Collide Into You: A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story (31 page)

“I have a pretty good idea of who’s behind it,” Alec says. He finishes the beer.

I start putting food and utensils away. “Who?”

He laughs an uncomfortable laugh, as if he’s worried I might do something stupid with the information. And he’d be correct.

“Zoe and her future sister-in-law, Maria. Maria is my ex-girlfriend.”

I wash my hands and dry them on a towel. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Go? And do what, exactly?” Alec doesn’t move an inch. He must not think I’m serious.

“Oh, I don’t know, exchange recipes. Gossip. Dump their bodies in the Potomac. I’m in favor of that last option. What about you?”

“Whoa, hold up, Keira.” He holds up his hands. “That’s not going to happen. You can’t lash out when people call you bad names or when they lie about you. Not in my profession. In yours, in the military, it’s different. I get that. But surely you understand that you can’t pick a fight with everyone who disagrees with you?”

“This isn’t a disagreement. This is libel and I can sue the newspapers for publishing slanderous lies about me.”

I can also ruin the lives of those who fuck with the girl I love.

“Listen, Keira, I really like you. I don’t want tonight to be about what was said in the newspapers. If you’re unsure about dating me, then tell me now. Otherwise, I’d rather get to know you and eat stuff wrapped in bacon. I don’t want to dwell on the negative side of my baseball fame. Either way, I promise I’ll uphold my end of our bargain and visit the wounded soldiers.”

I have every confidence that Keira is listening. I’m rather surprised she hasn’t exploded out from my room, demanding answers. I want nothing more than to send Alec Huffman packing. He’s a cool guy and as a dude, I like him a lot.
 

But here’s the thing: I can’t speak for Keira on this topic. I just don’t know how she feels about him. I suspect she has platonic feelings for Alec, but I cannot be too sure. I’m more confident that she has feelings for me and not Alec.

A knock at the door saves me from having to answer. The amazingly beautiful, long-legged Bernadine Stacey waltzes in before I can even get to the door.
 

She’s poured into into a tiny, red mini-dress that’s way too dangerous for mortal men. Stacey’s long blonde hair is swept up in a loose bun that gives the illusion that it will suddenly burst free and cascade down her shoulders.

Stacey isn’t careless about her appearance, and nothing has actually been left to chance. If her hair looks like it’s about to fall down, she’s styled it that way on purpose.

She completely ignores me and Alec Huffman, who, to his credit, looks unaffected as Stacey commands the room, and she quietly slips into my bedroom.

“Dillan mentioned Stacey was on her way,” Alec mentions slowly. “I kind of feel sorry for him.” I look at the ball player oddly.
Why would he think that?
I ask as much. “Women like that aren’t real,” he says. “Stacey is beautiful. She’s more than beautiful, but she’s like a painting by a famous artist that everyone loves to look at but no one truly understands.” I’m not sure if I agree, but I nod anyway, because I’m supposed to be Keira, not Dillan. “She doesn’t make him happy, and he doesn’t make her happy. I wonder why they are together,” he says more to himself than to me.

Excellent question, I think.

Keira

I’
M
SO
ANGRY
THAT
I pace Dillan’s bedroom.
Nats’ Tramp?
Newspapers talking about our dates? I turn on his laptop and search the Web. It takes no time to discover what they’re talking about.
 

While I find a few blogs that discuss, in gossip-like fashion, Alec’s new plaything—me!—I can’t find the
original
source. Whoever posted the actual story not only deleted the story, but the Internet cache page of it as well. Not just one newspaper, but all three of them. This in itself seems strange, but not perplexing enough for me to forget the knot forming in the pit of my stomach.

Dillan knew.
 

He knew when he got home tonight and yet he said nothing.
That son of a bitch!
The rational side of me reasons that he didn’t say anything because our conversation was a relaxed one. I know that if he brought it up, I would have been livid from the get-go and I wouldn’t have been able to learn about his day. I wouldn’t have discussed how my day went with him. I would have just been mad.

And that doesn’t include the fact that Alec kissed me—Dillan—on their date Saturday night. I’ve got the proof in a four-by-six color photograph staring back at me on one of the blog’s websites.

The knot in my stomach has to be the size of a watermelon by now.

