Told You So_A Saratoga Falls Love Story

by Lindsey Pogue

  “Sorry, not Jesus. It’s me,” a bored, female voice says, and I blink my eyes open to see Bethany standing on the landing. She adjusts her book bag, slung over her shoulder, and offers me a tall to-go coffee. “Latte?”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I groan as last night comes flooding back to me. Then, I remember our study date. “Ugh, I’m too tired for this.” I step out of the way so she can come inside.

  “Hence, the coffee,” she drawls and offers it to me again.

  This time, I happily accept. “Thanks.” As she glances around my apartment, I take a sip of coffee and appraise her jeans and long sleeves. Her hair’s damp and she looks surprisingly put together for an early-ish Saturday morning. “How come I feel worse than you look?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be nursing a hangover or something?”

  “I wasn’t that drunk, you were just being an asshole.”

  I laugh bitterly. “Yeah, sure, if that’s how you remember it.”

  “Can we, just, not talk about any of that?” She bristles, and I walk into the kitchen to add a bit more sugar to my coffee.

  “Fine. But, I thought we were meeting at the library.”

  “Yeah, well, we never decided on a time—”

  “Because you ran out of class like a crazy person,” I reminder her, and lean my palms against the counter.

  “And,” she continues, “I wasn’t sure you’d even show up after last night.” She says it with a little bit of humility, so I let it go.

  Bethany drops her bag on the sectional and peers around my dark apartment before she walks over to the window. With a quick tug, my navy drapes are open, light brightening the living room, and she sighs. “Now it doesn’t feel like I’m on How to Catch a Predator,” she mutters.

  “Wow. Please, make yourself at home. By all means . . .”

  Bethany looks at me, her eyes shifting over my body. “Not that I have anything against half-naked men, but do you mind?”

  I glance down at my pajamas, or mostly lack thereof. “I was hoping to sleep in a bit longer, but clearly that’s a pipe dream.” I take another swig of my coffee, in no rush to make her feel more comfortable, and set it on the counter before I disappear into my bedroom.

  “So,” I call into the living room, “I take it we’re working here this morning?” I hear a zipper and crumpling papers.

  “If you don’t mind,” she says. “Since we’re already here.”

  I pull a fresh t-shirt over my head. “How did you know where I live, anyway? Do you stalk me or something?”

  “Yeah, I have been for years.” She says it so nonchalantly, I have to laugh. “Brady told me,” she amends. “He owed me a favor.”

  “That sounds intriguing.”

  “It’s not. I introduced him to my dad so he could get some investment advice,” she explains.

  “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know,” she mutters.

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “Ginger tea and a shot of whiskey.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Something you don’t know about me,” she explains, but I’m still confused.

  “Okay . . . Care to add any context to that?”

  I hear her rustling around in the living room. “Hangovers—it’s what I take for hangovers.”

  “Ah, got it.” I finish dressing in silence, not wanting to bring up last night again. After I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair, I head back into the living room. She’s sitting on my couch with neatly stacked piles of books and notecards spread out in front of her. She looks like she belongs there with her legs folded under her and her hair in a knot on top of her head.

  A rush of gratitude washes over me, seeing her in my apartment, and I quickly fill the silence. “Better?” I ask, gesturing to my more appropriate attire.

  Her mouth tilts in the corner and her pewter eyes meet mine. “It’s an improvement.”

  Seventeen

  Bethany

  Nick’s eyes linger on mine a bit longer than I’m comfortable with, so I’m forced to fill the silence. “Nice place, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” He drops his notebook onto the other side of the sectional.

  His apartment is a total bachelor’s pad, complete with a mountain bike hanging on the wall, dirty boots, and a cowboy hat by the door. I like the grays and browns that color his apartment, though—they’re subtle and sleek, yet still masculine. “Did your mom help you decorate?” The rug beneath his dinette table catches my attention. Its black and white geometric trellis shapes add a bit of noise to all the drab.

  “Is it that obvious?” The Nick-ness of his voice is gone, and when I look at him, so is the brilliance of his eyes. It’s clear I’ve hit a nerve.

