He Belongs With Me (11 page)

“You have a pool in your backyard.”

“I'm aware.”

“So, why are you here?”

“If you're so annoyed by my presence, you don't have to sit next to me. Nobody's breaking your arm.”

I rolled my eyes. Was it always going to be like this between us? “We're adults now. I sat by you because I wanted to.” Not the full truth but whatever. “Why can't we just get along? And I do really want to know...why this pool?”

He took a deep, relaxed breath. “Relentless, aren't you?”

I shrugged. Was being relentless a crime? I glanced around. What was so damn special about this pool? Other people, perhaps. There were a rather large number of attractive guys here today, something I hadn't noticed before. And then something dawned on me that I had never considered—something I wondered aloud. “Are you gay, Leo?”

I regretted the words the moment they slipped out. Leo shot to his feet in an instant and yanked off his sunglasses, giving me a clearer view of his blazing eyes. “Do you spend your free time just trying to think of ways to purposely piss me the fuck off, Clara? Because you're really good at it and it's working out too well for you.”

I scrambled to my feet, my hands landing on my hips. “No,” I said in a low voice, trying not to draw any additional attention. “If you're gay, you can tell me. I wouldn't tell anyone else.”

“I want to know why you're asking me this,” he said through gritted teeth.

Jeez la weez. “I don't know. You always dress so well—better than girls—and you have such a weird friendship with Maggie. I've never seen you with a girl or even heard Maggie mention you dating someone. Don't be such a homophobe, it was an honest question.”

“First, you assume I'm gay and now you accuse me of being a homophobe. Which is it, Clara?” he groaned. “I have a question for you. Are you gay?”

I blinked up at him. “What?”

“Where's your boyfriend? Where are all of your girl friends? I haven't seen you with either. You certainly excelled at being a tomboy growing up. And even now, even when you go to the pool—” He glanced deliberately down at my bathing suit. “You can't dress for shit. So why don’t you satisfy my curiosity…are you a lesbian? If you are, you can tell me. I wouldn't tell anyone else.”

I hadn't asked him if he was gay to be mean, but somehow he took my words, turned them inside out, and used them against me. I wanted to punch him in his face or worse, but I did no such thing. My best defense mechanism—indifference—came rushing to my rescue. I yawned, acting as if this conversation was boring the crap out of me, and stared blankly up at him. “Grow up,” I said, dropping to my butt and lying back down on my towel.

“We will never get along,” he groaned, glaring down at me, the sun shining around his silhouette like a gold lining. “Because you will never stop infuriating me. If you must know, I came to the pool today because I wanted some company—or at least the illusion of it—but I'd prefer being alone to being with you.”

“You're blocking my sun,” I said, ready for this pointless conversation to be over.

He groaned again, even louder this time. “You're insufferable. I hope your milky-white skin burns. And buy a bikini. You aren't eighty or fat, so I don't get why you're always wearing that damn thing.”

I let out a slow breath. On the inside my blood turned to lava, but I kept all expression off my face. “This suit used to be my mother's, asshole. Now can you please move? You really are blocking my light.”

Leo walked away without saying another word.

Now that I think about it, Leo and I didn't speak again that summer. But my “milky-white skin”—as he so delicately put it—
had
burned. I think God had been on Leo's side because I looked like a lobster for a whole week after that fight.

Knock, knock.

Someone banged on Steph's door, ripping me from thoughts. Grateful for the interruption, I poked Snoring Beauty in the ribs. “Wake up.”

“Mommy, no. I won't eat the cornbread, it's stale.”

“Steph!”

“What?” She rolled, falling from the bed, and landed straight on the hardwood floor below.

Steph's bedroom door squeaked open. “Sorry, Stephany. I hate to wake you, but there's a guy in a black suit at the door for you. He has a package, but he won't just leave it with me. He says it has to be you.”

In a zombie-stupor, Steph stood up, stumbling after the roommate, and I followed after. Out in the living room, all six of the other roommates had gathered around the front door.

“Are you Stephany Mallory?” the man in the suit asked.

“Yes?”

