Читать книгу Waiting On You - Kristan Higgins - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

“HEY, SUGARPLUM!” Colleen said as her little sister wriggled into the first booth at O’Rourke’s. “Nachos grande, coming up!”

Savannah’s face lit up, then avalanched. “Oh, no thanks,” she said, tugging at her formfitting purple shirt. “Maybe some water and a salad? Dressing on the side?”

Colleen paused. “You don’t like Connor’s nachos all of a sudden?”

It was a Friday evening tradition that Savannah came to the bar for supper while Dad and Gail went out on a date. Colleen, Connor and their sister would eat together, because even if Connor couldn’t stand the sight of their father and didn’t speak to Gail, he wasn’t an ass. Both twins loved Savannah quite a bit. Tons, in fact.

But it was fair to say that the universe had been paying attention to Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke when she was pregnant with Savannah.

Nine years ago, Colleen had been visiting her father and the Tail, despite her father’s infidelity and Gail’s fertility, and had overheard Gail saying this: If Colleen is pretty, imagine what our daughter will be like. Think it’s too early to call a modeling agency? Warm chuckles between the parents-to-be ensued, and Colleen had to stay in the cellar, where she’d been sent to hunt for a bottle of wine, until the bile surge subsided.

She imagined the baby would be beautiful. No such thing as ugly babies, after all. But she knew what Gail was saying. Colleen was pretty, something her father used to point out with great frequency...but Baby Girl 2.0 was going to be even better.

However, the karmic gods want to hear you praying for healthy children, not children with superior bone structure.

Savannah was not beautiful.

Colleen adored Savannah from the second she’d seen her at the hospital, with her little tubular head and snub nose. She changed diapers and took the baby for walks and rocked her and kissed her and sang to her, and Connor did the same, though with a lesser degree of fervor, being that he was a guy and all. But Colleen was in love.

Gail...not so much. Not enough, it seemed.

Savannah was wonderful and happy and funny, but she wasn’t beautiful. Not like Gail, who was a mere four years older than Colleen, and not like Colleen. Savannah was stocky and pale, whiter even than most Irish, which was saying a lot; while Colleen had creamy skin and rosy cheeks, Savannah was practically translucent. Her face was dotted with giant freckles, rather than a sprinkling of cinnamon, and her pale eyes were set close together. Instead of Gail’s Irish setter–auburn hair, Savannah’s was a pinkish strawberry-blond.

She walked heavily, despite Gail trying to teach her to tiptoe through the house, a strong, strapping girl with a low center of gravity that made her a great catcher on O’Rourke’s softball team, which Colleen managed in the town league. But she wasn’t what Gail had expected.

Gail wasn’t a bad mother. She made sure Savannah ate her veggies and got enough sleep, went to all her school activities and drove her to trumpet lessons, though Gail had petitioned hard for the flute or violin or something “more feminine.” It was clear Savannah confused her. She, after all, was a size two. Her hair was long and glossy and straight. Green eyes, of course. Perky boobs (Savannah had not been a breast-is-best baby) and a great ass. She bought micro-shorts and cropped tops for Savannah, who preferred Yankees T-shirts and sweats.

“A salad, huh?” Colleen said now.

“Mom says I should lose some weight.”

Colleen blinked. Savannah was solid. Sure, she had a little pudge. She was nine. Any second now, she’d shoot up five inches and things would balance out a bit more.

“Listen, sweets,” Colleen began. “Eating healthy is smart. Your mom is right about that.”

“I had a grilled pork chop for lunch. And broccoli,” her sister said. “And water. No carbs.”

For crying out loud. “Very nutritious. But everything in moderation, right? Nachos once a week isn’t going to ruin you. And life without nachos, you know? Why bother?”

Her sister’s smile lit up the room.

Ten minutes later, Connor set down the nachos and slid in next to Savannah, and all was as it should be. Savannah chattered happily about gym class and baseball (they were Yankees fans, of course). Connor let her come into the kitchen and drizzle sauce on the cheesecake desserts that were flying out of the kitchen, and Colleen let her take orders. All the regulars loved Savannah.

When Gail arrived to pick her up, she gave the girl a hug, then inspected the salsa stain on her shirt, shooting Colleen a dirty look.

“Nachos,” Colleen said. “It’s our girls’ night tradition.”

“Mmm,” Gail said. “Well. Good night.” Savannah waved, grinning.

