by Rion, Paige
“Uh, lemme think…”
Dean grits his teeth, as Jinny ums her way into an answer.
“I know! It’s not one of her core classes. Political science, I think?”
Deans feet move and he’s out the door. “Wesley Hall. Thanks.” Then he hangs up and runs the rest of the way through campus.
He waits outside of the Wesley W. Posvar building, his eyes fixed on the exits. Come on, Callie. Come on…
He spots her immediately and catches his breath. Her hair’s pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck below a soft white hat, her lips painted ruby red. She’s wearing a pair of tight cream-colored pants tucked inside knee-high brown boots and a camel-colored jacket with fur around the neck. Damn, if she isn’t the most impressive thing he’s ever seen.
She says something to the girl next to her as they leave. Dean moves toward her but hangs back a bit, waiting until she’s finished. As Callie says good-bye to the girl, she glances his way and smiles, but even from here her eyes are questioning. The girl waves and leaves. Stepping forward, Dean freezes when another guy steps in and touches her arm.
He turns away immediately, feeling the sting of heat in his cheeks.
No one said she is’t allowed to talk to other men. Of course she has male friends. That’s okay. To be expected, really. How could she look like she does, have the brain and personality she does, without garnering a lot of interest?
He listens. He tries not to, but he can’t help himself.
“Looks like I got beat,” the guy says.
“What do you mean?” Callie’s voice is pleasant. Not overly friendly or disinterested.
“I’ve been trying to find the nerve to ask you out all semester. Did you really think I needed to borrow your notes almost every week for no reason?”
“Oh.”
Is that a good oh or a bad oh?
He can’t read the tone of her voice and he grits his teeth until he fears he might crack a molar.
“Yeah. I wasn’t at the game Friday, but I heard about it. Then, Sunday, I saw the paper. Talk about missed opportunity.”
Dean stills. His muscles tense and his eyes widen. The article. Oh, shit.
He turns around just as the guy grabs Callie’s hand. Dean’s stomach lurches at the sight of the guy’s hands on her, and any apprehension he had about the article quickly drains away.
“Looks like I’m too little, too late,” the guy says.
Without thinking Dean moves forward, closes the gap, and comes up next to Callie. He swoops in and puts his arm around her, tucking her into his side possessively. The guy stammers, mid-sentence, then drops Callie’s hand and takes a step back.
That’s right, asshole. She’s mine.
“Uh, sorry. Nice job at the game, man,” the guy says, clearly trying to recover.
But Dean’s not having it. He sets his jaw and stares him down with cold eyes until the guy mumbles his good-byes and walks away.
Once he’s gone, Dean’s nerves set in and he can feel the prickle of sweat on his neck. Callie scoots back and eyes him. “Jeez. You didn’t have to scare him off like that.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re interested in that tool,” Dean says, pointing at his retreating form, swallowing down his jealousy. He can feel the raging heat of it course through his blood, and he hates himself for it. He has no right.
Callie crosses her arms. “I’m not at all. But that’s not the point. You didn’t have to be rude.”
“I didn’t even say anything to him.”
“You know what I mean. So what was he talking about, anyway? Did the student paper run something new?”
Dean kicks at a rock, suddenly finding the concrete extremely interesting. He says nothing for a moment, more worried now than he was before that the article will upset her. Would she call the whole thing off? End it right now?
“Dean?”
He swallows his concerns and mutters, “There’s an article. It’s not the student paper, though.”
Callie frowns. “I don’t understand.”
Then, as if having to tell her weren’t bad enough, two girls pass them and point. “Oh, my gosh! I love you guys.” They walk up to them and the bubbly brunette says, “I just have to say that you guys are the sweetest couple. Ever! Your story’s so romantic.” She clasps her hands together and says to Dean, “If you have any available friends, have them call me.” She grabs a piece of paper from her bag, scribbles a number on it, and shoves it into Dean’s hand before they back away and continue into the building.
