He Belongs With Me (13 page)

But I was proud of myself for having the procedure. Andrew had been a dog about it and assumed I was doing it for him, but the only person I had done it for was me. I felt much more confident now. I hadn't gone ridiculously big, just from an A-cup to a C-cup. And so what if I didn’t want to talk about my boobs with the world?

“Now that I've almost messed my pants for the day...” Dad joked. “It's good to see you, Robby. Really good.” The tension eased off my old man and his softer side emerged. He hadn't become 'Reed Ryder' overnight because he had a stick up his butt. He became 'Reed Ryder' because he was easygoing and impossible not to love. Still, he surprised me when he reached out and engulfed his former stepson in a giant hug. Given the way Robby's last day with my family had gone, Dad's gesture couldn't have shocked me more. “What brings you back to Blue Creek?”

Robby matched Dad's embrace with a bear hug of his own. They patted each other on the backs—the way men so often did—and then broke apart, acting like the most embarrassing moment of my life didn’t just happen.

“I bought a bar,” Robby said with a shrug. “You know, Mike's Pub over on Morgan Street.”

“No, kidding? Good for you.”

Robby leaned against the counter next to where I still stood by the sink and our arms brushed slightly. His presence beside me almost seemed protective. Was he standing so close on purpose?

“You got Old Mike to finally sell?” Anita asked with wonder. She moved further into the room and dropped her heavy purse on the kitchen counter, visibly relaxing.

“Yeah. For dirt cheap too,” Robby said. “I do bar restoration. You know, kind of like flipping houses. I buy 'em cheap, fix 'em up, and then sell 'em for a profit. This is my fourth.”

“Is there good money in that?” Dad asked.

“There can be. It's kind of a gamble each time though. I've had good luck so far.”

“And your mom? Where is she now?”

“Tampa, Florida. She's got herself a half-blind, half-in-the-grave, eighty-something-year-old billionaire,” he said, an infectious smile appearing on his lips. “Must be love.”

Dad busted out laughing, the sound roaring through the kitchen. “Good for her.” He bent over and smacked at his knee. “Good for her. Glad to hear she’s following her dreams.” Then he headed toward the fridge. “What does everyone want? I've got just about any drink you can imagine. Anita?”

While Anita and Dad busied themselves in our industrial-sized refrigerator, Robby took it upon himself to inspect my eyes. I stood perfectly still as he tilted my chin up toward him. Stealing the milk-towel out of my hand, he then used it to pat the corners of my eyes. The gesture felt sweet and my heart fluttered a little. Could these be the feelings for him I was hoping for? Whatever they were, I welcomed them—anything to distract me from Leo.

“I'm sorry about this,” he whispered. “If you want, I'll let Anita spray me and then we can both be miserable together.”

I couldn't help but smile. “How gentlemanly of you...but unnecessary. I am curious though, how did you know the milk would help?”

“My own stupidity. I was entered in a hot wings eating contest at this place in Tennessee a few years back. The wings were soaked in habañero sauce and somehow I got it in my eyes. Second worst moment in my life.”

“What was the first?”

“When I lost you.”

My mouth went dry and I immediately broke eye contact, subtly inching away from him. My thoughts jumped to Leo. I could only imagine the stupid, snide comments he'd have to say right this moment. He'd tell me how cliché Robby's words were and how he was probably using them to get under my skin. Unsure where to look, I turned toward Dad and Anita, who were returning from the fridge, each with a Corona bottle now in hand.

“Sorry, I thought I had limes,” Dad said to her. “I can run to the store.”

“It's fine, Reed,” she said, smiling at him the way she always did. “I can manage.”

Dad turned his attention to Robby. “Want to stay for dinner everyone? I'm gonna cook my famous pepper-jack burgers. It'll be like old times. What do you say?” Then he looked toward me and asked, “Is that okay with you, Maggie May?”

“I don't care.” I shrugged, trying to play it cool like Clara always did.