So, yes. There was a personal parallel between her sister and Colleen’s other mission tonight: Paulie Petrosinsky and Bryce Campbell, Step One.

Like Savannah, Paulie lacked certain attributes deemed important by some. But it didn’t mean Savannah and Paulie were any less deserving of true love with the man of their dreams (though, yes, Savannah would have to wait quite a few years for that, thank you very much). Tonight’s mission: get Paulie on Bryce’s radar.

Speaking of Paulie, in she came, wrapped in what appeared to be a dirty sheet that went past her knees. Colleen had said “soft” and “feminine” and “bright” when Paulie asked what to wear. Not “gray.” She hadn’t said the word gray once. The word sheet had also not been mentioned.

“How do I look?” Paulie asked. “The salesman said these worked on every figure so I bought six of them.”

Colleen grabbed Paulie’s arm and hustled her into the office in the back. “Get out, Connor. Wardrobe emergency.”

“Then I should stay, don’t you think?” he asked, not even looking up from the computer, where he was doing God knows what.

“Is something the matter?” Paulie asked. “Crap. You know what? This isn’t gonna work. I think I’ll go home.”

“No, you’re not, no you’re not,” Colleen said. “Courage, my friend. Just let me fix your hair a little, okay? We’re going for a soft, gamine look, and you used just a little too much product.” Ow. Paulie’s hair was stiff with gel. Colleen broke through and tousled it a bit for a slight improvement. “Let’s ditch this, uh...this sweater, is it?” Colleen plucked at the gray fabric that swathed Paulie’s muscular figure.

“No! It’s a multi-look sweater,” Paulie said, clutching it closed. “I have six of them.”

“So you said.”

Paulie’s face was bright red, so Colleen reached across Connor to grab a folder and began fanning her, smiling encouragingly. “That’s fine. The sweater can stay. It’s...it’s an interesting piece.” Confidence, she well knew, was the key to true beauty.

“You can wear it seventeen different ways,” Paulie said. “Like this, my favorite, just sort of flowing—” And it did flow, almost all the way to the floor, since Paulie was about five-one. “And then you can take the ends and wrap it around your neck—”

“Why would you do that?” Colleen said. “To hang yourself?”

“And then you can make it even into a dress, see, like this. Or a scarf. Even a skirt.”

“‘It’s a sock, it’s a sheet, it’s a bicycle seat,’” Connor said in a singsong voice. “Remember that, Coll? The Lorax? What was that thing they made from the Truffula trees?”

“A Thneed,” Colleen said. “Here. Let me drape it...um...great. There!” Okay, it was a weird sweater, but if Paulie thought she looked good in it....

“It hides a lot of flaws,” Paulie said.

“You don’t have flaws. You’re very strong and healthy-looking.”

“I heard you can bench-press two twenty-five,” Connor said, earning a kick from Colleen.

“True,” Paulie said proudly.

“And that’s great,” Colleen said. “But tonight, let’s focus on femininity. No, don’t panic. We’re just planting the seeds, that’s all. Just planting seeds.”

“Or Thneeds,” Connor said.

“Shut it, Connor. Why are you still here, anyway? Go cook something.”

He obeyed (finally).

“No need to be nervous, Paulie,” she said more gently. “You’ve known Bryce for aeons—”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, her face going blotchy.

“—and he already likes you.”

“He likes everyone.”

True. Bryce didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Or an ugly bone, either. Which was why women launched themselves at him like hypersonic missiles.

“Now tonight,” Colleen said, “you just want to get his attention, okay? As a woman, not as his buddy. Don’t talk about sports, don’t mention how much you can bench-press. Just say something like, ‘Oh, hey, Bryce! You look really handsome tonight.’”

From Paulie came the sounds of a dry heave.

“Now, now,” Colleen said. “It’s gonna be fine. Bryce is handsome. We all know that. So you just remind him that you’re here and female and fabulous. I want you to just brush against his arm, like this, just a little swoop of the breast, okay? A breast-swoop.” She demonstrated, pressing the girls lightly against Paulie’s shoulder.

“You smell great,” Paulie said.

“That would be a perfect thing to tell him.”

“No, I meant you. You smell really nice.”

Colleen paused. “Thanks. Now take a deep breath.” She looked down at Paulie’s kind, flushed face. “This is just the shark-bump test. Just to bring you onto his radar.”

“Got it. Shark. Radar.” She was hyperventilating.

