Not My Type

by Melanie Jacobson

  * * *

  This was going to be way harder than I’d thought, and I’d already thought it was going to be pretty hard.

  I sat in The Zuke and stared at my phone, glad no one upstairs in the Real Salt Lake offices was likely to see me in a casual glance out of the office window. It would look pretty odd, me sitting in my car in front of work, not going anywhere.

  The number staring back from my phone belonged to Landon’s sister, Kylie. She had always liked me, and I knew she’d be glad to put me in touch with him. Too glad, maybe. I’d have to make sure she understood that I wanted to interview him, not reconcile, or she’d get her hopes up. My finger hovered over the call button. Once I set this all in motion, there was no turning back, and this was about so much more than seeing Landon face to face.

  When I’d dropped in on Tanner earlier, I’d gone to him looking for a sign. Or more specifically, a declaration. I’d be ready to face Landon if Tanner were waiting with open arms and a huge “I love you.”

  Instead, Tanner was guarded, and it was my fault. I’d forced him to take that approach with me from the beginning, at first by refusing to acknowledge the attraction between us and then by keeping him at an emotional distance with my “dating other guys” excuse. To add insult to all that injury, even after admitting to him that I didn’t like dating all those other guys, I wasn’t ready to quit because I wouldn’t give up my job for him.

  Except Tanner didn’t want me to give up my job.

  It was fair that not knowing how to deal with the dates was eating him up, yet he still refused to put me in the position of choosing between him and my professional goals. That already made him the polar opposite of Landon, not to mention his quality of character in every way that counted.

  I understood that not asking me to risk my job didn’t mean he could accept me dating other people. I had grown to understand him so well in the last month, after hours of talking and laughing with him, that I knew the real issue wasn’t even me dating other people. I knew Tanner would really struggle with the lack of transparency in what I was doing, both in terms of the audience I wrote for and the guys I dated and wrote about. It would gnaw at him if he tried to ignore it, and we’d end up at this impasse at some future point even if he tried to accept it.

  I stared at Kylie’s number and again thought about how much I had needed Tanner to profess his love for me before trying to take this next crazy step.

  Yeah, I needed to hear it.

  But I had never said it.

  And I had never given Tanner a reason to think that I would welcome hearing it. He’d tried a dozen different ways to show me that he cared, and I had reciprocated by deigning to spend time with him and not much else.

  A tear slipped out and rolled down my cheek as the full measure of my jerkiness settled on me. I had walked away from Landon because I had deserved to be treated better. Would Tanner walk away from me for the same reason?

  I hit Call.

  Dear Landon,

  Thanks for agreeing to do the interview. It was hard for me to even ask. And thanks for talking stuff over with me. I had every intention of just coming in and asking the standard questions then getting out. I’m sorry I was so stubborn when you first brought all of our relationship issues up, but I guess we both needed closure. I thought I had it before, but I know I have it now. I judged you too harshly.

  I wish you success and happiness, Landon. I really do. I’m glad now that things didn’t work out for us, and it took me a really long time to understand and accept that, but I think we’re both happier for it. I knew you were. It just took me awhile to realize that I am too.

  Sincerely,

  Pepper

  P.S. I got the card. I almost sent it back, but I guess keeping it is part of growing up and moving on. So thanks for that. Good luck with everything, Landon. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

  Chapter 19

  “Come in,” I called, recognizing my mom’s soft knock on my bedroom door.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, eying the pile of clothes on the bed behind me.

  “Yeah. I have a big interview today. I’m trying to figure out what to wear.”

  “Do you want some help?” She looked doubtful about her ability to step in for Ginger. My mother dresses in the classics. While she always looks neat and trim, there’s no mistaking her for hip.

  I smiled. “No, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

  She hesitated then sighed. “I don’t want to be nosy, but you’re really distracted this morning. Is everything okay?”

  I held a black sweater against me and studied the effect in the mirror. “Like I said, it’s a big interview.”

  She didn’t comment, just stood there waiting.

  I turned to face her. “It’s with Landon.”

  A gasp escaped her, and she strangled it but dropped onto my bed with an “Oof.” She opened and closed her mouth a few times before settling on, “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” I added the black sweater to the reject pile. Too plain. If looking good was the best revenge, I needed something stunning. I wanted something that said, “I’m totally over you, and aren’t you wretched that you let me go?” I grabbed a satiny magenta blouse and wondered how it would look with skinny jeans. Would it strike the appropriate funky/awesome balance? No. It said, “I’m trying too hard.” I stuck it back in the closet and grabbed something else.

  “Pepper?”

  “Yes?” I said, not turning around because I didn’t want my mom to read too much into my expression.

  “Are you okay with this interview?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It was my idea.”

  “Why?”

  I turned around this time, a drapey knit top in a deep teal blue grasped in my hand. “Because it’s time,” I said. “I’m okay with him and our breakup. I’ve been okay with it since . . . well, for a while now.”

  “Since Tanner?” she asked, her eyes knowing.

  I shrugged. “Yes. Since Tanner.”

  “How does he feel about you going to see Landon?”