  “I’m a design major, remember? It’s sort of what I do—notice things. Don’t take it personally.”

  Nick walks into the kitchen without saying another word about it. “You want a Pop-Tart or something?” He reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a box of blueberry.

  “Pop-Tarts are Jesse’s favorite,” I tell him and unwind myself from the couch. With a little extra pep in my step, I walk into the kitchen.

  “What can I say, the kid’s got good taste.” His eyebrows waggle at me, and just like that, his Nick-ness is back. “So, is that a yes?”

  “Sure.” I unwrap a pack for myself and hand it to him to stick in the toaster. Our hands have touched before, but this time, it’s different. It’s the first time we’ve touched since New Year’s in his car, and here, in the privacy and quiet of his home, it feels more intimate than it should. I take a step back and smile, nodding to the PlayStation on the floor by the big screen. “Video games?”

  A grin envelops his face. “Hell yes, video games. I’d love to kick your ass in Mario Kart.”

  “Actually . . . I’m more of a Duck Hunt kind of girl.”

  His eyes widen. “That’s literally the worst game ever. There’s a reason it isn’t around anymore.”

  I nearly snort a laugh. “What can I say, I bought an old Nintendo at a garage sale when I was little. It only had one game but it kept me busy before Jesse came along. Let’s just say it holds sentimental value. I’m down for some Mario Kart though.”

  His eyebrows lift. “Yeah? I thought we’re supposed to be working?”

  Nodding, I run my fingers through my hair. “You’re right. I’m easily distracted when I’m anxious.”

  He smirks at me and lifts an eyebrow.

  With an internal groan, I retreat back to the couch. “This whole project makes me anxious. This is the worst timing possible.”

  Nick pulls out two Pop-Tarts from the toaster and moves around his kitchen with ease. He tears off a paper towel and opens and closes a drawer, and I wonder if this is what it would be like to spend every Saturday morning with him. If we might have a cup of coffee, eat breakfast, and banter back and forth about childhood hobbies.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “You’re making a face.”

  Deer in headlights, I force a smile. “Yeah. Great. Thanks.” Even as I remind myself how complicated we are, I find it incredibly easy to be around him, too.

  “You said ‘worst timing’ . . . What did you mean?” His eyes are on me, expectant and probing.

  “Well,” I start, not certain how much to tell him, let alone how much he cares to hear. “I’m taking the GRE in a couple weeks, and I need to focus on that exam so I’ll be able to get a good score.” I dig for a pen in my book bag, suddenly desperate to keep myself busy.

  “A GRE?”

  I blow a loose strand of hair from my face. “It’s like a rite-of-passage for psychology students thinking about a master’s degree. The better your test score, the better your chances are of getting into a good school. Kind of like the SATs, but more important.”

  “But . . .” Still standing, he leans against the counter and crosses his ankles, a perplexed look on his face that’s almost comical. “I
thought you were an interior design major, thus our Integrative Design class.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a double major,” I say quickly, and I reach for my coffee, hoping he’ll avert his gaze.

  “Wait, why the hell would you want to do that to yourself?” he asks, and the laugh that bubbles out of me sounds almost lunatic.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I mean, I do, but, no, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m crazy.”

  “Kinda cute-crazy,” he says lightly, and my eyes meet his.

  Both of us sober.

  “Oh,” Nick says quickly and hands me my two Pop-Tarts. “Ugh, sorry. They’re getting cold.” That’s the least of my worries right now. “No worries, thanks.” Tapping my pen on my notebook, I take a bite of my breakfast. “We have a lot to discuss, we should probably get started.”

  With a nod, Nick plops down on the couch across from me. “Sure.”

  “So,” I say, pointing to the doodles on my notebook. To the average person, they might look like scribbled gibberish, but to me, they’re a necessity. “I came up with a few project ideas to run by you, but I don’t know how you’ll feel about them. First, I was thinking we should pick a local spot, maybe a business we think needs a remodel so we can actually go inside, check it out, make some informative decisions—”

  “Actually,” Nick says, and takes a long pull of his coffee. “I’ve already decided on our subject matter—well, I might have.”