“Breathe in for four, hold for four, exhale for four, that’s a girl. I know Bryce’s usual type, and guess what? They’re not right for him, are they, or else he’d be married right now. Just imagine that he’s been waiting for you all his life.”

“No need to sell it that hard, Coll.”

“It’s called confidence.” She squeezed Paulie’s hard shoulders. “I’ll be right behind the bar.”

“What if I screw up? What if he laughs at me? What if I puke and—”

“Calm down. Remember, you’re smart, you’re an executive at a successful company, you have what, an MBA? Everyone likes you, Paulie. Bryce just needs a little...strategy, and he’ll see you for the amazing person you are. And if you really love him, he’s worth the effort, right?”

“Yeah. He is.” Paulie stood up a little straighter.

“So let’s go. I hate to be cliché, but I want you drinking a martini or a mojito. No more Genesee.”

“Feminine, fabulous, martini, mojito.”

“Perfect. And next time, wear a girly color. Not gray.”

“It’s fog.”

“It’s gray, Paulie. You came to me, remember? I’m the expert. So no Thneed next time.”

Paulie cracked her neck. “What if—just putting this out there—what if I panic?”

“Um...I’ll give you a sign.”

“Really? That would be so great, Colleen!”

“I’ll do this. See?” She tossed her hair back in the time-honored fertility gesture women used to get men to notice how shiny they were. “Hair flip equals abort, abort. You pretend your phone is ringing and you just step away. Okay?”

“Roger that.”

Colleen took the shorter woman by the shoulders. “You’re special, and he’d be lucky to have you.”

Paulie smiled, even if her breathing was labored. She really did have a sweet smile. “Okay. Thanks, Coll. If you say so.”

“I do. Now get out there and make me proud. Don’t forget your lines.”

“Hi, Bryce, you smell so hot.”

“No, no, we don’t want him to think he smells like meat on a grill. It’s, ‘Hi, Bryce! Don’t you look handsome tonight.’”

“Hi, Bryce, don’t you look so beautiful tonight.”

“Handsome.” Colleen smiled firmly.

“And handsome, too.”

“You look handsome tonight, Bryce.”

“So do you.”

“Close enough. Go get ’em,” Colleen said. “I’ll be eavesdropping.”

She held the door for Paulie and went behind the bar, pulled a Guinness for Gerard, automatically smiled at his compliment because he was a schmoozer of the first class, and watched her protégé.

There weren’t too many people here; it was a Tuesday in late May, and the summer season hadn’t really begun yet, so she had a great view.

She really hoped this went well. She owed Paulie a little happiness.

When they were in sixth grade, something happened to Paulie. Her hair turned greasy, her face broke out and she thickened without growing in height. Not a big deal. After all, Faith had epilepsy, Jessica Dunn wore hand-me-downs, Asswipe Jones’s dandruff could’ve been covered by The Weather Channel. Paulie’s awkwardness wasn’t that big a deal.

But then came The Smell. A not-very-good smell that wafted from Paulie. The other kids noticed it but didn’t say anything. Not at first. But then whispers started, and Paulie seemed completely unaware, smiling, blushing, always being so damn nice.

One day, several of Colleen’s crowd decided to talk to their English teacher about it. Mrs. Hess was young, pretty and nice and had a Southern accent, which they all found terribly exotic. Sure enough, the teacher listened sympathetically.

“I hear what y’all are sayin’,” she said. “And here’s what I think should be done. It’d be a genuine favor if one of y’all took Miss Paulie aside and just told her the truth. Otherwise, how’s she gonna know, bless her heart?”

Colleen was immediately elected as the bearer of bad news. If anyone could say it, it was Colleen. Personally, Coll thought Faith would be even better at it, but no, the other girls said Colleen was good at that sort of thing. And so, the next day, Mrs. Hess asked Paulie to stay in at recess, and then said, “Colleen here has something she’d like to discuss with you, Paulie,” she said with a smile, then slipped from the room.

“What’s up?” Paulie asked. There was a hopeful look in her eyes, and Colleen felt her heart spasm a little. She’d been sick with nervousness all day long as it was, and the greasy cafeteria pizza at lunch hadn’t helped.

Colleen was popular; not mean-girl popular, just really well liked. She had the glamour of being a twin, not to mention her prettiness and ease with boys. Paulie had none of those things (except that everyone thought she was nice). But already, before she said a word, Colleen knew this wasn’t going to go well.

