Pretending He's Mine (13 page)

I leave, shutting the door hard behind me and head for the elevators. I press the button and wait, and seconds later I hear a familiar click of shoes. I turn and there she is.

“Hey,” I say.

“Going for a run?” she asks, then she winces, as if she wishes she hadn’t talked to me.

She’s rebuffed all the efforts I made to talk to her in the last week. After what happened on the couch in my office I thought maybe we had a chance at something again. Then she took off, and she kept taking off. They say actions speak louder than words, and her actions are a morning alarm clock.

I’ve got to play it cool with her. “Running helps me think. I swear I do my best problem solving on the trails and bike paths.”

“I find I do a great job keeping track of how much I never want to run again when I’m running.”

That earns a smile from me. “That’s right. You’re all about walking.”

The elevator arrives and I hold out my hand, watching her as she steps inside, thinking about the last time she had a skirt on, and how that skirt gave me such easy access to the places on her I wanted the most. The thought flashes through my mind that I could press the stop button, run a hand up the back of her thigh, and between her legs. Then, she turns around, but I don’t stop picturing how much I want to take off her underwear, press her into the corner of the elevator and finish everything we started on my couch. Finish it, then start it again, and again. I want to crush my lips against hers, and grab her small little waist in my hands, and then lift her onto that elevator bar, and…

But I can’t. I have to tell her how I feel first. I have to let her know that she’s not just a quickie on the couch. That she’s not just a screw in the elevator.

I force myself to make small talk with her until the elevator reaches the first floor. When the door opens, I picture her walking away, and I feel like my chest is being squeezed. “Kat,” I say in a low voice.

She moves closer to me, a softness to her face. “What is it?”

But I don’t even know how to say all the things I owe to her.

“Nothing.”

I leave first and start running the second I hit the sidewalk. I run hard and fast up Lexington, pushing past midday crowds. If anyone was looking at me, they’d think I was the most intense, focused runner. But all my focus is on her. I can’t pretend she means nothing to me. She’s always meant something to me. She’s always meant the most to me. Sure, the board is breathing down my neck, and I’ve got to run a squeaky clean operation, but hell, I’m a mess inside, torqued and twisted with all the things I’ve wanted to say to her for five years, let alone the last few weeks, and I’m fed up with the way she avoids me. I’ve got to know how she feels. I turn the other way, my sneakers pounding the concrete on the way back to the movie theater. I know that’s where she’s gone. I buy a ticket for any movie. Doesn’t matter which film because I’m not here for the movies. I stop in a few theaters, scanning quickly for her. I find her in some action flick, near the back, all slinked down in her seat.

My fists are clenched, but it’s because I’m nervous. Because I’m going to put it out there for her. I sit next to her, place a hand on her cheek, and force her to look at me. The feel of her skin on my hand is almost too much.

“You’re making me crazy,” I say.

“I am? Why?”

“You act like nothing happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How can you just be like this? Like it was nothing what happened?”

“How can you?”

“I called you that day. I emailed you that afternoon. You totally blew me off, and I’ve been looking for every chance to talk to you.”

“You haven’t been trying that hard.”

“Bullshit, Kat. I’ve tried to talk to you every time you’ve been by and you know it.”

Some dude a few rows up gives us a dirty look. As if I care. Still, I lower my voice. “Do you have any idea what I’m going through at work?”

“No. Why would I?”

The guy looks back again. “Keep it down, okay?”

Kat gestures to the door and I take her by the elbow and lead her out. We’re alone in the hall, and soon I tell her everything—the board, the lawsuit, all the crazy pressure I’m under. Then I tell her the thing I most want her to know.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about that afternoon. I have not been able to stop thinking about you,” I say.

♦ ♦ ♦

Scene: This scene takes place before the final chapter of
Caught Up In Us
. This is when Kat tells Bryan they can be together.

The bell jingles behind me as I leave Mystic Landing, having just said goodbye to Kat’s parents. As I walk to the nearby train station, my head is filled with ideas on how to revamp the store. Kat said her parents’ shop has been struggling, but I already have some plans on how I can help.