Dean brings the hand with the note to his head, using it for a moment to shield his face. Obviously, someone on campus has posted that damn article everywhere.
“Seriously, Dean. What the hell is going on?”
Dean drops his arm and looks at Callie, taking in the intensity of her blue eyes. All he wants is to ease the concern he sees. Drawing in a deep breath, he tells her about the article, explaining that someone from the Post-Gazette must have been there and wrote an article about them. “They must’ve talked with someone from the student paper and used some of the information we gave Greg to elaborate on the story.”
Callie says nothing. Her mouth opens, then closes like a fish.
“Are you upset?” he asks.
“The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette? Holy crap.”
“I know. I understand if—”
Callie laughs, cutting Dean off. She bends over and slaps her legs in fits.
Is she laughing because she thinks it’s funny, or is this bad? Maybe she’s having some kind of breakdown.
“Um. Is this the kind of laugh like when you hit your funny bone, and you can’t help but laugh because the pain is so startling, yet there’s nothing really funny about it?”
She’s gasping now, and he waits, fearing the worst as her hysteria subsides and she catches her breath. “Oh, my gosh. This is just… What are the odds? This would be the coolest thing if we were for real. But how funny is this? We have to awkwardly fake a relationship for one girl and the student body, and now the entire city thinks we’re a couple.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say because he’s still unclear on whether she’s upset.
She places her hand on his arm. “Relax, Dean. Are you upset about this? Oh.” She covers her mouth. “I didn’t even think. This will screw stuff up for you, won’t it? We’re going to look so…serious now…our relationship. And you’re worried it might push Maya away? This kind of attention?”
She’s worried about him. Relief floods him and muscles he didn’t realize he had relax. “No. No, not at all. I was just afraid you’d be mad or upset. It’s one thing to ask you to give up a few months for this, but to have it be so public is different.”
Callie shrugs. “It’s not the end of the world. And no one here interests me. It’s not like everyone in the city will read it. It’s no big deal. One article won’t ruin my love life, and I’m determined to find love outside of campus as soon as this thing with us is over.”
Dean frowns. His heart twists at the thought of her being with anyone else, and the reminder that she’ll soon graduate and who she dates will be completely out of his control is unsettling.
His phone rings, breaking through his thoughts. He considers ignoring it, but decides better and glances to the caller ID. “Hang on. It’s my mom,” he says. “Hello.”
“Dean!” Her overexcited voice reverberates through the phone. He holds it away from his face and winces. “Oh-my-God-Dean-why-didn’t-you-tell-me?” Her question is rushed into a single line and she’s talking as fast as the speed of light. “I’m thrilled. I’m absolutely positively thrilled and so happy for you. I know I’m not supposed to be biased, but I’m a mom, after all.”
Dean rolls his eyes and Callie smiles. It’s hard to focus while she’s near and the thought of her with someone else is playing games with his head. “What’re you talking about?”
“You and Callie. I saw the article.”
Dean’s ears perk an
d the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. When he thought of the entire city finding out about him and Callie, the thought that his own family, his mother, discovering their mock relationship never even crossed his mind. Oh, shit. This is bad.
She’s ranting on the phone, chirping away as fast as her voice can go. “I saw the article Sunday, but your father made me promise not to call you. He’s like a damned general, that man, I swear. But I couldn’t take it anymore. Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t know why you’d think I’d ever be anything but excited for the two of you. You and Callie. Gosh, just saying it brings tears to my eyes. Growing up, I’d always see you two together, and I’d wonder, hope, even…”
Dean holds the phone away from his face and meets Callie’s eyes. Based on her wary expression, he can tell she may have heard bits and pieces but the point of the call is unclear. “My mom knows,” he says, and much to his chagrin, he watches as Callie’s entire face drains of color.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CALLIE
Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I did not just hear that Mrs. Michaels thinks Dean and I are dating! Please…
She might be in shock. She’s not sure, but she can’t move and it dawns on her with perfect clarity—not for the first time—that she’s a complete and utter idiot. How could she think that they could keep this from Mrs. Michaels? She makes it a point to know what’s going on in her children’s lives and is one of those mothers that’s all-knowing, somehow mysteriously figuring out the things that her children work so hard to keep secret. Callie has yet to discover the source of her eerily supernatural power, but growing up, every time she and Jinny did anything—snuck out of the house, had their first sip of alcohol, went to a party instead of a sleepover—Mrs. Michaels knew about it.