I lean back and spot something red out of the corner of my eye and realize Stacey’s standing in Dillan’s bedroom. In a dress that’s more or less the size of a Band-Aid. She looks amazing.
 

I close the laptop. “Someone call the fire department,” I say.
That’s something Dillan would say, right?

Stacey shakes her head. It looks like her hair might tumble down any second, but it stays perfectly pinned up.
 

“I’m here to break up with you, Dillan,” she says pragmatically, as if she were in front of a group of students giving a lecture. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Wait,
what?
Okay, what is this
feeling
I’m feeling right now?
 

Rejection.
 

“Uh…” I hesitate, unsure of what to say.

My stomach rolls as she looks at me like she needs to comfort me. I’m not even Dillan Pope, but I’m feeling her rejection of him, and it’s freaking me out.
What if the longer I’m in Dillan’s body, the more his sensations and mannerisms transfer into me?
How else can I explain the fact that it actually hurts that Stacey’s breaking up with Dillan?

I don’t even know how much he likes her, but it can’t be that much if he says he loves me.

I clutch my stomach and sit down on the bed. The watermelon has multiplied.

“Is it about yesterday?” I ask, looking up. She hasn’t moved from the doorway. “Because I had too many hot dogs. I wasn’t feeling well…”

I can’t believe I’m trying to get her to change her mind. I should want her to break up with Dillan. Hell,
I
came up with five damn good reasons yesterday to break up with
her
.

“It was fun while it lasted, Dillan. We both know this wasn’t going to be a permanent relationship. And, honestly, you’ve been acting pretty strange. I know that this may sound weird, but I feel like you’re not
you
anymore. You seem…feminine. I feel like we’re two cats standing next to one another and all I want to do is hiss at you.”

“That does sound weird.”

“But…I’ll certainly never look at tiramisu the same way again.”

“I’m…” I hesitate.
How would Dillan handle this?
“I’m sorry?” It comes out more like a question than a statement.

“You don’t need to apologize. Do I—” she waves her hand down her dress “—look heartbroken to you?”

“You look beautiful, actually,” I say.

In two steps she’s in front of me, and she kisses me on the cheek. “You’re a good guy, Dillan. You respect women. But it’s time you found the right
one
.” She winks. “I’ve got to go. There’s a cab with my name on it and I have VIP Orchestra seats at the Kennedy Center.”

“Seats? As in plural? Who’s your date?” I find it ballsy that she hadn’t even broken up with me—Dillan—before securing a date for tonight.

“Come out into the living room and find out,” she says playfully.

Dillan

C
ONVERSATION
HAS
BEEN
A
LITTLE
stilted since Stacey entered my bedroom. I can sense that Alec knows I won’t answer in the positive about dating him, but I won’t answer in the negative, either, and he must hate the not knowing as much as thinking it’s a
no
. Maybe more.

“Where do you think they are going tonight?” Alec asks me. He’s flipping through one of Keira’s manuals, one of the ones she’s allowed to bring home.

Actually, if my gut is correct, Stacey won’t be staying long. After yesterday’s, uh, sexual-fart incident, Stacey’s doing the breakup thing right about now.

Tellingly, this doesn’t injure my pride whatsoever. I feel a little bit freer, like I can finally be myself around Keira without having to worry about hurting someone else. Plus, it saves me from having to end the relationship. It’s best if Stacey does it; that way, she’s in charge. She’s in control, and there’s no question about anything.

“Probably a political function. Stacey brings in boatloads of money for her candidates.” She’s also incredibly smart and savvy, and knows her way around the Capitol like no one’s business.

“She can probably get people to switch political parties,” Alec jokes. “I’ve always been fascinated by U.S. politics.”

“Stacey is your go-to for information,” I say with a smile on my lips. “She knows everyone in this town. The good. The bad. And the criminal. And she remembers everything anyone has ever said to her.”

Stacey exits my bedroom in a calm and collected manner. Keira brings up the rear, leans against the door, crosses her arms across her chest, and wears an interesting expression that I can’t quite decipher.
 

“Alec Huffman,” Stacey announces with her confident
I don’t take prisoners
voice. “Get your jacket. You’re coming with me tonight.”

“Excuse me? I’m sort of on a date right now.”

