded at his normal level. “Him who? Brett? He’s out there?”

  “Yes.” She hissed the word and sunk even lower.

  “Where?” Suddenly curious to see what all the fuss was about, Ian quickly looked out the window for the person who qualified for this much of Reagan’s attention.

  Lifting her head for just a minute, she picked him out of the crowd before ducking quickly out of sight again.

  It only took a minute for Ian to sum him up, and incorporate what he’d already learned about him: family money, confident though not quite sure of himself yet, expensive taste in clothes, too carefree to be serious in a relationship, and dangerously close to stealing his best friend’s heart.

  “What’s he doing?” Reagan asked of Ian.

  “Just looking at the ground.” Ian shrugged, doing his best not to scowl at the guy. Then he focused a little more. “No, he’s looking at something. He picked it up. A piece of paper it looks like. No. Money. He tapped the guy in front of him on the shoulder and handed it to him. Must have fallen from his pocket. The guy took it. He’s just standing there again.”

  Reagan’s eyes lit up, and so did the streetlight. As Ian began rolling forward, Reagan pulled out her list and marked off another quality. Five down, six to go.

  Suddenly on the verge of a darkened mood, Ian decided that this Brett guy had better be damn near the perfect gentleman Reagan though he was. No one was perfect, and he’d have to prove a lot more to Ian than Reagan’s little checklist could ever manage before h
e would let the guy get anywhere near her.

  Glancing at Reagan with a sternness that stole her breath, he finally said, “You could do better.”

  And while she very much wished she could pass it off as just Ian being Ian, there was something different this time. Something about the way he’d set his jaw and the seriousness in his voice that pulled at her. Was it jealousy she’d heard? It was all she could do not to admit it to herself, but if Reagan was willing to be completely honest in those moments, she’d admit the idea was a crazy kind of turn on.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Reagan was ready to cry by the time she’d reached her apartment door.

  Well, maybe not cry, maybe just scream really, really loudly. But her frustration level had reached an all time high for sure. She dug furiously through her satchel, dropping items on the ground one by one until everything had been removed from the bag. “This can’t be happening.” She was mostly talking to herself, though Ian stood right behind her. “I knew it, I just knew it. This is so my luck today.”

  “What’s wrong?” He asked, though it was pretty clear what the problem was. Attempting to straighten the smirk on his face, he found it a difficult accomplishment. Naturally, he sympathized with her stress, but her uncharacteristic behavior that week had been completely entertaining. In fact, he thought he might even like this disheveled, unorganized version of Reagan even more...if that were even a possibility.

  “My keys.” She finally announced as she turned the bag upside down and gave it one last desperate shake for emphasis. Pennies and lip gloss sticks ricocheted off the cement landing. “They’re not in here. Gone. Poof. And Petra’s not home until...who knows when.” She groaned as she bent down to gracelessly shove her books and items back into the bag again. “So, I’m out of luck. Literally.” The sigh that escaped added to her complete surrender.