“This job,” Meghan reported as we watched her in a reenactment of the Bubonic Plague, “paid my rent for three months and Scorsese’s second-cousin-twice-removed directed it.” She glared at the screen. “But all the body makeup gave me a rash so I couldn’t play Mary Queen of Scots the next week.” She downed a Classic Coke then tossed the can near the vicinity of the trash.
“She was inconsolable for weeks.” Gio patted her shoulder.
“It should’ve been my big break.” Meghan accented her foul mood with a very unladylike belch. “Where’s all the chocolate?”
“You ate it.” I lounged back on the couch. “Aren’t you supposed to be paleo these days?”
Megs lay prostrate across the floor, her arms out, stretching for her purse just out of reach. After a few moments of searching through its contents, she threw it aside and grabbed her jacket. “Ah-ha!” The look on her face was ecstatic as she pulled a Snickers from an inside pocket.
“I hope she gets cellulite for Christmas,” Gio mumbled, staring at the TV where some actor in splotchy makeup was barfing in the bushes. She grabbed the remote. “We’ve seen this three times.”
Sarah scooped up a handful of popcorn, then slid across the couch cushions toward me. “Did Ollie tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Meghan asked, even though Sarah had clearly addressed me.
Of course Oliver hadn’t told me anything; we’d barely exchanged twenty words since lunch at Dim Sum Heaven. It wasn’t entirely his fault. Just because we happened to be in love when we were practically kids didn’t mean we had to be friends now. So much for my plan to be adult about it and make proper closure with transparent communication to everyone.
Sarah gazed at me wide-eyed, waiting for my answer. Why she considered her brother and me to be such great friends was a mystery.
“No, sorry,” I said to her, glancing at Meghan who was giving me a look. “I haven’t talked to your brother about anything.”
“Really?” Sarah frowned. “Well, anyway, he has to go to Vancouver in January, but when he gets back, he’s heading to L.A. for a week.”
“I didn’t know his job took him to other parts of the state,” I said. “We’re from Santa Barbara, Meghan and me.”
Sarah laughed. “I know that. We’ve got friends in Pasadena—that’s close, right?”
I nodded. “About an hour away.”
She smiled bigger. “Ollie and I are taking vacay and we were thinking you guys should come, too. You can show us your old stomping grounds.”
“Los Angeles!” Meghan sang with an accent, snapping her fingers above her shoulder like a flamenco dancer.
“Road trip!” Sarah squealed.
“Vacation?” I said it like I’d never heard the word before.
Sarah rose to her knees, firelight catching the auburn in her hair. “Two of Ollie’s college roommates live in Pasadena; they’re like brothers to me, and there’s a huge festival that whole week.”
“Get Happy.” I’d read about it a few weeks ago, actually tagged it in my Yahoo news feed. “It’s an annual street fair. There’s a pub crawl, a scavenger hunt, and a 5K color run. All proceeds going to charity.”
“Sounds like a blast.” Meghan sat on the coffee table across from us. “I’ll check with my agent, but I don’t think rehearsals are ‘til the end of January.”
“Wish I could go, chicas.” Gio refilled her cup by dunking the entire thing into the pitcher of holiday cider. “But I’ll be in Atlanta for trade shows.”
When I didn’t chime in, all three looked at me.
“There’s no way I can leave work for a week.”
Sarah widened her eyes like a puppy. “Did you take off extra days for Thanksgiving?”
“No.”
“Are you taking time off for Christmas or New Year’s?”
I shook my head, feeling awkward and pissed off; pissed off that I had the suckiest job in the world.
“Sounds like a done deal to me,” she said.
“Yeah, me too.” Though Meghan didn’t sound as enthused. “You’ve been talking about doing something charitable, right?”
“Peer pressure, Rachel.” Giovanna pointed at me, a curtain of her black hair covering half her face. “Just. Say. No.”
I considering for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s been six months and I haven’t taken more than a few days off, and it’s probably time I check in on Krikit to see if she’s lit anything on fire.”
“So you’re in?” Sarah asked.
“Don’t stress, Rach.” Meghan pulled out her phone. “If you can’t come, you can’t come.”