“So,” she said, sitting next to Paulie, who was clad in rust-colored corduroys and bedazzled sweatshirt. Damn. Faith would’ve been perfect for this job...Faith the sweet, the kind, the slightly tragic, would’ve had just the right touch. “Okay, well, here’s the thing, Paulie.”

“Yeah?”

Colleen’s stomach didn’t feel so good. She could almost taste the bitter smell. Didn’t Paulie’s mother talk to her about stuff? She cleared her throat. “Some of us were talking,” she said, biting her thumbnail. “And...uh, it was about things that, um, happen to some people when you’re a teenager and stuff.”

Paulie frowned. “Oh.”

Colleen’s stomach lurched. “It’s nothing bad, Paulie. You’re really nice and smart and stuff. But, um...well...there’s a certain...smell? There’s a funky smell around you.” She winced. “I’m sorry.”

Paulie looked at Colleen a horrible, long minute, then bowed her head. “I don’t smell,” she whispered.

Colleen swallowed. There was that taste again. Why had the other girls elected her? Why hadn’t Mrs. Hess said something instead, or had Paulie see the nurse, who could talk about hormones and whatever? “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But you do. It’s hard to sit next to you sometimes.”

“Who was talking about this?” she whispered, and a single tear slid down her face and landed on the molded plastic desktop.

“Just...a few of us. I—we thought you should know.”

“I don’t smell!” Paulie yelled, then pushed back from the desk and ran out of the room.

And Colleen threw up. Not because of the smell...because of shame. Shame and greasy pizza. But the rumor flashed—Paulie smelled so bad that she made Colleen puke.

Paulie didn’t come back to school for the rest of the week, and Colleen had never felt so small. She told only Connor about the conversation, and when he said, “Oh, Coll,” she knew for sure she’d done something terrible.

Later that month, they learned that Paulie had bigger problems. Her mother had run off with another man, and Paulie would be living with her dad from now on. When she returned to school, she had a new haircut. Her clothes were better, and the smell was still there, but it was fainter. Eventually, it went away altogether.

A thousand times, Colleen wanted to apologize; a thousand times, she convinced herself that it was kinder not to bring it up. In tenth grade, they were assigned to the same group for a social studies project, and Paulie couldn’t have been nicer.

So if Colleen wanted to help Paulie with her love life, who could blame her?

Paulie stood in the vicinity of Bryce’s usual spot at the bar. Gerard said hi to her, but Paulie didn’t answer, just stared at Colleen as if she was facing a firing squad.

“How about a mojito, Paulie?” she said cheerfully, tossing some mint into a glass.

“Sure,” Paulie mumbled, rubbing her hands on her sweater.

And then in came Bryce Campbell, all easy male grace, tall and lanky, dressed in a white polo shirt and jeans. He waved and made his way to his usual place at the horseshoe-style bar. A strangled noise came from Paulie.

Colleen handed her the drink. “Hey, Bryce, don’t you look handsome tonight,” she whispered.

“Coll, you could whisper to me?” Gerard said. “I can think of a whole bunch of things I’d like you to say.”

“Shush, child, I’m talking to my friend,” she answered. She gave Paulie a firm smile. “Now’s good.”

“I’m not ready,” Paulie whispered.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I can’t. Can you do it for me?”

“Like we’re in third grade, and you want me to tell him you like him?”

“Yes. Please.”

“No. Come on now. Handsome, shark, boobs, smile. And then you’re done. Now go.”

With a faint groan, Paulie inched toward Bryce, who was at the end of the bar, talking to Jessica Dunn. Hmm. Jess was way too pretty, all blonde and super-modelesque, Bryce’s usual type.

Paulie stopped just behind him and shot Colleen a terrified glance and appeared to freeze. Luckily, Hannah was behind the bar, too, so Colleen boob-skimmed her.

“Get your boobs off me. Sexual harassment and all that,” Hannah said.

“Shh.” She smiled firmly at Paulie, who took a deep breath, swung her shoulders and bodychecked him right off his stool, Jessica Dunn stepping neatly aside as Bryce sprawled on the floor. Colleen’s view was all too clear. “Goddamn it!” Paulie said. She reached down to help him up, tripped on the dangling end of the Thneed, stepped on Bryce’s hand and spilled her mojito right onto his head. “Shit! Shit!”