Of course she knows. Oh, God. We’re completely screwed here.
Dean moves away from her, and Callie wonders if it’s so she can’t hear the rest of their conversation, but she’s too busy mulling over the startling news that his mother knows about their fake relationship—minus the fake part—to care.
She goes over their options as Dean finishes talking to his mother: a) Tell Mrs. Michaels the truth. That her relationship with her son is a complete farce, all in an effort to help Dean win a different girl’s heart—one with whom Mrs. Michaels has never met and Callie has a feeling she wouldn’t like very much—and the second Maya gives him a second chance, they will effectively break up; or b) Continue with said ruse, and pretend that they are, in fact, together.
The first option will certainly lead to heartbreak for Mrs. Michaels. Callie may not be all-knowing like she is, but she’s an intelligent girl and smart enough to know that the thought of Callie and Dean dating would be incredibly exciting news. Callie is the daughter of her deceased best friend and her own daughter’s bestie. Callie’s practically a daughter to her. From a mother’s standpoint, what’s not to love about that situation?
The second option would appease her for now. There would be no hearts breaking. Although this option would definitely amp up her hopes of Callie and Dean making it to the altar, it would be the least terrifying for now. Once Callie has a job and enters the corporate world, she’ll probably see the Michaels—with the exception of Jinny—less often and they can soften the blow of a breakup.
But lying to Mrs. Michaels? It’s so wrong.
Yeah, well, breaking her motherly heart isn’t so right, either.
Dean hangs up and shoves his phone in his coat pocket. His hair’s sticking up in the front from perpetually shoving his hands in it, and he’s staring at her as if she might implode any second. Sighing, he glances down at his feet and kicks a small rock, sending it sailing several yards away.
“Don’t worry. This is my mess. I started it, and I’ll tell her. I just…she wouldn’t let me get a word in and she was so excited, but I’ll call her back tonight and tell her the truth.”
She pictures Mrs. Michaels, the swoop of her dark bob, her tiny frame that Jinny inherited, along with the startling blue eyes Dean took with him from the womb. Right this second, she is probably donning one of her aprons with the silly sayings and cooking up a storm in the kitchen. Probably making them a congratulations cake or something. When you hug her, the scent of sugar cookies mingling with her floral perfume embraces you in a head-spinning fog. And her hugs, they’re the kind you can’t escape. The kind you have no choice but to melt into. In many ways, she’s quite different than her own mother was, but Mr. and Mrs. Michaels are the closest thing Callie has to home. And the thought of Mr. Michaels believing in her and Dean’s relationship broke her heart equally. Mr. Michaels, with his warm smile, his graying hair and mustache, his quiet demeanor.
“Don’t,” Callie rasps, and the sound of her voice nearly startles herself. “Don’t tell her.”
Dean narrows his eyes and licks his lips. “But Callie, she thinks we’re really together. She wants us to come to dinner on Friday.” He talks faster now, his arms waving around as he speaks. “She’s so damn excited and she was talking about all kinds of crazy stuff. She—”
Callie steps forward and she grabs Dean’s hands. She holds them in her own and she can taste something metallic in the back of her throat. The bitter edge is reminiscent of something and it takes her a moment before she realizes what it is. Fear. She tasted it the night the police told her about the accident and she tastes it now, only less so. And she knows why. She’s suddenly irrationally terrified of losing the only family she has left.
