The Boyfriend List (13 page)

Reagan
thought for a minute. “No to both?”

 
“Figures.” But the appeal of a new idea
had her gasping with excitement, and she was prepared to squeeze out every last
detail here and now if she got the positive answer she was expecting. “But you
want to, don’t you?”

“No! How
did you...Well, maybe.” Reagan reconsidered quickly, stammering as she tried to
explain. “It – It’s complicated. You know? Very complicated.”

“What’s
complicated?” Ian wanted to know.

For a
heart-stopping minute, it occurred to Reagan that he might have heard every
word they’d said and knew exactly what they were discussing. He wasn’t looking
at her, but stayed focused on the traffic, shifting gears smoothly up and down.
Yet there was something behind that question, something that hadn’t been there
before that indicated he suspected their conversation. Or maybe she was just
being paranoid, Reagan considered. It was probably just that, but she turned
the volume down on her phone just to be safe before she replied.

“Absolutely
none of your business. Eyes on the road buddy.”

“Ian
doesn’t know either?” Petra chimed in.

And
now, Reagan was more confused than ever. “Ian doesn’t know what?” From the
corner of her eye, she saw Ian’s eyebrow rise at the mention of his name. He
was definitely listening in, she decided and grimaced at the potential
consequences.

“Whether
or not you two hooked up.”

“I…umm…what?”

“I
thought you two told each other everything.” Disappointment was definitely
present in Petra’s voice.

“
Almost
everything.” Reagan corrected
matter-of-factly, then continued. “But if we had, I wouldn’t need to tell him
because he’d already know, right?”

“What?”
Now it was Petra’s turn to be confused.

“If
I...” Reagan stopped, looked at Ian, then quickly looked away, “did what you
said with him, he’d…”

“Oh.
My. God!” Petra interrupted, finally catching on to where the confusion had
started. “You’re talking about Ian, aren’t you?”

“Huh?
Who else?”

“I’ve
been talking about you hooking up with Brett this whole time, and you’ve been
talking about hooking up with Ian! You want Ian. You do!” Excitement flooded
her voice and overwhelmed her, while Reagan’s flush turned from rose to dark
crimson in less than half a second and she sunk low into the leather seats.

“No.”
She could barely breathe the word.

“You
want to be with Ian!” Petra sang. “Reagan likes Ian, Reagan likes Ian...”

“That’s
not what I said.” She was eyeing Ian closely, watching for any signal that he
might be able to hear Petra. So far, it appeared she was safe.

“You
do! I knew it. Why are you still denying him? He’s obviously into you.”

“Can
we
not
have this convo right now?”

 
“Well if
you
don’t want him…”

“I
never said that.” Reagan corrected before she realized what she’d done.

“So
you do? Oh my god! This is just too good.”

Reagan
couldn’t believe this was happening. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait,
we need to…”

“Goodbye.”
She ended the call, cutting Petra off mid sentence, and was overwhelmed by the
sudden pounding in her chest – partly from her admission, mostly from her
confusion. But also because she realized that everything Petra had said had
been true. And if it was true, then why was she putting up the pretense of this
stupid checklist she’d created. She already knew Ian was perfect, all she had
to do was take one look at him next to her and every cell in her body confirmed
that. Her stomach tightened in response and she could feel a warm tingling
spreading out from there. She drew in every ounce of him, her eyes lingering
over his tight, muscular shoulders. There was an expression on his face that
vacillated in an intriguing way between seriously concentrated, and
mischievously playful, and she suddenly couldn’t get enough of it. Warmth
practically radiated off of him, and she remembered how it’d felt to be in his
arms, nestled up against him, however short that experience had been. It was
intoxicating to sit and watch him like this...

No,
she declared to herself, Petra had backed her into a corner in the midst of a
really confusing conversation, in the midst of a really messed up day. That was
it. End of story. She didn’t
really
want
Ian, it was just the power of suggestion that had been working overtime ever
since they’d returned from spring break.

Reagan
looked toward Ian to see if he suspected anything more.

“What
was that all about?”

“Nothing.”
She shrugged as she replaced her phone. “Just Petra being Petra.”

Ian
wasn’t convinced. “And Petra being Petra is what has your face all red like
that?”

The
pounding in her chest turned to full out racing.

“Nothing.
Just…” For half of a crazy second, Reagan actually considered letting him in on
the little irony they’d just shared, then thought better of it. If she implied
what Petra had accused her of, and didn’t get a positive response, she’d die of
humiliation. Absolutely die. “…nothing. So you’re coming to the party? That’s
good. It’ll be more fun.”

