Before Girl

by Kate Canterbary

  It didn't seem like a great decision at the time but I was thrilled we hadn't slept together. I'd wanted to but I knew it wasn't a smart move. Then, I'd worried about falling too far, too fast. Too hard. Now I knew better. I'd allowed those touches and kisses, the words and promises—and the bites—to get the better of me. I'd let them set the terms when I should've known better, done better.

  But at least now I didn't have another name to add to my list of men who stuck around just long enough to realize I wasn't the one.

  If I walked fast enough, I could ignore the damp and cold, and even the twinge on my battered ass cheek. I could ignore everything—and I needed to. I needed to shake it all off before getting to the office and settling in for a long day of fixing and finagling because I didn't believe in carrying drama around with me. There was no reason to let crazy live in my head unless it was paying rent.

  I went on walking, singing under my breath with Nick Lachey—no one wanted me singing full-out; that would only wake the raccoonasauruses—as I chased the trail around the pond. The entrance gate was in sight when I realized the exercise had done me good. Score one for movement.

  I wasn't hammering myself over near-regrets and I wasn't wondering what I'd done wrong this time. Because I hadn't done anything wrong. I just wasn't the woman that men returned to, even when they promised they would. I wasn't stressing over McKendrick's whiny boy bullshit anymore and though my heart was still tender from soaring high and then falling hard, I was better.

  And then Cal was right beside me.

  I stared at him with a boatload of confusion, my mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. As hard as I tried, I couldn't voice the words, Where the fuck did you come from? All I could do was stare. And trip over my own feet when I failed to notice a sizeable dip in the trail.

  Cal's eyes flashed as my stride broke and he reached out to help me but it was no use. Now both of us were snowballing into a tangle of stray limbs. It was a cartoon collision, complete with dust flying and a rough ass-first landing in a puddle.

  "Unnff."

  And Cal was on top of me once again. Oh, my man-brick.

  Stellllllllllla not yours stop it now.

  "We have to stop meeting this way," I said, cupping his cheek. Even when I thought my feelings for him were packed up and waiting on the curb, I still wanted to feel him. I still wanted him. "Sorry. This one was my fault. You should've let me hit the ground."

  "Never, Stella. Never," Cal said, tugging my one remaining earbud loose as he shifted to his knees. "But tell me something, sweet thing, how loud do you have this? I've been running flat out to catch up to you and I kept calling your name and I thought—I thought you were—wait. Are you all right? Are you crying?"

  My bum was wet. Puddle water was soaking my workout leggings straight through to my undies and the bottom of my t-shirt was growing damp as his body pressed mine to the ground. I hated being wet like this. It was uncomfortable and unpleasant. Like spilling a drink on your lap and feeling that weird dampness every time you moved. And it never dried. It didn't matter if it was Phoenix in July, it never dried. It was a perpetual state of damp, a reminder of things gone wrong.

  "I-I—it helps me clear my," I stammered as hot tears sprang to my eyes, "my head."

  I wasn't a crier. I had plenty of misty-eyed moments but actual tears dripping down my face wasn't the norm. And I wasn't going to cry now. Not on the middle of the trail, not in front of a man I barely knew. He was an Oregon State alum and an Army veteran and a doctor, and aside from knowing he preferred to dip his fries in ketchup rather than drizzling it over the top and he ate pussy like a champ, I didn't know him. There was no earthly reason to cry in front of him, over him, or about him, and nothing that'd happened this morning altered this truth. Not even landing ass-first in a dirty trail puddle.

  "Oh, shit. Stella, no, no," he said, dragging his fingers through my hair and over my shoulders, squeezing as if he was searching for bones poking through my skin. Just like yesterday. "What did I do this time? Where does it hurt, sweetheart?"

  "I'm serious. We have to stop meeting this way." I pushed against his chest, a not-so-subtle order for him to let me up.

  "Stay where you are," he barked. He gripped my wrists and pushed them down before his fingers began moving over my sides. "Does anything feel broken? Did you hear anything snap when you fell?