I frowned as she disappeared into the kitchen to make a call. “Sarah,” I said in a low voice, “are you sure your brother’s okay with this?” I glanced toward the kitchen. “With me coming, I mean?”
“Totally. He told me twice to make sure I invited you.”
“Okay.” I didn’t know what to make of that, but I nodded and walked into the kitchen. Meghan was leaning against the fridge, typing on her phone. “Hey. Are you okay? Do we need to make a chocolate run to—”
“What’s going on with you two?”
I blinked when she cut me off. “Me and Sarah?”
She put a hand on her hip. “Don’t play dumb. You and Rad.”
My hands felt cold and tingly. “Nothing, Megs.” I made double fists behind my back in case my hands started to shake. “He barely speaks to me, barely looks at me.”
“It’s called sexual tension, Rachel. Anytime I’m around you two, the room screams with it. Am I imagining that?”
“Meghan, it’s not—”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him. So I’m either blind or crazy. Either way, you’re not being a very good friend.”
She was dead right. I didn’t realize I’d been obsessing over him in the guise of gaining closure. Which wasn’t fair. He didn’t want me and I didn’t want him—but my best friend did. If I didn’t stop this crap, I really might damage our friendship.
“I’m sorry.” I touched her arm. “But I swear to you, there’s absolutely nothing going on between us. I’d promise to stay away from him if that would help, but honestly, I don’t know how to stay away from him more than I am.”
She twisted her lips and stared at the floor. “I like him, Rach.”
I smiled supportively, but my stomach hurt.
“He’s confusing.” She snorted. “Typical guy, right?”
“Maybe he’s busy with work. When you first met, he probably had more free time.”
“Maybe.” Meghan smiled and seemed relieved by my explanation. Lovely how I was trying to convince my best friend to not give up on the guy I was trying to get over.
Damn. My brain needed a vacation, if nothing else.
In my gut, this particular vacation felt like a bad idea, but after confirming practically in blood that I was going, I did everything I could to get out of it, keeping Meghan’s feelings in mind.
Adding to this stress, work was beyond hectic. With Claire finally on my side after the emery board brainstorming session, I was offered more responsibilities. Which was great—if staying in advertising was what I wanted.
I’d just gotten out of a long meeting when my cell rang.
“Are you packed?” Meghan asked. “We leave first thing in the morning.”
“Locked and loaded,” I confirmed, happy to no longer hear suspicion in her voice.
“Got your license? Health insurance card, passport?”
I stared down at my phone. “Megs, what do you think is going to happen, exactly? We’re going to Pasadena.”
“Just preparing for anything. So you’re completely ready?”
“I still have to stop my mail.” I opened a browser window to do just that while I was thinking about it.
“Roger’s in town. Can’t he grab your mail?”
I didn’t reply right away. A few weeks ago, I’d submitted a short story—the one with my Texas-style Bridget Jones—to Self
, Women’s Health, and a couple other women’s magazines. I’d also emailed ten resumes. No one needed to know that yet. I just wanted to see what options I had. I didn’t need Rog to see a bunch of rejection letters addressed to me from New York.
Plus, there were other considerations when I thought about amending my ten-year plan.
Oliver had snuck into my nightly dreams. Sometimes he was a minor character who’d pop in then fade into the background. Other times it was just him, talking to me, sitting in a chair, standing in a room, sometimes rehashing conversations we’d shared six years ago; but always kind, always reassuring, even when I wasn’t, as if he knew something Dream Rachel didn’t. Those mornings, I would wake up energized and buoyant. It usually took me a few moments to realize it wasn’t real.
Chapter Eighteen
I hadn’t been on a road trip in ages and was actually looking forward to the five-hour drive. But once we were inside Oliver’s SUV with Meghan in the front seat, it was “Rad” this and “Rad” that. I couldn’t help it, he didn’t look like a Rad to me, and if I heard “Rad” one more time, I might vomit.
Settling in, I crossed my legs and rested the side of my head against the window. Sitting kitty-corner from him, I had a straight-on view of Oliver’s profile behind the wheel.
Rad. What did that name even mean?