She squeezes his hands and hopes he can’t hear the tremor in her voice. “No. Please. She doesn’t need to know right now. Let her be excited. We can break it to her later, let her down easier that way. Over time.”
“Callie.” Dean shakes his head and glances away from her as his thumbs move in slow circles over the tops of her hands. “She’s talking about giving me my mother’s engagement ring.” His voice is nearly a whisper, but Callie catches every word. And with each word comes complete clarity—that the thought of giving Callie his grandmother’s ring is unthinkable. The thought stings.
“Oh,” she says. “Yeah, we can’t have that. I mean, you and me…an engagement ring? That’s too crazy.” She can hear the desolation in her voice and hates how pathetic it makes her sound.
He must hear it too, because he squeezes her hands and ducks his head so their eyes meet. “Hey, you’re not upset, are you?”
Of course I am! But I have absolutely no reason to be! They’re talking about an engagement ring here, not a piece of plastic from a gumball machine. To receive an engagement ring, you have to be engaged. And, you know, actually dating helps.
What the hell is wrong with me? Callie does a mental face-palm.
She’s thinking about Dean and an engagement ring in the same context. She’s gone nuts. Completely, certifiably nuts. Say something!
“I just…” What can she say? Especially while her thoughts are moving so fast they’re giving her whiplash. “I don’t want to upset her. She’s so excited… I just don’t want her to know. I figure we can keep doing our own thing and sometime over the summer or whatever we can start throwing hints at her, prepare her for it, then let her down easy.”
She realizes how ludicrous this is. She’s talking about letting Mrs. Michaels down easy over something that never existed in the first place. She’s suggesting faking a relationship, then faking problems with that relationship, then finally a breakup. It’s insane. It’s about the dumbest idea Callie’s ever had—including the escort service idea, and that one was a whopper.
Dean’s silent for a moment. She can sense hesitation in the way he’s looking at her. “Okay. We’ll wait. If you’re sure that’s what you want.” His slate-blue eyes move over her face.
“It is.” She leans into him, and without thinking she hugs him. His long arms come around her and wrap securely around her body. Resting her head on his chest, she says, “It’s better this way. You’ll see.”
#
All her energy isn’t e
nough to focus on work. It’s four o’clock on Friday and she’s trying to wrap up any loose ends for her clients before the weekend, but she’s finding work nearly impossible. Things that usually take her a matter of minutes seem to be taking hours, in no small thanks to her recurrent mental freak-outs. Her mounting dislike for Maya is the least of her worries. Right now, her impending dinner with the Michaels is trumping everything.
You should’ve just let Dean tell his mother the truth! Then you wouldn’t be getting ready to go back to the apartment to prepare for a dinner with his parents. A dinner meant to celebrate the fact that you’re in a relationship with their son. Except that you’re not!
She leans forward in her chair and bangs her head against the top of her desk. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Maybe if I go brain dead, I can get out of dinner.
Behind her, someone clears their throat.
Callie freezes, hear head halfway to the desk and preparing for another impact. Slowly, and with as much dignity as possible, she lifts her head, realizing how completely ridiculous she must look. But if it’s only Mr. Bucek, her embarrassment will be minimal.
She glances up to see Mr. Bucek, but he’s not alone. He’s standing next to who is quite possibly one of the most impressive examples of the male specimen she has ever seen. One glance busts through all thoughts of Dean and the impending dinner.
Her mouth drops open before she has the sense to snap it shut. His perfectly tailored suit—which is of impeccable quality—paired with a pink dress shirt and striped tie somehow enhances his masculine features. With thick blond hair, bright green eyes, a square jaw and a perfect tan, the man is the epitome of hot.
Of course he is.
“Uh, Callie, I was just telling Mr. Galveston here how you’re our most promising intern.” Mr. Bucek raises one brow at her while managing to widen both eyes, letting her know she indeed looked as crazy as she imagined.
Okay…act professional. Forget they saw you seconds ago, brainlessly banging your head against your desk.