The Catching Kind (10 page)

It's almost a shame he didn't have to fall back on that business degree. It would have been interesting to see how he would have earned his first million. 

Actually, he was kind of fascinating as a character. Very diverse, constantly a surprise. 

I should have been taking notes. It dawned on me a guy like this—maybe not the Connor he was in high school, but the Connor he was now—would make an excellent match for one of my heroines. She was feisty, smart, and independent. She hated to be told what to do and I had a feeling even just being handled would drive her nuts. 

She'd see through his
handling
skills right away for what they were. She wouldn't be fooled that she was getting her own way or that—

Wait a second.

"You really are sleeping on the couch."

"I know."

"I'm not kidding."

"Yeah.” He looked at me like I might have lost my mind. Of course, I might have. “I got that." 

I crossed my arms. He was looking way too comfy in my apartment. He looked way too comfortable everywhere, but when the space he was claiming was mine, I wasn't quite as happy about it.

As a character trait, that smooth charm would fit perfectly against my new heroine, Marley. That was the key to my high school, high drama—No one ever fits
with
. They always fit against.
Against
shared a wall, had a starting point, but didn't match up. It left lots of room for working things out while falling in love.

Marley was a bit of a control freak. She didn't like the idea of anyone else telling her what to do, when to do it, or how it should be done. The idea that a guy could swoop in and make her shift her plans around with a smile and some charm would just about kill her.

And, I could use this as research without breaking our agreement. He’d even said I could ask him about his world. "Connor, if a woman didn't give you your way and you absolutely had to have it, what would you do?"

"Is this still about the bed?" He glared at me from where he reclined, graceful yet alert.

That
expression I recognized. It was pure suspicion. 

"No." I couldn’t help it if he didn't believe me. 

"Is it something important?" he asked.

"Let's say, no. It's not something important. Just something you want."
Like the bed. 

"Then, I'd try cajoling a bit. Bring my flirt out. If I got the idea it was important to her I'd let her win."

Let her win.
I made a note of that
. It was really important in Tucker's view point. He was letting her win. He wasn't letting it go or any other expression. It was about winning. Tucker likes to win. Even when he lets Marley win, he's winning because he chooses to let her win so he didn't
really
lose.

"What are you writing down?"

"Nothing." I made a final note and then asked. "What if it was something important?"

"What is this nothing you're doing?"

Connor started to get up and I waved him down again. I really didn't like people looking over my shoulder when I was working.

"So, let's say it’s something important and the girl—I mean, the woman—you're dealing with is the one who's stopping you from getting what you want, then what do you do?"

"I guess I'd just ask. Explain to her what I want and expect once she saw my side, she'd understand and give it to me."

Hmmmm...Interesting.
Tucker doesn't comprehend that sometimes getting his way isn't possible. To him, Marley must not understand the situation if she won't let him win.

This was going to be good. These two were going to chew each other up pretty good before they started falling for each other. Maybe this setup wasn’t such a bad deal on my end. Research is your friend. It wasn’t like Tucker was Connor. They were really different except in a few personality ways. Connor was just a resource, not an inspiration. 

Maybe I needed more guys in my life just to get the details of the inner-workings from them.

"Hailey." Connor was off the couch, stretching his arms over his heads, his t-shirt riding up to show a ridiculously flat stomach that had me thinking of Ryan Gosling again. Thank goodness that boy made more movies than just The Notebook or my TV would be living with the mute button on. 

I slammed the new binder shut before he could get a look.

"I'm good. Ready for ice cream?" I shelved the binder with the bazillion others. Target had been having a sale on the left over school supplies. Binders were down to twenty-seven cents and I couldn't help myself. Although I was working really hard at avoiding the one with the dancing bears on it. 

They kind of freaked me out.

Connor stayed where he was, half-stretched out on my sofa eyeing me. 

"What were you doing?" His glance strayed toward the robot binder leaving me absolutely no doubt what he was asking.

"Oh. Brain flash. I get them sometimes for a story."

"And that had to do with how I'd get my way...how?"

This was going to be sticky. People didn't always like being the inspiration for a character. Even if the character was the hero. People never saw what you expected them to.

And the truth was I'd never stolen a person—maybe a character trait, but not a whole person. But by the time I wrote the story, the person had disappeared and left a new, true-to-himself character behind.

Instead of trying to explain, I just answered the short, honest answer. "It's always good to have a guy's perspective."

Speaking of which...

"Do you always approach the most attractive woman in the room first?"

"
What
?" 

I was a little surprised at his disbelief.

"When you're somewhere and you're picking up a woman, do you always zero in on the most attractive woman first?"

"Why would I hit on a woman I didn't find attractive?"

"That's not what I'm asking. There's a difference between who you're attracted to and who you know is the most attractive person in the room." I knew I was going to have to explain. "You see, I
know
Brad Pitt is attractive. Millions of women—and men—can't be wrong. I've even seen those studies on facial balance and blah, blah, blah. But, personally, I don't find him attractive."

"No?" Less disbelief, more confusion.

"Not really."

"So, if Brad Pitt walked in here and
he
wanted to sleep in your bed, you'd say no?"

"Beyond the fact that I'm pretty sure Angelina Jolie could kick my butt while wearing six-inch heels and holding an orphan? Yes, I'd say no."

"Really?"

"Yes. Also, he may be Brad Pitt, but, like I said, I don't personally find him hot." I really didn't think this was such a hard thing to grasp. "It's like art."

"This I've gotta hear." Connor stretched back out, crossing his hands behind his head.

"Well, I know Picasso made amazing art. It's technically provable. It's also anecdotally provable. I look at it and appreciate it for what it is. I even personally know it's beautifully done. But, me? None of his works really move me. No matter what I know about them. Some people like modern art, some like pre-Raphaelite. Etcetera."