A Rad didn’t have corded muscles in his neck like that. I stole a glance at Oliver, and right on cue, he swallowed, working those sexy neck muscles. I shifted, recrossing my legs. And no one called Rad could ever have a jaw sharper than a Ginsu knife. Oliver said something to Sarah then rubbed his jaw. It was sprinkled with stubble today. I felt my lips peel apart, throat going dry. And that perfect profile of Oliver’s, those lips of his could never be mistaken for—
I blinked, getting a full frontal view of his face now. He was turned halfway around, saying something else to Sarah in the backseat beside me, but he’d caught me in a full-on stare.
“Did you say something?” he asked.
My mouth was obviously still open, lips parted, so I shut it first then said, “Me? No.”
He turned back to the road but shot me another quick glance, running a knuckle under his chin. Did he know I absolutely loved that move? Or used to…I used to love that move.
Seriously, Rachel.
I grabbed my jacket, wadded it up into a ball to use as a pillow, and slammed my eyes shut. I could still hear Meghan’s “Rad” comments—puke—but I least I couldn’t see anything.
But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t dream. Before I knew it, my eyelids were heavy and I nodded off… We weren’t in his car anymore, but in his bedroom back in college. I could smell his soap, the wet towel from his shower. There were those neck muscles again. I was closer to them now. That jaw I’d kissed a million times, and yes, his lips. I had to touch those lips.
It wasn’t exactly a snore that startled me awake. I’d actually mumbled something else in my sleep. And if it was a name, it sure as hell wasn’t “Rad.” Everyone in the car was talking, though I hadn’t yet opened my eyes, making sure no one had heard me, if I had indeed said aloud what I’d called out in the dream.
Megs was on her phone, talking to her mother, it sounded like. And Sarah was telling Oliver about a painting she was replicating for a class. All clear. I cracked one eye open. From my position, I wasn’t in plain view of Oliver’s profile anymore, but I could see his reflection in the rearview mirror. For a second, I thought I must still be dreaming, because he was looking at me. But since I was squinting, I couldn’t be sure, so I cozied into my jacket/pillow, like I was rolling over in bed, and took another peek. We must’ve been driving through a town, idling at a stop light, otherwise, our driver’s gaze could not be focused on my reflection—instead of the road—for so many seconds together.
Slowly, I opened both eyes, a millimeter at a time.
We were looking at each other now, just us. And no one else knew. It was like time stopped. “I love to watch you sleep,” he’d once told me. “But watching you wake up, that’s my favorite part.” My heartbeats faded, then sped up, hard and fast. After a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkled, like he was smiling at me. At my reflection, just waking up.
“The light’s green. Ollie.”
Oliver blinked—once like he was coming out of a daze, and a few more times, like he was embarrassed at being caught by me.
“Thanks,” he said to Sarah, then he cleared his throat, definitely not looking at me when he started driving through the intersection. He wiped the back of his hand over his upper lip, then across his forehead. Oliver was sweating.
I sat up and stretched, feeling a little bit gratified. So, I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten caught up in the past.
The winters around Los Angeles County were milder than in San Francisco. After the five-hour drive—two of which I’d been napping—I was instantly exhilarated by the bright, breezy, sunny day that welcomed us in Pasadena.
Oliver pulled up to our hotel. It was typical southern California decor: orange stucco buildings surrounding a pool with sky-high palm trees. It looked trashy but charming. Before Oliver could put the car in park, two guys wearing black hoodies jumped out of nowhere and started pounding on the hood. Meghan screamed and huddled with me in the backseat. When Oliver laughed and honked the horn, I relaxed, though from the way he was pointing at the guys and gesturing out the window, I was even more confused.
“Oh, it’s Ryan.” Sarah stuck her tongue out at the hooded guy by her window. “And Nick.” She hid her face in her hands, reverting back to her tween self around her big brother’s buddies.
The night before we left, Sarah gave Meghan and I a quick dish on Ryan and Nick—complete with a peek at their Instagram photos. They’d been roommates with Oliver at Nebraska State and were both cute. Ryan on the hipster side, Nick on the Nordic God side. Though you couldn’t tell everything from pictures.