So much for soft and feminine. Colleen tossed her hair for the “abort” sign. Paulie didn’t notice, Gerard was wheezing with laughter, one of those guys who loved nothing more than the physical pain of others (he was a paramedic, after all). Now Paulie was hauling Bryce to his feet, but she was too strong, and she yanked him not only up, but slammed him into the bar, causing the hanging glasses to rattle and sway.

Colleen tossed her hair again. Coughed. Coughed again more loudly. Tossed. Coughed. Tossed. Cough ’n’ tossed.

“Wow, Paulie, easy does it, okay?” Bryce said, rubbing his arm at the shoulder. Paulie’s face was broiling-red. She took both ends of the Thneed and twisted them in anguish.

Another hair toss, this one so hard Colleen thought she might’ve dislocated her neck, and still Paulie didn’t see her. Colleen threw up her hands

“What are you doing?” said a low voice behind her.

Colleen’s heart froze, as though she’d swallowed a large ice cube, and it was stuck right over her heart.

She turned around.

Yep. Lucas Campbell.

None other. Standing approximately two feet from her, looking at her with those knowing, dark eyes.

Her skin suddenly felt tight. Mouth: dry. Brain: dead.

“What are you doing, Colleen?” Lucas asked again.

“Nothing,” she said as if it hadn’t been ten years since she’d last seen him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here to see my cousin.”

“So go see your cousin.”

“What are you doing to my cousin?”

“I’m not doing anything to your cousin.” So mature. And did they have nothing else to say to each other? Ten years apart? A river of tears (hers) and blood (his...well, she wished it was his blood).

Lucas just looked at her, his pirate eyes unreadable.

Shit.

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she started thinking, then squelched a blossom of slightly hysterical laughter.

Lucas Damien Campbell was here. Here in her bar. You think he could’ve called? Would that have been so much to ask, huh? Hmm? Would it? Hey, Colleen, I’m coming to visit my cousin, so be prepared, okay?

Colleen took a ragged breath, then coughed to cover. Unfortunately, the cough became genuine, and tears came to her eyes as she hacked and choked.

“You okay?” he asked in that ridiculously sexy, river-of-dark-chocolate voice.

“Yes,” she wheezed, wiping her eyes. “Just great.”

“Good.”

He dragged his eyes off of hers and looked over at the little knot of people at the end of the bar; Jess was laughing, Bryce smiling and Paulie looked like she was praying for a swift death.

“Are you trying to fix Bryce up with Paulina Petrosinsky?” he asked. Damn. She’d forgotten how...observant he was.

“No,” she said, proud of getting that one word out.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes. You are.” He raised an eyebrow, and her knees wobbled. Sphincter! He was here. Here and beautiful, and damn it, older. A decade older than the last time she’d seen him, and yet it seemed like yesterday when he’d walked with her down to the lake and broke her heart. Irreparably, the bastard.

Her breath wanted to rush out of her lungs, but she held it in carefully, not wanting to induce another sexy choking fit.

She’d forgotten how he looked, like a pirate, like Heathcliff of the moors, dark and slightly dangerous...except for his eyes, which could be so sad. And so happy, too.

His black hair was slightly shorter than it had been years ago, but still gypsy beautiful, curling and black. He’d lost his boyish skinniness, had broadened in the shoulders. He hadn’t shaved today, and he seemed taller now than he had back then.

Back when he loved her.

He seemed to read her mind, because something flickered through his eyes.

In the year after Lucas left her, Bryce would come into the bar and mention him occasionally. Went to see my cousin last weekend, or Hey, Lucas is taking me and Dad to a White Sox game! Finally, in a rare show of vulnerability, Colleen had asked him not to talk about Lucas anymore. And in an even rarer show of understanding, Bryce seemed to get it.

She knew he was married. No kids—surely Smiling Joe Campbell would’ve mentioned that. She knew he worked for his father-in-law. That was about it.

She had told him never to call her again, never to write, and he took her at her word.

And now, her heart was jackhammering in her chest, and though she hoped like hell her heart wasn’t written all over her face, she was...terrified.

Lucas took a breath. “Colleen, I’m only back in town because Joe asked me to come. I imagine you know he’s pretty sick.”

Her heart gave an unwilling tug. “I do,” she said, then, fearing that sounded a little too matrimonial, she added, “Know he’s sick. I do know he’s sick, I mean. He’s sick, I know it, the dialysis, not easy, I guess, and I’m sorry.” Her Tourette’s of Terror, Connor called it when she babbled. Not that she was terrified often, but hell, she certainly was now.