  “I see. That’s . . . surprising, and a little presumptuous.” I fold my legs beneath me, settling in to hear his revelation.

  He watches me skeptically.

  “Are you going to tell me what it is? I’m on pins and needles over here.”

  Nick smirks and scratches the side of his face. When his lips purse, I start to worry a little. “I don’t know if you’re going to like it, but it’s a really good idea.”

  That’s somewhat frightening. I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Might as well come out and say it.”

  “I’m still working at Sam’s ranch a couple days a week,” he says.

  My palms begin to sweat, even though I have no idea where he’s going with this. “Okay . . .”

  “Look, I know the two of you don’t really get along, but I’m remodeling her barn for my final project—converting it into an office, actually—and while I was just going to do the conversion for my final, we could work on the interior together for Murray’s class, doing Sam a solid and getting our project finished with bonus points on top of it.”

  I blink at him.

  “We already have my plans and schematics of the structure, and we could throw in before and after photos, not just a mockup from AutoCAD.” He leans onto his knees and looks me in the eyes. “You were worried about your grade the other day, and I heard you. So, this is my proposition. I have to get this project done anyway, and Sam is going to need all the help she can get.” He shrugs. “I think it’s a no brainer.”

  “But?” I hedge. He seems too hesitant for there not to be a hitch, other than my issues with Sam.

  “We’d just need to make sure everyone is on board.” He drapes his arm over the back of the couch and waits for me to respond.

  “Ah, got it. Sam knows nothing about this proposition.”

  “Not yet. I wasn’t going to ask her until I knew you were in.”

  Tapping my pen against my notebook, I peer around his apartment. I do need this grade and, as much as I dread having to interact with Sam, an easy project would be a lifesaver right now.

  “You know your stuff, Bethany,” Nick adds, and even though I know he’s trying to butter me up, his expression is sincere. “You might not ever make it to class on time—”

  “You just had to sneak that in there.” I roll my eyes.

  “But, I’ve seen your vision boards and I think Sam would like your style, which makes it ten times easier on you.” He tosses down a stack of barn photos, what looks like ‘before’ the remodel. It’s a big space, and depending on the changes he’s made, it has a lot of potential.

  Sam and I have never been friends. I hated her for the Mike thing, she hated me, but even before that I knew she didn’t like me. “You realize she’s going to hate this idea, Nick. She’s gonna say no.”

  He shakes his head. “No, she won’t. I’m going to use my charm to get us this job. Consider it taken care of.”

  I doubt Nick batting his eyelashes at her will soften her up enough. I try to ignore my curdling stomach at the thought of having to work with her and her hateful stare. “You better get her liquored up first.”

  “You don’t know Sam like I do,” Nick says, almost defensively, like he can read my thoughts. “She has her reasons for feeling the way she does about you, but she’ll overlook them to help me out.”

  His resentment toward me is obvious, even if it’s misplaced. I meet his gaze. “She thinks she does, anyway.”

  Nick stares at me, his eyes narrowed, like suddenly my presence is riling him up. The last thing I want is a repeat of the other day in class.

  “Look, Nick, let’s get something crystal clear. In spite of what you all seem to think, I did not steal Sam’s boyfriend—I got screwed over, too. And I think you know that.”

  He frowns. “Do I?”

  I grit back my instinct to curse him for thinking I would do something like that to begin with, but then, if the years we’ve known each other have proven anything, it’s that we’ve never really known each other at all.

  “I believe your exact words the first and only time I brought Mike around my friends were, ‘Looks like your new boy toy is awesome. He’s already hitting on Sam.’”

  The creases in Nick’s brow deepen. He might have a difficult time remembering that day, but his words have haunted me because, apparently, they were true.

  “You said he wasn’t your boyfriend,” he finally says, and I’m shocked he remembers.

  “No, I said he wasn’t my boy toy. There’s a difference.”

  “Not to me—not then, anyway.”