“Sign here. I need delivery confirmation.” After she signed the electronic pad he handed her, the man gave her the package and left. Steph remained in the doorway, still stuck in a bit of a stupor, holding her package tight.

“Come inside and open it already,” one of the other girls demanded.

Returning to the living room, Steph kneeled on the ground and tore open the brown package like a kid on Christmas. The contents spilled onto the carpet. “Yankees stuff?” she questioned. “What kind of present is this?” The package included two New York Yankee baseball hats, two Derek Jeter jerseys, and a pair of foam fingers.

“What the hell?” I commented.

“There's a card,” pointed out one of the roommates. “Open it.”

Steph ripped open the envelope. A letter and two baseball tickets poked out. Steph grabbed the letter and read it aloud for everyone to hear.

Clara and Stephany-

There's a Yankees game today at 1:05. Want to meet me there? Text me yes or no and I'll send a car to pick you up. If you already have plans, I understand.

Leo

I took the letter from Steph, rereading it for myself. His writing was perfect, like he'd taken calligraphy classes as a child—come to think of it, he probably had. Or perhaps the oh-so-friendly Regina wrote the letter for him. “Doesn't he have work to do this weekend?” I thought aloud.

Steph squealed. “We have to go! Please, Clara? Please say yes. I've never been to a professional baseball game before…and it’s the Yankees!” She grabbed a jersey off the floor and yanked it on over her pajamas. “It fits!”

I reached for the tickets. “I didn't even know he liked baseball.”

“So...are we going then?” Steph demanded.

“If you don't want the tickets, I'll take them,” the roommate who answered the door offered. “I'm a huge Yankees fan.”

“No, I want to go.” I handed her my jersey and the hat, keeping the foam finger for myself. “But if you want, you can have this stuff. I basically hate the Yankees and would never be caught dead wearing anything with Jeter's name on it. So...”

“So, we'll go!” Steph shouted.

“Sure,” I said with a shrug, feigning apathy. “The tickets say the Yankees are playing the Orioles today. For that reason alone, I want to go.”

“Don't act like that's the only reason,” Steph insisted.

Rolling my eyes, I left the living room in search of my phone.

Prove to me you aren't an ass and I'm all yours.
Really? The embarrassing words still echoed in my head. I already knew Leo was an ass—no proof necessary. And yet...

Just like I couldn't look away when I saw his naked behind and just like I couldn't help myself from kissing him back when he kissed me, right now I couldn't stop myself from responding to his request. After going without my charger for the last two days, the battery on my phone was seconds away from certain death, but I had just enough juice left to text Leo.

Yes. Send the car.

CHAPTER 11

MAGGIE

When Andrew and I broke up, I never cried—not one tear. It had been mutual. We both had decided something was missing and it was time to move on.

When Robby Harvey left me—after Dad caught us naked in bed and close to doing something I probably wasn't ready for at fifteen—I had cried for days. Dad had discovered that Monica was about to leave him for a wealthier man and finding me in Robby's bed had caused him to go ballistic. He'd made both Monica and Robby leave that day with barely enough time to pack their bags.

But Robby had made me a promise before he left. He'd said that one day—the first opportunity he got—he’d come back for me. Was that why he'd returned to Blue Creek? Six years was a long time, and I still didn't understand the reason behind his name change, but could it be possible that he still loved me?

I wanted the answer to that question. No, I needed it.

Although if I was being honest with myself, what I really needed was a distraction. Ever since my one little phone conversation with Leo, I couldn't shake him from my thoughts either. I told myself I was being borderline obsessive, only because I was worried. My crazy thoughts had nothing to do with Leo’s smile or his laugh or the way I could talk to him about anything. They had nothing to do with the fact that under his façade of anger and hate was the sweetest person ever. And they certainly had nothing to do with the hole in my stomach that felt a lot like jealousy.

So by that afternoon, I was on a mission: Operation Confront Robby Harvey. Find out why he was in Blue Creek, why he'd changed his name, and why he hadn't immediately told me who he was the other night. I had to figure out if he still had lingering feelings for me. And yes, I had to do this because I needed the distraction. Desperately.