“Thank you.” He glanced again at Bryce—right, right, there was something going on with Bryce tonight, whatever—then looked at Colleen again. “It’s good to see you.”

“Can’t say the same,” she answered.

His mouth tugged on one side, causing a respondent tug in her special places. Five more minutes, and she’d be back in love.

“Bryce doesn’t need more complications in his life right now.”

“And by complications, you mean what, exactly?”

“The Chicken King’s virgin daughter.”

“Oh, cool! That sounds like a Harlequin romance. I would definitely read that.” The Chicken King’s virgin daughter was nowhere to be seen at the moment. “And how do you know Paulie’s a virgin, huh? Maybe she’s the town slut.”

Yeah. This wasn’t going well.

“I doubt she’s the town slut.”

She bristled. “What are you implying, Lucas?”

He gave her a strange look. “Nothing. Just that Paulie doesn’t seem like the type.”

“Well, what if she is a slut, huh? Maybe Bryce likes sluts.” Time to shut up now, Connor’s voice—her conscience—advised sagely.

“I’m sure he does.”

“So what’s your problem, then?”

“I’m trying to have a rational conversation here.”

“Yeah, and I haven’t seen you in ten years, and you just waltz into my bar and start insulting me and bossing me around. I do know about your uncle and how sick he is, because guess what? I visit him. I like him. I bring him magazines and cookies, and he likes my dog.”

“You have a dog?”

“Yes, I do, so just...you just, um, put that in your pipe and suck on it.” Smooth, O’Rourke. She tried to look haughty and dignified. “Maybe I happen to think that Bryce needs someone to help him through this difficult time.”

“Maybe he has other things to deal with.”

“And maybe I’m right and you’re wrong.”

He tilted his head to one side. “I’m getting the sense that you’re still mad.”

“I’m not.”

“Leave my cousin alone, all right?”

“Make me.”

He rolled his beautiful (damn them) eyes and walked over to Bryce, hugging him.

Humph. He hadn’t hugged her.

“Let’s stop being stupid, shall we?” she muttered to herself.

Lucas said something, then smiled. Shit, that was a good smile. Hardly ever saw it, that was the trick. She, on the other hand, smiled like a pubescent monkey or jackal or hyena or some other animal that smiled a lot. “What do you think?” she asked Victor Iskin, a regular at the bar who had a well-documented love of animals. “Do hyenas smile more than monkeys?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do I look like a hyena right now?”

“Can’t say that you do, dear.”

“Colleen! Leave the customers alone!” Connor called from the kitchen.

Lucas and Bryce were leaving, thank the sweet Christ child.

Her hands were shaking. She heard an odd sound; it was her, sucking air.

“Who was that?”

Colleen gave herself a mental shake. “Hey. Paulie. How’d it go?”

“I knocked him down, stepped on his hand, spilled a drink on his head, yanked his arm, hurled him into the bar and then hid.”

“That’s good,” Colleen murmured.

Paulie frowned, then looked at Colleen more closely. “Who was that? The guy you were talking to. He looked familiar.”

“That’s...that’s Bryce’s cousin.”

“Oh, man, I remember him! Lucas, right?” Paulie ran a hand through her hair. “You were together, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” She closed her eyes.

“Well, shit. Are you still in love with him?”

“No!”

“Are your special places tingling?”

“Excuse me? No. No, that’s...of course not. I mean...he broke my heart. First love and all that crap. A long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’d give anything to have Bryce look at me the way Lucas was looking at you.”

“We were fighting.”

“I’d give anything to have Bryce fight with me that way.” Paulie raised her eyebrows.

A change of subject was definitely needed. “Okay, so tonight’s Bryce encounter didn’t go as planned,” she said. “The good news is, you got his attention, right? That’s the first step.”

“The first step in his filing a restraining order against me, maybe.”

“Oh, come on. Bryce probably doesn’t know what a restraining order is.”

“He’s not dumb, Colleen.”

Colleen winced. “No, you’re right. Sorry. Anyway, you were memorable, so it’s not all bad.”

As she and Paulie talked, there was another voice in her head. Common sense, call it. Don’t fall for those eyes again. Don’t notice his hands, or his mouth. Those are just tricks. We’re not doing this again.

Already, it felt like she was in a whole lotta trouble.