In Too Hard (Freshman Roommates Trilogy, Book 3) (9 page)

She didn’t deserve it.

Shaking off the thought, I said, “Well, you better go and take your share of shit.”

His grin died a little as he nodded. He reached for the keyboard, probably to disconnect, then pulled his hand back. “Hey, Syd?”

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath, looked down, and then back up at me. “The sweater wasn’t the real reason I wanted to FaceTime instead of call.”

“No?” I said, thinking that maybe he had intended to fire me after all.

“No,” he said. “I really…
really
…wanted to see you.”

I literally could not speak. I finally just nodded and mouthed, “Me too.” He smiled a small, almost sad, smile and then he was gone.

I stared at the blank screen for a long time.

Chapter Nine

D
oes your roommate Jane have a boyfriend?
He texted me on Saturday.

No FaceTime. No phone call. A text. About Jane being single.

Shit.

And it’d been so great video chatting with him the past couple of days. Yesterday I even picked my laptop up and moved it around the office, showing him the different piles and what they represented, even going through a couple of the piles and showing how everything had been sorted by date and character.

And we’d spent as much time talking about things other than his book. Like…well,
other
writers’ books.

But it had been great. And now he was asking if Jane was single. Via text?

I was half tempted to text that she indeed was very serious with some Bribury guy and was head over heels in love—her flirting with him just being a big joke to her. But I didn’t.

No. No boyfriend. She’s very single.

She and I had trolled some parties looking for guys, but she wasn’t interested in anybody. And anybody I was, didn’t seem interested in me—at least not for more than a one-night stand.
 

Well, she’s gonna have a boyfriend now. Or, at least for tonight.

My phone almost dropped from my hand. Jane was with Montrose? Was he in Baltimore, or was she in New York? And Montrose was finally going to cave?

Is she?
I texted back.
Vague. Noncommittal. Not too prying.
You’re with her?
I couldn’t resist adding.

Yes. Well, not WITH her, but she’s here. And some guy just planted one on her on the dance floor.

Dance floor? She was clubbing in Manhattan? And getting kissed in the middle of a dance floor? I knew anything was possible with Jane, but, still.

I’m at a wedding she’s at. A wedding she’s in, actually.

Oh, right. Her half sister’s wedding.
 

You’re at Betsy Stratton’s wedding?

Yes. I went to Brown with her and Jason. He’s the guy who we went for drinks with on Christmas night.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that Billy Montrose had been friends at Brown with Betsy Stratton, but I hadn’t known Jane then, hadn’t known of the weird connection Jane had with the Stratton family, so had never put it together.

Is her dress hideous?
She was afraid the dress was going to be God awful.

Shoot. I shouldn’t have asked that. I didn’t want him studying how good or bad Jane looked. Unless the dress truly was hideous and she looked like a hot mess.

A second ago her guy was twirling her, and she seemed to like the dress just fine. Was smiling ear-to-ear.

Jane?

Haha. That’s what I thought. But yep, she’s here. I knew about her of course, through Betsy, but was surprised to see she was a bridesmaid. I didn’t think she and Bets were that close.

They’re not. It’s a long story. Jane didn’t even want to be there.

Well she’s looking pretty happy dancing with this guy.

That was part of the deal she’d made—Jane looking happy to be there, playing the part of loving sister. But maybe it was more than her fulfilling her part of the bargain?

Do you know who the guy is?
I figured he might be another college buddy that Montrose went to school with, seeing as both the bride and groom were Brown grads.

No. Never saw him before. He’s younger than my group. Looks a little older than Jane. Wearing a tux. And a short ponytail.

Ponytail? I just could not imagine Jane happily dancing at her sister’s wedding and kissing a guy with a ponytail.

Open bar, I assume?
I asked, trying to find some sense in all this.

You just made me choke on my cocktail. Yes, open bar. But she looks fine, not drunk. Earlier she was dancing with her father and then with some old windbag, long time senator.

Wow. She is toeing the line for sure.

Maybe. Not so sure Grayson Spaulding was happy about the kiss. He and Caro Stratton have been watching the happy couple.

Betsy and Jason?

No, Jane and Ponytail.

I was just about to ask him to video tape them dancing and send it to me, so I could see for myself, but before I could he texted,
Gotta go. My chance to dance with Betsy.

Okay.

Wish we could have FaceTimed instead.

Me too.
I’ll bet you look amazing in a tux I wanted to type, but had the good sense not to.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Bye.

And he was gone. I spent another few minutes working, but my concentration was shot. Thoughts of Jane dancing and kissing a mystery man kept me entertained for the whole walk back to my dorm.

Thoughts of Montrose in a tux kept me on edge for the entire night.

“How was the wedding last night?” I asked Jane when I called her the next morning.

There was a pause. A pause in which a thousand scenarios went through my head. The worst one being that Montrose and Betsy had run into Jane and Ponytail on the dance floor, decided to switch partners and had realized during the three-minute song how much they’d been fighting their mutual attraction, and decided to finally act on it.

I think maybe I’d been surrounded by story-telling notes for too long.

“It was…bearable.”

“And the dress? Was it as bad as you feared?”

“Well, it was peach, and there was lace involved.”

I started giggling, as did she. “You know what,” she said, “it actually wasn’t
that
bad. It looked okay on me. And it twirled nicely when I danced.”