But I couldn't throw myself into shark-infested waters alone. Normally Leo would have been my partner in crime, but for obvious reasons, he couldn't help me. I needed backup and one person sprang to mind—Anita. While my friends from the country club were notorious for being two-faced backstabbers, Anita could be trusted. We were twenty years apart in age, but she'd always been kind to me. And best of all, she wasn't very keen on my sister.

Leaving my Porsche with the valet, I waited around outside for Anita to get off work. I knew for a fact that she always got off at one on Sundays. I could have gone inside to wait for her, but I didn’t have the energy to plaster on a fake smile for the other country club members I’d likely run into, so I stayed put outside.

“Anita,” I shouted, spotting her just as she walked out of the restaurant's front double doors. Her hair was teased up into a messy but stylish prom-worthy updo, making her impossible to miss. I smiled because, no matter the time or the day, Anita always looked fancy and dressed up. Maybe not at the standards I was used to, but I still liked her style.

“Hey, honey,” she said, shifting her large purse from one shoulder to the other. “What's goin' on? You look flushed.”

I felt flushed. My breathing neared hyperventilation and my body temperature was practically feverish, but my physical reactions weren’t my biggest concern at the moment. “Are you busy? I need a favor.”

“Just fixin' to go home to my cats, which makes me free as a bird. What can I do for you? Something wrong?”

“I need your help. I want to go undercover and spy on Dean.”

Her eyes went wide, dancing with excitement. “Hot damn, you know I'm in! Right now? We goin' right now? Please tell me right now.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, right now.”

She took her oversized purse off her shoulder and dropped it into my arms. “Be a doll and help me carry my pocketbook, please. Now where'd that beautiful little car of yours go?”

“Actually, can we take your car instead?”

Without hesitation, she replied, “Sure thing.”

Anita drove a fifteen-year-old truck that was more rust-colored than white—it was perfect. We'd be completely incognito in her very forgettable vehicle. “Where we headin'?” she asked once we were comfortably—or rather, uncomfortably—inside. The buckle on the passenger seat belt didn't work so I looped the restraint around my body, hoping Anita's driving wasn't as zealous as her personality.

“Mike's Pub.”

Anita ground the gear stick down into first. She pressed on the gas, letting off the clutch too soon, and the truck stalled. Her second attempt ended the same way.

I guess I didn't need to worry about going anywhere too fast. “Want me to drive?” I offered. Anita had been driving this truck for years. In all that time, had she ever bothered to try to learn how to drive it properly? “Ease off the clutch slower,” I suggested.

“I got it, hun. Give me a sec.” Her next attempt was a success. Well, sort of. She didn't stall the truck, but we bounced and bucked our way out of the parking lot. Once Anita shifted into second and then into third, her driving improved significantly. Still, someone needed to teach this woman how to drive a stick shift.

As we drove the short distance toward Mike's Pub, I waited for Anita to ask me why I wanted to spy on Dean. Instead, she sang along to Kelly Clarkson on the radio. Anita had always been a good casual friend, even if she was sort of my boss. I knew my secrets would be safe with her and I desperately needed to talk to someone.

“I found out Dean is my ex-stepbrother.”

Anita's singing squeaked to halt and she immediately cut the music off. “I never knew you had a stepbrother. When was your dad remarried?”

“Six years ago to a horrible woman named Monica Harvey. Don't you remember?”

“Not so much. I was workin' as a night manager back then so I wasn't up on all the gossip.”

“Their marriage was short—barely three months. Dean used to go by the name Robby and he looked very different at seventeen. When I found him at Mike's Pub and begged him to be my date, I didn't recognize him as Robby Harvey—obviously—or I never would have asked anything of him. The whole evening he pretended like we'd only just met. He even had the audacity to get mad at me when I realized we already knew each other.” I took a breath. “But that's not really what has me all worked up. I should be worked up about that. I should be screaming mad and pulling out my hair...I mean, I loved him once and now he's back. How am I supposed to handle that? But all I can focus on is...”