"And this ties back to me hitting on women how?"

"I'm curious if how you hit on women is personal or if it's more about social leveling."

"I thought we were just going to eat ice cream and watch a movie."

If he was begging to watch
The Notebook
, I had to have been hitting a nerve.

"I have this theory—"

"Oh geez."

"It's a pretty good theory." I sat back down at my desk chair and swiveled around to face him. "See, everyone who looks at you—even guys—are going to realize you're good-looking. It's not that guys are attracted to you. Well, you know, straight guys. But any guy can look at you and say,
Yeah. That Connor Ryan, he's a good-looking guy."

"You think I'm good-looking?" He was getting all smirky-smirk and missing the point.

"Yes. Just about everyone in the western hemisphere would think you're good-looking. The point is, not everyone would be attracted to you."

"So, wait. You're not attracted to me?" He sat up a bit straighter, obviously trying to figure out how this could possibly true.

I found it amazing that this seemed to bother him.

"Do you need everyone to be attracted to you?"

"No." He shifted, looking more uncomfortable than when he'd suggested we just watch the movie. "Just the women."

I should have seen that coming. What was surprising was that he flourished in an all-male profession. 

"But that's not how it works. It never is. Tastes aren't universal. Even as people look at you—er, Brad Pitt—and know he's good-looking, that doesn't mean they find him attractive. We all have types. If we didn't then only absurdly good-looking people would find someone and the rest of us would live sad, lonely lives."

He gave me
a look.

The look said he doubted that we—the mere mortals of the world—didn't actually live sad, lonely lives.

"I have to bring my A-game every time we go out for this to be acceptable to you. The girls you're used to can bring their I-Didn't-Bother-To-Brush-My-Hair game and still look amazing. And yet, this may surprise you, but I'm not exactly dateless."

"I didn't say you were dateless. I—"

I waved a hand between us. "I get it. I'm not dateless. You just wouldn’t personally date me.” Connor was too nice about everything
except
who he was going to date. 

And, hey, I wouldn’t date someone I didn’t want to either.

Well, this fauxmance was the exception.

Anyway, moving on. 

“But,” I continued. “That’s the point. I get asked out enough. I get asked out by guys I think are attractive who aren't anywhere near as good-looking as you. So, I think it's the hardwiring."

"It's not that you're ugly—"

"Seriously, Connor. Stop while you're almost-kinda-not-really ahead."

"No. I mean…That wasn't what I meant when you came in that day."

I stood and headed toward the kitchen. “Honestly. I'm not doing this backtracking with you. Let's just leave it at I'm not in your hard-wiring and let it go."

I didn't need to deal with him trying to convince me of something he couldn't convince himself of.

And the dating thing was true. I was picky about who I dated. Writing is more than a full-time job. When you're on deadline, you have zero time. A lot of guys don't get that. A lot of girlfriends don't get that. So, I keep my circle of friends to people who do. I usually date after I've turned a book. By the time another deadline rolls around, I either know if I want to keep the guy around too or not. And vice versa.

I scooped out ice cream, filling his bowl with twice as much. After watching how he ate, I was pretty sure he wasn't one of those people to count calories. Unless he was counting to make sure he was getting enough of them.

Putting two smaller scoops in my bowl, I grabbed some spoons and headed back to the living room—all of seven feet away.

He was already digging into his ice cream by the time I settled on the other side of the couch and hit
Play
. 

The previews rolled and then the menu popped up and he turned toward me.

"Terminator?"

"Yeah. I kind of love action movies. My best-friend and I live on them a little."

"Nice." He reached across me and turned off the other light as the movie started. “But, you’re a cruel tease of a woman, Hailey Tate.”

It was a 108 minutes of perfection. Ice cream, action flick, and a night to just stay in and veg. It almost made up for dealing with the guy taking up half the pillows and the majority of the couch.

When Terminator ended, it was still early, so I slipped T2 in and watched as Connor grinned to himself. 

The familiar scenes flashed by, lulling me into a chance to consider my day and figure out how I was going to get through the next month. 

It was bad enough I was going to have to deal with book release stuff, but knowing there'd be the added
bonus
of dealing with the attention the bet would bring wasn't exactly gearing me up for excitement. 

I must have dozed off, because suddenly the static menu of T2 was on the screen with the theme rolling on repeat. My feet were cozy-warm tucked under Connor's thighs as he sprawled at the far end, both arms wrapped around a pillow, his head thrown back against the sofa.

I eased my feet out from under him and padded to the hall closet while trying to figure out if I should wake him up. The angle of his head was going to leave a horrible crick in his neck, but it also meant no more arguing about who slept where.

I guess I was a nicer person than I thought, because I opted to wake him up. 

"Connor." I gave him a little shake. "Connor."

One of those overly built arms let go of the pillow and pulled me down, tucking me against his solid frame.

Yeah. No. 

I slapped his shoulder. "Connor, wake up."

He did that little snuffle thing people do when they don't want to wake up. But, when he glanced down at me, he looked confused. Like he had no idea where he was or who I was.

Who knows how many times he'd been through that.

The arm crossing my waist loosened, letting me pull away.

"What Hailey?"

Or he did know.

"We fell asleep. I brought you some sheets and a blanket for the couch."

I dropped them next to him and started toward my room. "You can have one of my pillows tonight. But if this is going to be a regular thing, you're going to need to bring one over."

I grabbed my second pillow, the one
I
usually slept cuddled up against, and brought it back to the living room...where there was a half-naked pro-athlete leaning over my couch tucking a sheet into the cushions.

And, while I knew he wasn't the kind of guy I'd ever date, the sight of his black boxer brief clad rear end was a little swoon inducing.

"What are you doing?"

He straightened and glanced over his shoulder. "Making my
bed
."