“Did you dance a lot?”

“No. Not much. Some old goat got a little touchy feely and I only danced for a little bit after that.”

“Yuck. Did you put the goat in his place?”

She laughed a tiny bit. “Sort of. Had to play it carefully because he’s some kind of influential guy for my father’s party.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because—get this—my father’s going to run for governor of Maryland.”

Jane’s father had been a presidential candidate years ago, but had dropped out of the race when his mistress (Jane’s mom) had become pregnant (with Jane). He’d been out of politics ever since.

“Are you shitting me?” I asked.

“I wish.”

We talked about her dad and his upcoming election for half an hour. How they wanted Jane to be involved and how she could use that to her advantage.

If her father was half the bargaining mastermind that Jane was, Maryland might be in good hands with him as governor.

She never said anything about seeing Montrose at the wedding. And she definitely didn’t say anything about kissing a guy with a ponytail.

We said our goodbyes. It was Sunday. I had planned to go to Montrose’s for the whole day since I wasn’t working for my admin job. After breakfast at the nearly empty caf, instead of walking on to Snyder Hall, I turned around and went back to my dorm room. The snow was falling, getting my new boots wet. I hadn’t worn a warm enough sweater under my coat and the idea of crawling back into bed and reading the day away was more tempting than spending the day with Rachel/Esme. That realization alone made me admit I needed a break, and indeed went back to the dorm, put on some heavy wool socks, some sweats, another sweater, and bundled up in bed with my comforter around me like a burrito.

Okay if I take the day off?
I texted to Montrose. I really didn’t think he’d care. I just wanted an excuse to start a conversation.

Of course I don’t mind. I can’t believe you’ve been in that office every day. I’ve told you that you didn’t have to be.

He had. Several times. And I’d always argued back that I
wanted
to be there as much as I was. Which was true.

But today I needed to recharge. And I always did that best with a good book.

Okay, good. Thanks. I’ll be back there after my admin shift tomorrow.

Take tomorrow off too, if you want. You’re way ahead of where I thought you’d be.

Nope. Just need a day to lay in bed and read, you know?

Oh yeah, I know. I know very well.

He was a writer, and also a voracious reader. Of course he knew.

Chapter Ten

T
he next day, Monday, I was recharged from a day in bed reading the newest John Irving novel, and couldn’t wait to get back to Montrose’s office. But first I had to get through my shift testing faux grading in the new front end system.

One of the consultants asked what I was doing for New Year’s Eve. The consultants, most from the firm’s Texas office, were here for the holidays too. They’d flown home for the long Christmas weekend, but apparently they would not be doing the same for New Year’s.

I told the guy I didn’t know of anything going on.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said. “I was asking if
you
were doing anything. And if not…would you like to?”

I stared at him. He was pretty hot and we’d done a little good-natured joking when we’d been working in the same areas. But something made me tell him no.

Okay, it wasn’t just “something” and I knew it. It was Montrose.

Which was totally stupid, and also… Yeah, stupid was definitely the best word for it.

It wasn’t like there was anything between us. And yet, there kind of was.
 

It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be out with someone on New Year’s Eve. And yet, I somehow thought he wouldn’t be.

It wasn’t like I’d be spending it with him. And yet, maybe I would be…at least virtually.

A girl could—foolishly, completely inappropriately—hope.

The consultant took the rejection in stride and I got the feeling that he was a co-ed in every port kind of guy.

When I got to Montrose’s office in the late afternoon I stopped cold as soon as I opened the door.

He had been here. I knew it, though everything looked the same. It was just—okay, this is really hokey—the air was different.

I looked at my well-thought-out piles of his notes. They hadn’t been moved or jostled from the precarious perches some of them maintained. But I knew he’d looked through them.

I circled around the desk and my breath caught as I saw a note right in the center. And definitely not one I’d written.

Sorry I missed you. I was in Chesney for that wedding so stayed at my place. I didn’t want you to get out of bed (or book) yesterday, so I didn’t mention that I’d be stopping in. The notes are in great shape, organized much better than I could have done. And just seeing them would have sent me off on more note-taking tangents, so it’s great that you were able to do them for me.

Can’t thank you enough.

Billy

I dropped into the creaky, wooden desk chair. Unfuckingbelievable. I’d missed him because I’d wanted to stay in bed and read on a snowy Sunday afternoon. Something I could have done any Sunday—in fact, did
most
Sundays.

I looked at the note again, this time noticing the small postscript at the very bottom of the piece of paper.

I miss you—is that crazy?

Just as I was thinking how un-crazy that was, my phone rang with his tone. Knowing I couldn’t get my laptop out and booted fast enough, I answered the FaceTime call on my phone.

“I just got here,” I said, out of breath, like I’d run all the way here from the admin building, when in reality, I was just gasping from the absurdity of our near miss.

And then chastising myself for feeling that way. I worked for him. Next week I’d be seeing him all the time.

The thought of seeing him more than just three times a week for a very short hour got my breath going all the more quickly.

He chuckled a little. “That eager to get to work? That you’d run to the office?” But he seemed to know that it wasn’t physical exertion that had my cheeks red and my chest rising. Not that he’d even see my chest with me holding my phone so closely to my face.