  "There's puddle water in my underwear and someone gnawed on my ass last night so I'm a little sensitive this morning," I said flatly. "I'm getting up and you're not stopping me this time."

  Cal stood and reached for me, his lips folded together and his brows furrowed. His scruff was thicker than it was yesterday. There were lines around his eyes too. He looked rumpled, tired.

  When I regained my feet, a small downpour fell from my backside. Awful, just plain awful. Yet Cal didn't miss a beat. Nope, he scraped his hand over my ass, swatting away the water as if this was an everyday occurrence for him. As if this wasn't weird and awful.

  Not. Crying.

  "Please don't," I said, slapping his hand away. "Just stop. I'll be fine. Soggy, but fine."

  He shook his head and rested his hand on my hip, his fingers curling around the waistband. "Let me see."

  "Cal, I'm not going to say this twice. You are not examining my ass on the middle of the trail," I said, prying his fingers off my leggings.

  I forced a smile at the pair of nylon tracksuited ladies power walking past us. They appeared as mortified as I felt and the whish-whish of their nineties-era outfits only snapped this moment into sharp focus. Here I was, watery-eyed and -assed, and I had a whole mess of unpacked feelings about Cal Hartshorn. I'd halfway convinced myself he and everything that happened yesterday was like a rookie throwing a no-hitter: it just didn't happen.

  Cal propped his fists on his hips while he stared at me for a long moment. He nodded, saying, "Okay, then," and scooped me up. He held me like a fireman intent on clearing a burning building.

  He jogged past the nylon tracksuits with my size fourteen ass over his shoulder. I waved. They were still mortified but they both gave Cal the elevator eyes. Good for them. What was that old adage? The day you stopped looking was the day you died?

  Look all you want, ladies. Live this life up!

  "I can walk," I called to him, although I was slightly concerned that the thick, corded muscle of his back would absorb my words. "Put me down, dude. You're going to dislocate something."

  He slowed when we reached the sidewalk. "If you don't mind, I'd like to hold you."

  "Maybe I do mind," I said. "Maybe having some dude peel me off the trail and lug me to safety two days in a row is messing with my girl power, and if you don't know this by now, I'm rather fond of my girl power."

  Cal's fingertips skated over the back of my calf. "I'm not some dude, Stella."

  "I determine dude distinctions, thank you," I replied. "I don't even have your number. That's some dude territory, Cal."

  Yes. Sure. He was the only some dude who'd ever given me an orgasm in thirty seconds—no lie—but those were not my problems today.

  He fished his keys from his pocket and I heard his car alarm chirp as the door locks disengaged. He set me on the tailgate, where I was rapidly reminded of my wet-not-in-the-nice-way undies, and he rummaged through his roadside disaster bag.

  "I was in surgery," he said while he snapped on a pair of gloves. "I wasn't ditching you."

  "I know you weren't," I lied.

  "No, you didn't. I saw the look on your face. You didn't think you were ever going to see me again." He took my hands, his thumb passing over my palm in search of injuries. Finding none, he examined my arms, legs, and torso. His touch was urgent but still gentle. If not for the gloves, it would have felt like another round of foreplay with my man-brick.

  My man-brick? Goddamn it, Stella. Slow your roll.

  Giving myself a quick shake, I continued, "I wasn't sure whether you missed the fun of stalking. This morning had some extra ripped-from-t
he-headlines feels to it. I mean, I caused this situation but it wouldn't have happened without you."

  Crouched by my feet to study my ankles, Cal raked his gaze up until it landed on my eyes. "Stella."

  I smiled, watching as his eyes drifted to my dimples. He liked them and not in that "oh, she's such a cutie-pie" kind of way that everyone else liked them. "Cal."

  He was about to say something but then he sighed and shook his head. "Everything looks fine. You're fine, you're—perfect. Let me get in those pants now."

  I pressed a hand to my chest, my brow arched up. "This has been a lot of fun and all but I don't do roadside naked."

  "Stella." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the vehicle. "Back seat."

  For a guy who was shy as hell yesterday morning, he sure was bossy today.