I walk past the local coffee shop, and I’m hit with the memory of the first time Kat and I went here together five years ago. This cafe reminds me of her, everything in this town—understandably—reminds me of her since this is where we met, and this is where we first fell in love.

Now, she’s back in New York City and I’ve got to do everything I can to stay busy for the next five weeks until we can see each other again the way we want to. As I reach the train station and buy a ticket, I find myself rewinding to that night in Paris when we first slept together, and then did it again, and again. I’d been waiting five years for that and it was worth it. Every thing about being with her is worth it.

But now we’re on ice again, back to being mentor and protege and acting as if there’s not a thing more between us, when there’s everything between us. When she’s the only one for me, and I wish I didn’t have to wait five more weeks to be with her for real. You’d think five years apart would have trained me for the waiting. But no. When you realize that you want to be with someone always, and that you’re damn lucky enough to get a second chance with the most perfect girl in the world, you don’t want to put anything on hold.

Except we have to stay apart, for her sake so she can get her business degree, and I want that for her. As the train pulls into the station, and I grab a seat, I force myself to focus on what I want to do for Kat’s parents’ store over the next month, and how I can picture changing things, fixing things, mixing them up. As we race across Connecticut, dusk falls, and the quiet little towns are shrouded in shadows. We cross into New York, and I turn to my phone and answer emails from my team at Made Here, signing off on supply chain plans, and a few notes from the board with final details on the end of the lawsuit my former business partner brought against our company.

“Glad to have this finally behind us,” I write in an email, then close out the inbox. I run my finger over the screen, wishing there was a note from Kat, wishing I could meet her at Grand Central Station in thirty minutes when my train arrives. We’d make plans for dinner, I’d take her to an Italian restaurant I know she’d love that has amazing desserts, then we’d walk back to my place, and once inside I would have my hands all over her. We wouldn’t even make it up the stairs of my brownstone. I’d lift up her skirt, and she’d be ready, so ready for me, and she’d want it right then and there on the stairs. And then when we finally found our way inside, we’d christen the couch, and then the island in the kitchen, but then we’d spent the night in my bed, and I’d take it slow, and I’d make her feel loved and wanted and desired all night long. Because she is. By me. And I will never stop wanting her. I will never stop wanting to make her happy.

Damn, this is going to be the longest five weeks of my life.

I switch over to Words with Friends, catching up on some of the games going on with guys from the factory. I snag a double word score with “Cave” in one as the message light flashes. It’s probably just another email from my ops guy, so I ignore it, making a move in another game. A minute later, the phone rings.

Kat.

Kat is calling me.

I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. She’s the present. She’s the gift.

“Hey you,” I say, and I probably sound all mushy, and I should be embarrassed, but damn, she brings this out in me. I can’t help it—I’m crazy for this girl, and she’s finally mine. Well, almost mine.

“Hi. Where are you right now?”

“On a train coming back from Mystic.”

“Mystic? What were you doing there?”

“Checking out your parents’ store. Remember when I told you at the museum that I wanted to see if I could figure out what it might need?”

“Oh. Right. Of course. I almost forgot,” she says, and she sounds distracted as she quickly adds, “That’s so sweet.”

“You okay?”

“I’m great. I’m beyond great. When does your train arrive?”

“Thirty minutes. Seven-oh-two.”

“Okay. Bye.”

And she’s gone. I look at the phone, at the flashing call ended sign. What was that about? I dial her number in case I missed something, But she doesn’t answer. I decide not to call again. We’re supposed to be staying away from each other until the semester ends, so I’ve got to be good, even though resisting her is the toughest thing ever.

When the train pulls into Grand Central, I’m one of the first off. I head down the platform, up the steps and into the terminal. My driver will be waiting and I’ll head home, then maybe go for a run to get my mind off of all the things I can’t have right now. Then, review some final design plans, and go to bed. Tomorrow, I’ll find another way to pass the time, the the next day, then the next, and soon enough I’ll be able to see her.