  I had no idea how he would feel if he knew. I hadn’t talked to him in three days, trying to respect his request for time and space. They had been three miserable days, and my parents could tell something was up, but they didn’t push me, and I was thankful. I was barely holding it together. Trying to discuss all the things that had gone wrong would have wrung me out completely. As it was, I had lost hours of sleep over it and a few pounds in a few days because food turned my stomach. Worse, on top of wondering how badly I’d damaged my chances with Tanner, I’d had this interview with Landon to stress me out. I might set a new world record for shortest length of time to develop a terminal case of stomach ulcers.

  I tried to be like a duck, the way my high school public speaking teacher had described, frantically paddling beneath the surface but appearing unruffled on top. I knew I hadn’t fooled my parents, but I hoped they weren’t worrying about me too much. I thought about how to offer my mom an honest answer that wouldn’t set her to fretting.

  “It will be awkward to see Landon, but if I can nail this interview, it could be a major career stepping-stone for me,” I said. “I’m focusing on the positive.” And that included not telling her I hadn’t told Tanner because we currently weren’t talking.

  “I can’t believe the magazine is making you do this,” she said. “Didn’t you tell them about your history?”

  “Mom, I told you it was my idea, and I meant it. Nobody at the magazine even knows I’m doing it, so don’t get too mad at them,” I said. It would be misplaced anger, considering that Ellie didn’t even know I was doing the interview. “I love that you’re concerned, Mom. But I promise that I’m going to be fine seeing Landon.” It was trying to reconnect with Tanner that worried me sick.

  Her torn expression told me she wanted to advise me against doing the interview anyway, but she was stronger than I expected, and she held her peace. She stood and leaned forward to finger the soft
knit of the shirt I held. “For what it’s worth, I love this color on you. You go from gorgeous to drop-dead gorgeous.”

  I smiled and held the shirt against my chest. “Then I guess I have a winner.”

  She slipped out the door with one last worried glance. I knew it was hard for her to drop it, but my parents had been working as hard to let me grow up as I’d been working on trying to grow up.

  I pulled out a pair of black skinny pants and my favorite wide black belt to cinch the shirt in and flatter my waist. I unboxed a pair of black suede wedges with a peep toe that Courtney had talked me into buying, liking the four additional inches of height they added. I checked my reflection and breathed a sigh of relief. With the right accessories, this outfit would definitely work. I chose my funkiest necklace, a chunky piece by Marisol. Asymmetrical bits of polished glass and smaller pieces of hematite formed a pleasing jumble that complemented the teal of my shirt. She’d tried to give it to me for free after the article ran, but I insisted on paying. It was a small price to pay for being able to tell her amazing story, and watching her business explode was worth far more than even one of her insanely cool designs.

  I added a leather cuff embellished with sculpted wire to my look and decided earrings would be overkill. I was already making a statement loud and clear. I hoped Landon would get the message: I am stylish, self-possessed, and doing fine without you. My hair had grown a few inches longer since I’d last seen him. I hadn’t gotten it cut in six months, but Ginger had done a little trim job on it a couple of weeks before in our bathroom and had shown me how to make it cooperate by framing my face in fun wispy pieces, my dark hair contrasting well against my fair skin.

  I was so ready to be through with this whole part of my plan. I calmed myself with a small prayer and conjured a mental picture of what it would look like if this paid off. It involved me smiling and happy because I was folded in Tanner’s arms.

  I could only hope. And drive.

  Time to point The Zuke toward Salt Lake and see if fortune would favor the stupid today. I needed a little good luck.

  * * *

  Two hours later, I pulled into the parking lot of the E-Center and killed the engine. A detour by the Real Salt Lake office on the way to meet Landon bolstered my spirits. When I’d walked in to get my mini voice recorder, Denny had met me with a wolf whistle. One of the salesgirls glared at him.

  He apologized. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to objectify you.”

  I saw the twinkle in his eye and smiled. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I only embrace the good parts of feminism. You can pay me a compliment anytime.”

  I’d grabbed the recorder, a purchase made with my first paycheck from the magazine, and then had surrendered to the inevitable and had taken off to interview Landon.

  Now backstage at the arena, I gawked at the layout. I’d been interviewing bands in tiny dressing rooms and watching shows in small venues. This was Byzantine by comparison, with long hallways and multiple doors down each side. Every member of Ozomatli could have their own room backstage, that’s how big it was.

  Even without the guard who swept me with a security wand before leading me back, I could have figured out which dressing room was Landon’s. A half dozen people buzzed around outside. The security guard waved me onward. I took a deep breath and strode to the door with all the confidence I could fake.

  Inside, Landon sat in a tall canvas director’s chair, surrounded by several more reporters, all of whom I recognized from covering other stories. Not only that, cameras from three different television stations recorded the whole thing. I stood back to get a sense of what was going on. Seeing them didn’t bother me. An exclusive could mean either that a particular media outlet was granted the story a day before everyone else or that they held a press conference for multiple journalists but gave one particular paper or magazine more in-depth access. That was the situation here.