He
was willing to let the subject drop, despite his heightened curiosity caused by
Reagan’s uncomfortable squirming and shifting, and her evasive, coded answers.
Whatever it was she was hiding, he’d get it out of her eventually. One way or
another. He might even let himself have a little fun with it. “Nice cover.”

A
victory smile spread over her lips and she gazed out her window casually as
Ian’s slick car rolled to a stop at a light. It was a calculated attempt to
avoid direct eye contact with him, and it seemed to be working. At least for
the moment. But she never expected her eyes would land on a figure that was
making steady progress over the sidewalk beside them.

 
“Oh geez.” Reagan quickly slipped low in
her seat until just the top of her head was visible from the window outside.
Allowing her eyes to peek up over the rim of the door ever so cautiously, she
kept an eye on her target to see if he noticed her.
Why isn’t he driving that hot little car of his?
She wondered to
herself as Brett passed them.

Ian
was watching her quizzically. “What are you doing?” He asked with a half laugh.

“That’s
him on the sidewalk.” She was whispering as though it was even a possibility
that Brett could hear her on the other side of the glass. “I don’t want him to
see me.”

But
Ian ignored her harsh whisper and responded at his normal level. “Him who?
Brett? He’s out there?”

“Yes.”
She hissed the word and sunk even lower.

“Where?”
Suddenly curious to see what all the fuss was about, Ian quickly looked out the
window for the person who qualified for this much of Reagan’s attention.

Lifting
her head for just a minute, she picked him out of the crowd before ducking
quickly out of sight again.

It
only took a minute for Ian to sum him up, and incorporate what he’d already
learned about him: family money, confident though not quite sure of himself
yet, expensive taste in clothes, too carefree to be serious in a relationship, and
dangerously close to stealing his best friend’s heart.

“What’s
he doing?” Reagan asked of Ian.

“Just
looking at the ground.” Ian shrugged, doing his best not to scowl at the guy. Then
he focused a little more. “No, he’s looking at something. He picked it up. A
piece of paper it looks like. No. Money. He tapped the guy in front of him on
the shoulder and handed it to him. Must have fallen from his pocket. The guy
took it. He’s just standing there again.”

Reagan’s
eyes lit up, and so did the streetlight. As Ian began rolling forward, Reagan pulled
out her list and marked off another quality. Five down, six to go.

Suddenly
on the verge of a darkened mood, Ian decided that this Brett guy had better be
damn near the perfect gentleman Reagan though he was. No one was perfect, and
he’d have to prove a lot more to Ian than Reagan’s little checklist could ever
manage before he would let the guy get anywhere near her.

Glancing
at Reagan with a sternness that stole her breath, he finally said, “You could
do better.”

“My keys.” She finally
announced as she turned the bag upside down and gave it one last desperate
shake for emphasis. Pennies and lip gloss sticks ricocheted off the cement
landing. “They’re not in here. Gone. Poof. And Petra’s not home until...who
knows when.” She groaned as she bent down to gracelessly shove her books and
items back into the bag again. “So, I’m out of luck. Literally.” The sigh that
escaped added to her complete surrender.

 
“You don’t keep a spare anywhere?”

Had it not been for the
attractive pout she was displaying as she shook her head, glaring resentfully
at the door, Ian’s smile would’ve escaped and exposed him. But for her sake, he
kept it under control.
 
“Okay, calm
down.” He began kneading gently at the tight muscles in her shoulders. “Let’s
think.”

Thinking, however, was the
last thing Reagan was capable of doing just then. As his hands worked to loosen
the tension around her shoulders, she could feel herself melting into his
touch. She closed her eyes, but little visions of what else those hands might
be capable of doing teased the edges of her mind so she stepped quickly away,
out of his reach before she was in danger of taking the fantasy any further. “Can
I just go back to bed and pretend this day never happened?”

“Sure, if you can get in
the door to get back to your bed.” Ian laughed. “Why don’t you just come up to
my place and wait. It’ll be more comfortable than sitting on the stairs waiting
for Petra to get back.”

Reagan swallowed hard. “Be
serious.” For as long as she’d known him, she’d never once been invited inside
his apartment. And as far as she knew, neither had anyone else. Even the girls
he’d taken a more romantic interest in. It was his private space, and he very
much liked to keep it that way. “You’re actually going to make an exception for
me?”

