Finding Chris Evans: The Hollywood Edition (9 page)

He glanced over at her then, holding her gaze with heat in his, and all at once she felt that same snap of connection that she’d felt in Chicago. This. This was how it was supposed to feel—until the car began to drift toward the side and the growl of the rumble strips snapped them both out of it.

“Sorry,” Chris murmured, and she wanted to ask him whether he was apologizing for nearly running them off the road, or for giving her that shiver of hope that the thing between them was still there.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

This was the mother of his child. The stakes were too high to screw things up by rushing into romance again. She was going back to school and he was going to work—for at least the next couple months. When her semester was over and she joined him in San Diego was plenty early enough to see if this thing between them still burned as bright as he remembered.

They had time. They had their whole lives. He could wait.

Even if that one look at her had gotten him hard as a freaking rock in the driver’s seat and nearly sent them inadvertently off-roading.

He wasn’t going to screw things up with her again. One step at a time. And the first step was friendship. Not lust. No matter how much he might want it to be otherwise.

Chapter Eight

They made it to the airport without further detours toward the shoulder, or any other sizzling, electric moments of connection snapping between them. Trina had taken over driving when they stopped for gas and was behind the wheel as they approached the terminal.

The discussion about Ellie and fate—or that momentary flash of lust—had broken the ice and their conversation had flowed easily as the miles flew by, reminding her why she had liked him so much that first night. Though the taste of that reminder was bittersweet since he seemed to have no interest in rekindling their brief affair.

Chris had told her stories about his builds and strange celebrity moments. She’d told him about the highs and lows of medical school. And neither of them mentioned their shared history again. They’d almost been able to forget they were about to become parents together.

Almost.

It had been comfortable—until they hit the Twin Cities. Then Chris had begun navigating and Trina had grown more and more tense as they grew closer and closer to the airport. They had a plan, but it was small comfort. She was still scared of watching him walk away—scared that he would vanish on her again.

Marty had texted Chris his flight confirmation. Marty, who excelled at keeping Chris away from her and would have his ear for the next several months while they were separated. Marty, who thought she was a predatory gold-digger out to wreck Chris’s career.

Trina was silent as she followed the signs for departures, tension thickening the air between them. She wanted him to say something—
anything
—that would reassure her that she was making the right choice. Not that it felt like she had a choice. She wanted the baby. If she was honest with herself, she wanted Chris and a house in the suburbs and a happily ever after. But if he didn’t want to be with her, what else could she do but watch him fly away again?

Because that had gone so well last time.

“Right here’s good.”

She looked where he was pointing and pulled the car over to an open space along the curb. He didn’t have any bags to get out of the trunk, nothing more to delay his departure. She didn’t need to get out to see him off, but she shut off the car and when he climbed out, she did also, rounding the hood and standing there in front of him, nervously twirling her keys.

“You have my number,” he said.

She wasn’t sure which one them he was reminding, but she nodded.

He reached out, catching her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

He used their linked hands to tug her closer, reeling her in until she was flush against his body and he could wrap both arms around her, holding her close.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She’d never been a crier before she got pregnant, but now the waterworks were a regular occurrence. She looped her arms around his waist, bending her head so he wouldn’t see her eyes as she sniffed back the tears, determined that she was
not
going to cry in front of him.

One of his hands rested at the small of her back, the other rose to cup the nape of her neck, his thumb gently stroking her there. Her breath caught with a sharp sexual awareness.

He smelled amazing. She’d forgotten that—how just the scent of him had made her entire body come alive. Just that scent and the lazy stroke of his thumb and she could feel herself going slick and weak-kneed for him.

The hand at her nape slid around to cup her jaw, lifting her face from where she’d hidden it against his chest. “Trina,” he whispered, and she dared lift her gaze.

His blue eyes were waiting for her, so close, with a question in them she was afraid to answer, but he seemed to know what she wanted. What she needed. He bent his head and his lips brushed hers, her eyelids falling down as they suddenly grew impossibly heavy.

God, the
taste
of him. He was everything she wanted and his kiss seemed to promise that he was hers for the asking. Her chest swelled—

But when he lifted his head there was none of that promise in his eyes, only more questions, and she knew even before he stepped back that this wasn’t a sappy romantic comedy movie ending.

Her life didn’t work like that.

Chris set her away from him, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll call you from New York.”

She couldn’t seem to find any words. There had to be something she could say that would make him stay, but her tongue was thick and all she could think was
Please choose me.
His gaze held hers for a long moment and she almost started to hope he might change his mind, that he might stay, when he gave a nod and said, “Goodbye, Trina.”

“Talk to you soon, Chris.” She refused to say goodbye. Even if this felt like goodbye.

She watched him walk away, feeling her heart stretching after him until the terminal doors closed behind him, cutting him off from view, and all her hopes snapped back on her like a rubber-band, striking her in the chest. She rubbed at her sternum as she turned and walked back to where her car waited.