  "I'm going to sit right here for a second and then I'm going home to wash this disaster of a morning off me." I glanced into his vehicle and I was reminded of Robbie Prince, my sophomore year of high school, and his mom's old station wagon. As far as back seat romps went, that one was unsuccessful. Robbie claimed "it" couldn't reach.

  I stifled a laugh at that memory.

  "What?" Cal asked.

  "Just remembering the last time I was in a back seat with my ass out."

  That earned a raised eyebrow. "And you're laughing about that?"

  "Not really," I said. "Okay, yes, I'm totally laughing about it. But it was high school. Half a lifetime ago. I'm allowed to laugh about it now."

  "I can't wait to hear that story," he grumbled. He balled up the gloves and tossed them in his medical bag. His fingers bare, he reached for my waist, gently pressing and squeezing the skin around my hips, my backside. His brows were pinched and his lips set in a grim line. "I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry about everything back there. I didn't mean to sneak up on you and scare you like that."

  Reaching out, I closed my fingers around Cal's hoodie and dragged him between my legs. "I know you didn't," I said. "And I wasn't scared. A little surprised but not scared."

  "You don't need to do this for me," he replied. "You don't need to brush everything off and downplay your emotions. Whatever it is you're feeling, I can take it. I work with a guy—actually, he lives in my building too—and every single day is the worst day of his life. Yesterday was bad but today will be worse, and tomorrow will be worse than today. He's always deeply, profoundly miserable." He tipped his forehead to mine and stared into my eyes. "If I can deal with that, I can deal with whatever you have for me. I don't need your publicist face. Okay?"

  I laughed, shrugging off his comments. It was the fastest way to make it go away. It was too early—in the day, in the short time I'd known him, in this lifetime—for him to see straight through me. "I'm okay, really," I insisted. "As a rule, don't sidle up to women on wooded trails. That's a one-way ticket to pepper spray and the police, and it's not the way to dodge the stalker label."

  A quiet laugh burst from his throat as he kissed me. Quick and sweet, as if he knew it was everything I needed. "I don't know why I can't get my act together around you."

  "We can start over," I suggested. "It worked yesterday. At the coffee shop."

  He shook his head. "I don't want to start over again. I want to pick up where we left off last night."

  I lifted my shoulders. "I'm not sure we can do that," I said softly. "I don't think we can teleport back to that moment or erase all the moments that followed it. But we can make new ones. Preferably ones where I don't end up in muddy puddles."

  He looked away and blew out a breath. "I thought you were ignoring me," he said, "and I panicked a little. A lot."

  "Why?" I asked. His lips moved over my jaw, down my neck. "Why would I do that?"

  He shook his head from the crook of my shoulder. "I was late. I tackled you to the ground yesterday and I kept talking about beavers. I've asked you to marry me repeatedly. I had to leave last night. Now this. I don't know. I've given you enough reasons."

  "None of those are real reasons," I said, laughing, "and you only asked me to marry you that one time."

  He leaned back and pointed to his temple. "In my head. I asked repeatedly in my head. I feel a little possessive when I'm around you, like I want to keep you and never let go."

  Oh.

  Oh my.

  My face must have been painted with all of the overwhelmed emotions that were kicking up a tornado in my belly, because Cal stared at the ground for a beat, scrubbed a hand over his face, and stepped back.

  That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted him closer, touching me, whispering those words that made me feel like the center of the universe. Even if the center of his universe wasn't mine to keep, I could steal that feeling for right now.

  He returned to me when I shivered, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and kissing the crown of my head like I was small and precious. "Can I take you home now?" he asked. "Wrap you up in pillows and apologize for everything I've ever done? I'll take care of those panties too."

  It wasn't lost on me that Cal really liked talking about my underwear. It was why I mentioned them. I liked throwing him those bones and pretending I didn't hear his pervy remarks. "I have to go to work," I said.

  "I doubt you're wearing this to the office. Let me help you out of these wet clothes."

  "I have to work," I repeated. "This is a hectic time for me, Cal. I have a high-priority client, the draft, I'm shooting for a big promotion, and I need to get my team ready to slay in LA. That's the mantra. Slay in LA. We're doing it. We fly out tomorrow."