“Okay, smartasses,” Oliver called through the windshield to the guys rocking the car. “You scratch it, you buy it.”
Meghan glanced at me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged in reply and looked out my window, enjoying the show. The one I took to be Nick slid across the hood of the car, landed, then positioned himself like a sniper. This caused Oliver to double over laughing. Ryan pointed both hands at Oliver, mouthing something I couldn’t understand, but it looked like he was singing. Evidently the rest of us were not in on the inside jokes shared by the former roommates.
Oliver was laughing to the point of tears now and I couldn’t help staring at him, at his whole face alight like the carefree boy I used to know. The sound of his laughter made my heart duck and cover from the avalanche of memories…us laughing together like that.
Out of my peripheral vision, I caught Nick moving to my window. When I turned, he stopped cold and took a step toward the car. “Hi,” I mouthed and waved one finger.
He slapped a hand over his heart like he’d been shot and stumbled backward. Everyone inside the car went quiet. I chuckled, self-consciously. “Is he all right?”
“Dang.” Sarah looked at me, her eyebrows lifted. “What’d you do, Rachel?”
“Waved.”
The two guys were in a football huddle now. Nick’s blue eyes—that were way bluer than in pictures—found me over Ryan’s shoulder. Instagram filters did the guy no justice. He was Vampire Diaries pretty. No wonder he’d moved to L.A.
Oliver muttered under his breath, then opened his car door, nearly hitting Nick in the face. I didn’t move while watching the three buddies reunite. They looked so happy as they bumped fists and did those awkward-looking guy half-hugs. When all three looked at me, my face got hot and I glanced away.
“Rachel.” Meghan stood outside my door. “Let’s check in.”
“Yeah, coming.” I nodded, still feeling several sets of eyes on me.
We were a rowdy bunch, our voices, bodies, and luggage taking over the hotel lobby. Because of the Get Happy festival—and Meghan’s inability to make a
reservation—we lost one of our rooms, so we three girls were left sharing one. “It’ll be like the dorms again,” Meghan cheered. I volunteered to take the rollaway cot for the first night.
After check-in, Nick fell into step with me, offering to get my bags.
“My contribution to the week is I’m taking us to the Lakers/Spurs game Thursday night, the day after the 5K,” he said, as he rolled my suitcase down the hall. “I couldn’t get us all in the press box but the seats are good, first level behind the bench.” This set everyone chattering. “Have you ever been to a game?” he asked me as we fell to the rear of the group. “You should see Kobe Bryant. Amazing athlete. Especially live.”
“Dallas has a pretty solid team this season. Nowitski’s a shoo-in for MVP.” I flipped my hair in a way I’d seen Gio do. “He averages twenty-five a game; twenty-seven on the road. But we should actually worry about Garnett in the west. He’s hot since the trade. And Kobe is so five years ago.”
Nick stopped walking and stared at me.
“A friend of mine knows Mark Cuban.” I shrugged, coyly. “When I lived in Dallas last season, I sat courtside twice and twice in his suite. He gave me the inside scoop.”
Nick looked like he was about to simultaneously drool and cry. I flipped my hair again and walked ahead, laying on the flirty coy. At least, I hoped it was flirty. It had been so long.
We hadn’t been in our room ten seconds before Sarah started in. “So, hello. Nick is totally smitten with you, Rach.” She tossed her bags on the bed.
I unzipped my suitcase, trying not to smile. “What are you talking about? We just met.”
Meghan, who was unloading her pre-measured bottles of cayenne pepper, honey, and sea salt water into the tiny hotel room fridge, let loose a dramatic wail. “I have never heard you talk like that to a guy. You were flirting with him in front of everyone.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was not.”
“You were. You touched his arm and flipped your damn hair. I saw you.”
“So did I.” Sarah sat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t you think he’s cute?”
“Duh. Of course.” I made myself wait a couple of beats so I didn’t sound as giddy as I was starting to feel. Nick wasn’t just cute; his face should’ve been in magazines instead of his words about West Coast sports. “Which is precisely why he wasn’t flirting back. No one that good looking would be smitten with me.”
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