“Sure why not.” He
shrugged, then he trailed the edge of his finger slowly, casually down her bare
arm until he elicited a barely perceptible shiver. “Come on up, you can even
take a shower if you want,” then he tugged gently at the edge of her soda
soaked shirt and made a face, “and then hang out until Petra gets back. We’ll
leave a note for her to come up when she gets home. It could be fun.”

As she contemplated the
term
fun
, she wondered if
his
version of fun matched her own ideas,
then deciding it probably didn’t, she sighed in regret. She wasn’t sure what
was going on inside her head this week, but she was fairly confident that being
alone in Ian’s apartment with him wasn’t going to help matters at all. Still,
what was she going to do? Sit out on the landing until god-knows-when with no
internet access, or plugs for her phone and computer? That hardly seemed
rational considering there was a perfectly good apartment being offered to her,
complete with a hot shower to purge herself of the sticky residue that had worn
out it’s welcome a long time ago.

“I promise I’ll be on my
best behavior.” He put his fingers up in a Boy Scout pledge of honesty. Yet
somehow the gesture made him look even more wicked, and all the more alluring
because of it. She was going to have to take his word for it though, she
couldn’t see any other option.

Quickly scribbling a
note, she stuck it to the door and hoped it’d stay there:
Petra – key went missing. Can’t get in. Up at Ian’s. Call me. R.

“Alright now, Miss Neat
Freak.” Ian said as he slid the key comfortably into his own lock. “Give me a
minute to pick up a few things before you start complaining too much. Deal?”

Eyebrows raised in
suspicion, Reagan suddenly realized she had no idea what to expect from Ian’s
apartment, and any mysteries that lie behind the door were about to be
permanently revealed. While it was true that his personal hygiene had always
been impeccable, she’d also learned long ago that the same care and attention men
put into their bodies does not always translate to a well kept living space. She
thought of her own tidy room and bathroom, then scrunched her nose up at the
idea of wet, musty towels on the floor. Or worse, hairs all over the sink. Eww,
maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Deal?” he persisted.

She relented with a
smile. “Fine.” Her voice was full of charm, masking her inner thoughts:
What exactly have I gotten myself into?

The door swung wide and
Ian stood to the side, opening his arms with a gracious gesture to allow Reagan
to enter first.

The apartment was huge
– it appeared more than twice the size of her own generous residence,
though she was fairly certain they’d rented the same floor plan. Still, it felt
different, and exuded the kind of comfortable, simple, modern chic that up
until now she’d only seen in movies that had been centered around the ridiculously
wealthy, stylish people who played jazz and sipped expensive wine while
standing on the balcony and looking down at all the little people below. But it
was clean, surprisingly so for a guy. Was Ian one of those people? He’d never
really acted like that, but the guy sure had good taste in furniture. Another
sudden realization came to her that maybe she didn’t know the him as well as
she thought she did. Maybe there was a lot more going on here than she’d been
aware of.

Recovering from her
initial surprise, she finally stepped further inside, and Ian closed the door
behind them. “Nice place.” She managed.

“Thanks.” He was gazing
down at her, smiling warmly at her obvious reaction. “Not what you were
expecting, huh?”

“Not at all. Has Isabella
seen it yet?” Reagan was only half teasing, though in her gut she was cringing
at the possibility.

“That’s really bothering
you, huh?” Ian looked as though he’d surrendered to the inevitable as he walked
through the short foyer and into the kitchen. Regretting even bringing up the
girl’s name now, Reagan avoided eye contact with him as she looked around for a
suitable place to put her satchel. Dropping it precariously on the edge of the
counter, she listened as he continued, hoping this conversation would be over
soon. But Ian was already moving closer to her, stepping into her personal
space. “I’ve dated other girls since we’ve known each other. What is it about
this one that’s got you so worked up?”

Reagan shrugged.
“Intuition? I think you could do better.” She smiled on the last comment, using
his own phrase against him for once.

Placing his hands on her
shoulders, he squeezed gently. “Don’t worry about me. It’s my job to worry
about you.” He was holding her stare for just a little longer than was
necessary to make his point, and Reagan could feel something shifting between
them. An energy, a sort of heat, pulsated in the small space between their
bodies. As though a spark had been lit, the moment built in intensity until she
could barely breathe, and she wondered if he could feel it too.
 

“Says who?” She finally
trusted her voice to inquire.

But instead of answering,
he released her shoulders and began pulling away, putting just a few more
inches of space between them. It was enough that she could breathe again, and
for that she was thankful. Yet the moment had been broken, and she was beginning
to regret having said anything at all.