  If anything, I had the advantage of studying Landon before he could do the same to me. I noted the changes a year had wrought. He was average height, a little under six feet, with a slender build, but he’d gained weight, and it was all muscle. His chest was a little broader, his shoulders more defined. In addition to the help of a personal trainer, he’d obviously gotten some professional teeth bleaching and a skilled hair stylist. His straight hair had more body than I’d ever seen in it and sported highlights so subtle that it could only be the work of a seriously expensive foil job.

  I didn’t have time to catalog any more of the differences his Hollywood glam team had unleashed because he caught sight of me, and a big smile broke over his face. The back of my throat burned, and I cleared it. For the first time in a year, for the first time since I’d broken up with him to find the me I had lost, I was about to confront the guy who had swallowed up four years of my life. I needed desperately to believe that I had changed enough not to be sucked in again by his undeniable charisma.

  “Pepper!” he said. A slightly older women wearing a headset glanced up on hearing my name then stepped forward and addressed the other reporters.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming out to cover our concert today. Landon always loves talking to his hometown reporters and connecting to his fans through your newspapers. We’ll look forward to your coverage tomorrow. If you’ll follow me out to our hospitality suite, our tour manager will answer any other questions you have.”

  Veiled in her speech had been a deftly delivered warning: make sure your coverage is good, or you don’t get access to Landon again.

  Landon didn’t say anything until the door closed behind the last reporter, and then his smile returned. He reached out his arms for a hug, and feeling awkward, I stepped into them.

  “It is so good to see you,” he said, and I think he sniffed my hair. I waited for the rush, the butterflies, the tingling. And I waited. And after a moment, I realized it wasn’t coming. I breathed out in relief.

  I stepped back. “You too. You look good.” It was true. He looked buffed and polished and slightly unreal, but girls swooned for a reason.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know. Good.” I fought the urge to shift from foot to foot. “I can’t open a newspaper without seeing that you’re doing great.”

  He grinned and waved me toward a leather sofa pushed up against one of the dressing room walls. “Have a seat,” he said, leading me over. I did but made sure to keep a careful distance between us. “Speaking of newspapers, I can’t believe you’re a reporter now.”

  I smiled. “It’s a magazine, Landon.” It was so like him to be inattentive to the details.

  “Cool. Like City Weekly?”

  “No, that’s still a newspaper. Real Salt Lake is an online magazine.”

  “Cool, cool.” He fell silent for a moment and studied me. I returned his stare. Something about the way his laugh lines bunched slightly around his eyes clued me in that spray tanning was part of his new beauty regimen too. I had a momentary vision of anyone suggesting a spray tan to Tanner and smothered a smile at the image. Tanner wasn’t a spray booth kind of guy.

  “You look good,” Landon said, turning up the charm. It was second nature to him. “I like this style you’ve got going on. It’s different, but it’s cool.”

  I refrained from an eye roll over the notion that he would even think I was interested in his opinion. Not that it wasn’t good to hear he had noticed. It just bothered me that he would assume I cared. Even though I had agonized over today’s outfit for an hour. Never mind that.

  I cleared my throat again and reached into my bag for my mini recorder. “I know you have a show to do tonight so I guess we should get started.”

  “Slow down,” he said. “I’ve got lots of time still.” He rested his hand on my arm to stop my rummaging. I let my hand drop from my purse, mostly so I could remove my arm from his grip. His touch felt unfamiliar now.

  “Thanks for agreeing to see me,” I said. “And for doing this interview. I wasn
’t sure you’d be up for it.”

  He grinned again, and the dimple in his right cheek that slayed so many teenage girls flashed at me. “The curiosity factor was pretty strong. It’s been a long time.”

  This time the fidgets got the best of me. I knew it was inevitable that we would stray into old relationship territory.

  I tried for a neutral expression. “I hope you understand why I didn’t return any of your calls or e-mails,” I said. “Done is done, and I didn’t see the point in rehashing things.”

  “I understand,” he said, unperturbed. “If we had burned each other out by overanalyzing everything, we wouldn’t be able to build a bridge between us now.” He turned to face me more directly and drew his leg up on the sofa. It put him closer to me, like maybe he meant to physically “bridge” the gap between us. I stilled and wondered what to do if he encroached any farther. I couldn’t risk antagonizing him until I had our interview in the bag. He didn’t seem like he was going to try anything, but I had no idea why he’d even agreed to see me. It was as good a question to lead with as any, I supposed.

  “What did you think when Kylie told you I wanted to interview you?”

  “Once my manager made sure you were legit and weren’t trying to trick me into an interview to do a hatchet job, I thought it was cool that you’re a reporter now.”

  “Landon! You know I wouldn’t do a hatchet job on you. If I wanted to burn you, I’d have been blabbing to the tabloids and ripping you left and right for months.”

  A shadow flickered in his eyes. “I’ve learned never to be surprised by what so-called friends will do when money or notoriety are on the line.” He smiled, but it was faint. “Besides, you and I didn’t end as friends, so I had every reason to be suspicious.”

  I swallowed. “I guess I am kind of using you. I only called Kylie so I could get this story.”