I like how he said
sort of
. Implying he isn’t so sure. Welcome to the
I don’t know what the hell is going on
club, buddy.

Stacey laughs, but it isn’t malicious. “
They
like each other, not us. It’s as clear as day. So…are you coming or what?”

Alec looks between me, whom he thinks is Keira, and Keira, whom he thinks is Dillan, and when neither of us disagree with Stacey’s assessment of “They like each other, not us,” he grabs his jacket.

“No hard feelings, right?” he asks.
 

Keira and I both answer “No” at the same time, and he shuts the door.

“That was…” I trail off.

“Caveman-ish? Barbaric?” Keira finishes for me, laughing. “I know she didn’t have room in her dress, but at any second, I expected her to pull out a club, hit Alec over the head with it, and drag him away with her.”

“That’s pretty much how she won me over,” I say.

“Is that all it takes? Hitting men over the head? I’ve been going about this whole dating thing the wrong way for years.”

“Keira, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the newspapers. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I think I understand. But now the world thinks I’ve gotten to first base with Alec Huffman. He kissed you, and you didn’t tell me.”

I lift my hand, which holds tongs for the salad, and say, “He
tried
to kiss me, but I turned away, and he got my cheek instead. The picture is at the
right
angle for the
wrong
image. No kiss.”

She spies the tongs in my hand and appears to try and look behind me. I’m not sure how to take her expression. Keira appears to be more or less in a relaxed mood.
 

“So, can you still make the bacon-wrapped stuff? It sounded pretty good. I can help and get plates down from the cabinet. I don’t want you to worry your pretty little lady head about that part. I’ll do the hard, manly labor stuff.” She flexes her muscles.

After a few seconds of doing that, she acts like she’s carrying a club and pretends to hit me over the head with it. I can get used to this. I haven’t actually cooked anything. I’ve only assembled the salad.
 

“What would you like wrapped in bacon?” I ask.

“Everything.”

Keira

“I
HAVE
TO
ADMIT
THAT
when I started to read the letters, that I had hoped it would be a romance,” I say after demolishing most of the bacon-wrapped food. Dillan could have wrapped bacon around toothpaste and I still would have eaten it.
 

What we haven’t talked about is Stacey, Alec, or what just happened.

I look across the table at Dillan as he puts down his fork. He sensibly has eaten only the salad and a plate full of fresh fruit. I say
sensibly
because I forced him to. There’s no way I’m letting him put meat wrapped with other meat in my body.

“Why?” Dillan asks thoughtfully, as if he’s actually interested. “Why do you want it to be a romance?”

“I guess it’s because I’d hate it if classified information was actually passed back and forth. What was told? What happened because of it? The letters were written during the Cold War.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“For starters, Greta lived in Frankfurt, Germany, which would have been in West Germany at the time. For all we know, she could have been a spy. Maybe
he
was. I don’t know how or why they began writing to each other.”

“You think it’s possible that
Affectionately Yours
, Greta was passing information to
Ardently Yours
, William?” Dillan asks.

“Is that how they are now signing their letters?” I ask. Dillan nods. “Doubtful, but it
might
be possible. I’m not an expert on the Cold War. If all goes well, we’ve got one more day left of this.”

“Yeah, if all goes well,” he says with little enthusiasm. I sense he’s lost his appetite. He slides his plate away, looks at me seriously, and asks, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking about this ordeal?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “That our chances of returning to normal are slim-to-none before the deadline?” Ellen’s anniversary is tomorrow night. Tomorrow is also the same day Dillan and I met nine years ago. “Yeah. Our best chance is showing up at her party and trying to convince her we’ve accomplished what she wants us to accomplish.”

“It won’t work,” Dillan says, throwing more rain on our pity-parade.

I put our plates in the sink. I look out the windows. It’s dark, and I realize it’s nearly eleven. If we’re lucky, we’ll be back to ourselves in twenty-four hours.
If we’re not so lucky…
Not only will I be stuck in Dillan’s body, there’s zero chance I’ll have a happy life. I’ll be stuck in a job I don’t fully understand, in a body I have no interest in actually owning—I want to snuggle up against Dillan, I want to do lots and lots of things to Dillan’s body—I don’t want to experience my love for him in this…this…twisted way.