I could see her anywhere. We could hold hands on the street, go to the movies, walk to the museum, be together. Or I could see her at Grand Central Station waiting by the huge clock, a smile so big and wide on her face that she looks as if she might burst with happiness.

I shake my head, as if I can shake the mirage away. But it’s no hallucination. She’s really here. At the train station. Looking for me. Finding me. Smiling at me. Now she’s walking towards me, running almost, and she looks so gorgeous in jeans, a sweater, and boots that clack against the echo-ey tiled cavern of the terminal, surrounded by other travelers coming and going.

“Bryan!” she calls out, even though she’s only a few feet away, and I’m walking faster.

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“It’s beyond okay,” she says, and throws her arms around me, and I inhale her. Damn, she smells good. Like vanilla lotion or something else entirely sexy and edible, which basically describes Kat in anything or nothing. I pull her closer, not wanting to miss even a second of a chance to feel her against me.

But she pulls back. “I told my professor.”

“What? What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’m in love with you. That you can’t be my mentor.”

“Kat,” I say and my heart falls. I know what this means. He’ll fail her. She needs this class to graduate. I can’t stand the thought that she’d let her own dreams fall by the wayside. “But you need this class.”

“I know,” she says and she’s smiling so brightly, and I wish I knew why. “And I’ll have this class. I found a new mentor. Elizabeth Mortimer,” she says, referring to the head of the Elizabeth’s department store chain. “And that means…” she lets her voice trail off, and she gives me this look, this knowing look. Then she tips her forehead to the brass doors leading out of the station.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to say more, needing to hear the next steps from her.

“We can be together, Bryan. We can be together now. We don’t have to wait. I can finish my class, and we don’t have to hide, and we don’t have to just talk on the phone,” she says, and she’s glowing, she’s radiating happiness and love. But then she turns shy, nervous. “That is, if you still want to.”

I grab her wrist, then loop my fingers through hers. “Don’t ever think I don’t want to be with you. You were all I thought about on the train. You are all I think about. You are all I want.”

Then I crush my lips against hers, and she tastes fantastic. She presses her luscious body against me, and that’s all it takes. I need to get her out of here and spend the night with her. Then the next night, and the next one, and all the days too.

“Come spend the night with me,” I say. “And don’t leave. Don’t ever leave.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, and we leave Grand Central Station together.

So many thanks to so many people, but the first thanks goes to my readers. I love you. Truly, madly, deeply. You made my dreams come true with
Caught Up In Us
, and you made it possible for me to be able to write another book in this series. THANK YOU. You are the greatest readers a writer could ever want. I love hearing from you.

Huge thanks to my critique partners Summer Stone and Cyn, and a massive thanks to my early reader Michelle, who’s become my sherpa too. I am so grateful for the friendship and encouragement of my indie bestie Monica Murphy. Big thanks to indie authors who supported me early on including Kelsie Leverich, Michelle Valentine and Emily Snow. You girls are great and made me feel welcome in our community. None of the promotion, marketing and word of mouth would be possible without Taryn at My Secret Romance, who astounds me with her awesomeness. Thanks also to all the bloggers on the
Caught Up In Us
book tour, as well as those who shared the cover for Pretending He’s Mine.

Speaking of, my cover designer is the best! Josyan McGregor - I love your work!!!

Hugs to my family and friends, and the biggest kisses to my kids and my husband—you’re the loves of my life.

I love hearing from readers! You can find me on Twitter at
LaurenBlakely3
, or Facebook at
LaurenBlakelyBooks
, or online at
LaurenBlakely.com
. You can also email me at
[email protected]
.

Dear Readers: I’m so thrilled to share a sneak peek of Chapter One of
Second Chance Boyfriend
, the sequel to Monica Murphy’s USA Today Bestselling novel
One Week Girlfriend
. (Note: This is unedited and may change in the final version.)
One Week Girlfriend
is one of the best books I have read this year, and if you haven’t read it yet, DO IT NOW!