“I’m not interested in
dating Isabella.” He was explaining gently as she tuned back into the
conversation and out of her thoughts. “I’m not interested in spending any time
with her at all, actually. To be honest, I haven’t even spoke to her since
Monday, and probably wouldn’t have answered the phone if you hadn’t grabbed it
first.”

 
“Oh.” Was all she could think to say as
embarrassment wound itself into a tight little ball that fell hard into her
stomach.

“She’s not my type,
Reagan. You should know that.”

“So what
is
your type?” The question had escaped
her lips before she could do anything about it. Immediately closing her eyes,
she shook her head. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t really want to
know.” But when she looked up again, Ian was smiling as though he had a secret
to keep, and she couldn’t help but to wonder what it was.

 
“You probably want to take a shower and
get all that soda off, right?”

Tugging at her shirt, Reagan
had to peel the material from her chest, and a sticky, sugary film remained on
her skin. That was going to be a definite
yes
– and never had she been quite so thankful for a distraction as she was
in that moment. She needed to get cleaned up, sure, but more importantly she
needed to get her head screwed back on and her thoughts straightened out. If
she kept up at the rate she was going, she might scare away one of the closest
friends she had, and she wouldn’t be able to bear the awkwardness and loss if
that happened.

 
“Bathroom’s down the hall to your right. Well...
you know that.” He corrected himself, confirming her suspicions that they did
in fact occupy the same floor plan. “You can grab a shirt from my closet if you
need it.”

She dared a quick kiss on
the cheek, a friendly peck that she’d offered so many times before, before
disappearing down the hall. So why were her lips tingling this time as she
walked away?

Reagan wasn’t the only
one caught off guard by the reaction. Ian had to shove his hands in his pockets
to keep himself from catching her around the waist and pulling her into him.
It’d been a hard gesture that required much restraint on his part, and as he
heard her steps fading down the hallway, he released a whoosh of air that he’d
been holding in his lungs. To keep both his hands and his mind occupied, and
not fixated on the picture in his mind of Reagan in the shower, he turned to
search his fridge for a drink, a snack, anything that would keep him busy. But
he inadvertently knocked over her satchel in the process. As books and binders
fell from the bag, scattering across the floor, he cringed at the mess and
dutifully bent over to put it all back together.

Until, that is, something
interesting caught his eye and he paused to inspect it.

Reagan’s checklists.

The secret source of her
strange behavior that week was right in front of him, practically in his hands.
Did he dare? The bathroom door was shut and he thought he could hear the sound
of running water. He was safe…for a few minutes at least.

Pulling them out, he
began to flip through them one by one, careful not to get them out of order in
case that would give his curiosity away. He could only imagine her reaction if
she caught him snooping through something she kept so guarded. The results were
amusing, as were the notes both she and Petra had scratched into the margins of
the paper. And then, he came across a list with his name at the top.

Surprised, in the most
flattered sort of way, he glanced over it quickly to find it was the only one
with all the boxes marked off down the row of qualities. Except, that is, for
one they’d left blank:
good kisser
.
He couldn’t help but to smile as he glanced back toward the bathroom door, and
he began to wonder what this meant, if it meant anything at all. Was Reagan
beginning to look at him from a different perspective? Was
that
why she’d been so prickly about Isabella lately? The idea
intrigued him as much as the hope it was giving him. If there was ever anything
he’d wanted from Reagan, it was the opportunity to show her that he really
could be the perfect boyfriend – if only she’d give him the chance. But
she never had, and he’d had to sit by for years and watch her get hurt by a
string of men who weren’t worthy of her attention. Now, maybe he could change
her mind about that.

Completely unaware of
what Ian had discovered in just the next room, Reagan was relaxing under a
searing stream of powerful water droplets. Vowing never to take a hot shower
for granted again, she quickly rid herself of all the sticky particles and soda
residue before stepping out again after just a few minutes. Wrapping herself in
a large, surprisingly fluffy towel, she already felt better – about
everything.

But as she zipped up her
jeans, a curse escaped under her breath. She’d forgotten to grab a clean shirt
before getting into the water.
Perfect
,
she muttered to herself.

Stubbornly refusing to
put the old one back on – however short the time would be that she’d have
to wear it – she decided instead on an alternate plan. The bedroom wasn’t
too far away, she concluded as she wrapped the towel securely around her top
half. Chances are, Ian would be nowhere near. She could sneak into his room,
fully covered thanks to the towel, slip on a shirt and no one would ever know
the difference. Except her, of course.