  He nodded, his chin bumping against my head, and he reached for the iPhone secured in my armband. I was amazed it'd survived two Cal collisions. He held it out.

  "Unlock this," he ordered. He caught my expression—the one that summarized exactly how much of my girl power he was trampling at the moment—and managed a contrite frown. "Please unlock this so I can give you my information, Stella. I tried to call you when I was pulled into another emergency surgery this morning but then I realized that I still didn't have your number. Let me tell you, sweet thing, I fixed that heart real fucking fast when I realized I was going to miss you."

  "I'm not sure how I should feel about that. Am I allowed to be flattered if you pulled a rush job on someone's heart? Or should I be worried for them?"

  "I did that heart just fine," he replied. "I know how to get in, get out, get the job done. Sometimes I take my time doing it and close everything up nice and tidy. Others, it's quick enough to make sure everyone walks away happy and I leave the resident to close."

  There was a promise in those words. A commitment.

  I keyed in the password and handed it back to him. He set to typing one-handed, the other still tight around my shoulders, but it was far more than a few digits. I figured he was sending himself a text with some smart-assed comment about my skivvies that I'd enjoy later. He showed me the screen again and it revealed an entire page of his contact information.

  "Here's my mobile phone, my house phone, my office at the hospital, my head scrub nurse's number, my address, my work email, and my personal email."

  "That's very…thorough," I said, tucking my phone back in the protective case.

  Cal pinned me with an arched eyebrow and the inkling of a smile. "That's how I operate, Stella."

  Yeah, that was the truth. This man knew nothing short of all the way.

  13

  Cal

  I didn't know how I did it but I scored another evening with Stella.

  Instead of sitting down in a restaurant, she insisted on walking and ice cream. It was odd but I wasn't arguing. Not when I could get a few hours with this woman before she left me for the West Coast. Not even if it meant feigning an interest in ice cream.

  "What do you think?" she asked, tipping her chin toward the chalk-scrawled menu board. The raincoat was back, and with it came an orange scarf printed with tiny red elephants. I had a newfound appreciation for the close-fitting leggings and tight t-shirts she favored for her morning
routine. Goddamn, I loved those leggings.

  "I, uh." I glanced between sundaes and frappes—which rhymed with traps when in New England, I'd learned—and scoops and shakes. "It's all great."

  "They have grape-nut," she cooed. "Have you ever tried it? Or heard of it?" Before I could respond, she turned to the server. "Can we get a sample of grape-nut?"

  "I haven't," I replied. "Tried or heard."

  She held out the plastic sample spoon. "Cal. You have to try this. I promise, it's really good."

  When she looked up at me with those big, gleeful brown eyes and an expectant smile, it didn't matter how unpleasant the flavor sounded or that I didn't favor anything in the frozen desserts family, I was eating it. And how could I not?

  I swallowed the spoonful down and it was fine. It was ice cream and that wasn't my favorite, but it was less horrible than it sounded and Stella was smiling. Honestly. I'd survived two trips through an actual war zone. I could choke back some weird cereal ice cream for the woman I was going to marry.

  "What do you think?" she asked. "My dad is a grape-nut ice cream fanatic so I grew up debating the merits of one creamery's quality over another."

  "Not bad." I pointed back at the menu board. "What do you like here?"

  "I'm leaning toward black raspberry," she said, her attention still trained on the wall. God, she was beautiful. Just fucking gorgeous. "But I'm also feeling that chocolate with pretzels. I don't think it would make sense to double up though. I don't want my raspberries melting into my chocolate, you know?"

  "Yeah. That would be unpleasant." I studied the menu for a minute before looking back at Stella. "You get one, I'll get the other. We'll share. No raspberries in the chocolate."

  "Ooh, that's perfect." She tapped her fingertips together under her chin like she'd hatched an evil plan of ice cream domination. "Okay, yeah. Let's get that."

  I lingered at her side while she ordered. I didn't touch her but I didn't have to. She was close in a manner that announced she was with me and that was everything.