She was going to drive back to Chicago. They were being practical. They had a plan.

None of which explained why she was sitting in the driver’s seat of her car with the road blurring in front of her, probably going to get a ticket for lingering too long in a loading zone because she couldn’t seem to stop blubbering.

She needed a sign—Beware Emotional Outbursts: Pregnancy Hormones Overflowing.

She kept telling herself it was just the hormones. It had nothing to do with a broken heart.

Chris ignored the feeling nagging at him as he headed toward the kiosk to punch in the confirmation number Marty had texted him to print out his boarding pass.

With TSA Pre-Check and no bags to check or carry, he’d be through security in plenty of time to make his flight. He was on his way back to his regularly scheduled life and so was Trina. It should have been a relief. Instead all he felt was that niggling at the back of his mind that he’d just royally screwed up.

He told himself he was right to walk away, but it felt so
wrong
to walk away from her. A little voice whispered that he was making the biggest mistake of his life, but he pushed down the feeling, smothering the urge to turn around and run back to her.

He needed to think rationally right now. They couldn’t just think about what they wanted anymore. They had to think about the baby. It complicated things. It added a layer of permanency they couldn’t escape. He couldn’t just play it by ear and have fun with Trina the way he wanted to. The way he would have if they hadn’t lost touch or if she’d come back to him just to be with him and not because of an accidental pregnancy. She wasn’t just a girl he liked any more. She was the mother of his child. That put a pressure on things, imposing the harsh light of reality on a relationship that had been fragile to begin with.

The kiss had been a mistake. He could still taste her on his lips. It had been an impulse—a stupid impulse, born of the moment, of the
need
to touch her again—but now he couldn’t get it out of his head.

He arrived at a row of check-in kiosks—and froze. Marty stood ten feet in front of him, issuing commands to two of his assistants, Melissa and Aubrey, as they wrestled with a stack of bags.

“Chris!” his agent beamed when he spotted him. “Everything go smoothly?”

Chris frowned, approaching his manager. “I thought you were meeting me in New York.”

“We decided to connect with you here instead. We’re all on the same flight to New York.”

Which was Marty’s way of saying he hadn’t trusted Chris to actually get on the flight and wanted to make sure he got his ass to New York on time. Not for the first time today, the micromanaging nettled.

“How did it go?” his manager asked, obviously going for casual but landing more in the vicinity of irritable and demanding.

“She’s going back to Chicago. When her current med school term is over, she’s going to join me in San Diego around Christmastime and we’ll make plans then.” And just saying that he wasn’t going to see her until Christmas made him feel sick to his stomach.

Marty beamed—so happy Chris found himself inexplicably wanting to punch him. “Good! That’s excellent. By Christmas we’ll have the network contracts signed. I’m sure we can keep it out of the tabloids until then. Just another crazy fan, right? Good boy.”

“I’m not a boy,” Chris snapped—but Marty certainly treated him like one. A child with an overly scheduled life and a career that employed hundreds and raked in millions.

And without Trina in the picture, that career was secure. Or as secure as it could be. His show could still be canceled, but that was always a risk.

“Hey, buddy, relax. Don’t go diva on me now. I know these last few months have been stressful, but we’re almost there. The big time. We’re weeks away from getting what you’ve always wanted.”

What he’d always wanted. Chris nodded, his temper deflating. This was what he wanted. The reason he’d gone on
Romancing Miss Right
in the first place. To be famous. The celebrity contractor. Help people build their dream homes and be adored by fans in return. He’d chosen this life.

Marty shoved a strip of paper at him. “Here’s your boarding pass. Do you have your ID?”

But Chris wasn’t listening. A single phrase kept repeating in his head.

What he’d always wanted…

Wanted. Past tense.

He and his dad had built his first addition together. His mother had documented the entire thing on their camcorder, narrating and teasing him that he was going to be bigger than Bob Vila. And when he’d lost them, living out his mother’s dream for him had been the only thing that made sense. He’d wanted to make that dream come true, but being the heartthrob had never been the goal. It had been about family. And Trina was his family now.

It had been fun at first when the women chased him, he wasn’t going to lie. But he’d been pursuing his goals blindly for so long that he hadn’t stopped to think about what he really wanted in forever. Not since Trina and Chicago.

He’d wanted her. He’d wanted to make her laugh—and smile that shy, sweet smile she tried to hide from the world. He’d come up with the unplanned night for her, but he’d needed it too.

He’d wanted that.

He
still
wanted it.

Maybe it was fate.

She’d changed everything—changed
him—
and he hadn’t realized how much until she slipped out of his life and burst back into it. There was a time to think rationally and there was a time to make a fool of yourself for love. This definitely wasn’t the time to be rational. Rational wasn’t going to make him happy. Not without her.

“Chris? Do you have your ID?”

He was shaking his head, looking toward the drop-off area where he’d last seen Trina. She’d be gone by now. Long gone. But something told him she was still there. His fate was waiting.