  All I can do is shrug. “Well, it was the truth. I don’t know what to tell you. So, you can get over me and the Mike thing, because it wasn’t a bright, sunny spot in my past either.” I try not to dwell on just how dark of a time it was for me. “I did a lot of things I regret then, but being a homewrecker, as Mac would call me, wasn’t one of them.”

  Nick’s eyes don’t leave mine, but I’m not sure if he’s really looking at me or if he’s thinking. Eventually, his eyes refocus on me. “So, you think all of this is about Mike?” he asks, almost incredulous, and I bristle a bit more.

  “It’s definitely part of the problem,” I admit. “But no, Sam and Mac have been giving me death-stares longer than that. Probably before high school even—”

  “Yeah—I’d say after I tried to help you, and you blew me off. You blew me off at Anna Marie’s party junior year, too, only that time you decided to run off with that running back, Hillard or Hill—”

  “Hilman, and I didn’t blow you off, Nick. You were being an ass.”

  “What?” He sits forward on the couch. “You’re going to somehow turn this around on me?”

  “Hell yes, I am. The last thing I wanted to be was the ‘hot freshman’ on your list of locker room conquest stories. Sorry to thwart your plans, Turner. I’d expected it from Slinsky, but not from you.”

  Nick laughs, but it’s an incredulous, overly amused laugh. “Slinsky? That was about Slinsky?” He stands up and begins pacing. “Let me get this straight, you ditched me because of him?”

  I rub my hands over my face, feeling this conversation spiraling too quickly into dangerous territory. “Why are we even talking about this,” I groan. “Nick, none of this matters anymore. We have a project we need to work on.”

  “Oh, it matters,” he bites out, more exasperated and surprised than I’d anticipated. “Wow. I mean—wow.”

  “Will you stop saying that, please.”

  “You disappeared to make out with Hilman becau
se of something Slinsky said?”

  “I didn’t disappear to go make out with him, Nick. I was angry—it just happened.”

  “Oh, well, in that case I forgive you,” he says hotly. “I can’t believe you thought I would tell Slinsky anything,” He walks over to the sliding glass door and stares out at the balcony.

  “And New Year’s—I helped you find your brother and you ditched me at Denny’s.”

  “Give me a break, Nick! Your girlfriend called.”

  “What? You mean, Savannah?”

  Rolling my eyes, I inhale a deep breath. “Yes, of course, Savannah. The whole town knows you guys are together.”

  He smiles, like all of this is simply too amusing for him not to. “She and I haven’t been together for months. She moved away and now, we’re just friends.” But the waffle in his voice tells me he’s not one hundred percent certain about that.

  “I saw you guys together on Tuesday, Nick. Even if you’re not ‘together’ you’re still together.”

  His frown returns.

  “Look, Nick. We could go back and forth about all the other instances too, or we can try to forget about it all and focus.” I’m not sure why, but what’s happened or hasn’t happened between Nick and I over the years feels unexpectedly raw. Especially now that I know what he’s thought of me all these years.

  “Well,” Nick breathes. “This is all very . . . enlightening.”

  “I told you we should’ve stayed on topic. Now it’s just going to be weird.”

  He makes a self-deprecating sound and grabs his phone. “I’ll call Sam.” He reaches for the sliding door handle then spins around. “Do me a favor, would you?”

  I peer up at him, into eyes darkened by more emotion than I expect.

  “Don’t assume I’m like Mike or Slinsky, or any of the asshole guys you’ve dated, okay? You’ll be wrong one hundred percent of the time.”

  Eighteen

  Nick

  As I step onto the balcony to call Sam, all I can think is that I’ve got a lot more in common with Reilly than I realized. Not only are we like brothers, but I probably hate Mike as much as he does right now, differently than I hated him before. I hate him for breaking Sam’s heart, and for the mess he created of her entire life. And I hate him for hurting Bethany, too, because clearly, he did. Mike, Slinsky, and all the dirt bags in between, are pieces of shit, and Reilly and I have to sift through their aftermath.