“I would love to stay,” Robby replied, “but I've got to pick up my daughter from the babysitter. Would it be okay if she had dinner with us too?”

A daughter? Was I hearing impaired?
Nope, I'd heard him correctly. A daughter meant an ex-girlfriend or an ex-wife. Or worse, a current girlfriend or wife. One he probably loved way more than he ever loved me. No wonder I hadn't heard a single word from him since the day he left. Turning back around to face the sink, I pretended to busy myself by splashing water in my eyes all over again.

“No problem,” Dad cooed. My old man had a soft spot for kids. “The more the merrier and I'd love to meet her. What's your daughter's name?”

“Valerie.”

“Does she have a mom you want to bring too?”

“Not in this state. I'm actually a little late picking her up. Anita, would you mind driving me back to Mike's? I need to get my truck so I can go get her.”

“Sure thing, dear,” Anita replied. I continued to face the sink but felt Anita run her nails gently down my back. “Maggie, wanna come with?”

The fact that Robby had a daughter meant that he'd easily moved on from me and our shared history. And it shouldn’t have bothered me—our relationship had ended ages ago—but it still hurt. “No, I'll stay here and recover,” I replied to Anita, hastily waving her and Robby off. “You guys go.” Then, in a further attempt to sound unfazed by Robby’s revelation, I added, “Hurry back though because I'm starving.”

As they walked out, I realized something. Instead of needing Robby to keep my thoughts away from Leo, it was now the other way around.

Oh Lord, help me.

CHAPTER 12

CLARA

The car that Leo said he would send never came to pick us up. One o'clock came and went, so Steph and I were forced to find our own way to the stadium. By the time we got a taxi, waited in a buttload of traffic all the way from Brooklyn to the Bronx, we were more than late. And I was spending even more savings thanks to Leo’s oh-so-generous “gift.”

On a summer Sunday, Yankee Stadium was packed with women, men, and children of all ages, all sporting navy blue, gray, and pinstripes. Steph fit right in with her new Derek Jeter jersey, Yankees baseball hat, and two foam fingers, while I stood out in an old orange t-shirt I had borrowed from her. As if wearing the signature color of the opposing team wasn’t bad enough, I also had sketched the best Jesus face a black marker and my semi-okay artistic skills would allow, and then added 'Jesus hates the Yankees' across the front. Needless to say, my shirt received several evil stares from Yankee fans, but no one said a word to me. Maybe my purple hair was a deterrent. Between the shirt and my hair, I was definitely putting off a badass, mess-with-me-and-die vibe and I absolutely loved it.

We cut through the crowd and neared the edge of the stands, getting our first glimpse of the ball field. Already in full swing, the game was in the bottom of the fifth inning and the O's were down by three runs.

“This is freaking awesome,” Steph said loudly over the noise of the crowd. “Where are our seats again?”

“Section 103, Row 10, Seats 1 and 2. That's probably behind home plate and if so, we're close.”

Steph pointed upward at a section sign. We weren't anywhere near Section 103.
What?
I expected Leo's tickets to be the best money could buy. Where the hell was 103? All the way out in the nosebleeds?

Steph hurried over to the first usher she could find, and I watched as the old man signaled that we needed to go ‘that-a-way’…very far ‘that-a-way.’ “Let's go,” Steph said, returning to my side. “He said 103 is in right field—over there.” She pointed across the baseball park, as if I didn't know where right field was. Then Steph firmly grabbed hold of my hand, leading the way.

We hurried through the bustling crowd and as we made our way around the big loop of the stadium, this funny feeling settled over me.
Butterflies.
Those creepy little suckers had been resting in the shadows all morning long, waiting for the pristine moment to jump out and attack me. And as the stadium section numbers ticked down closer to 103, they took over my stomach and started gnawing me from the inside out. How was I supposed to act around Leo post-kiss? Did our kiss make us friends now? More than friends? Should I tell him I regretted yesterday? Did I regret yesterday? I didn't know. And I didn't like feeling so completely undone because of Leo.

Maybe Steph and I should turn around, run like hell, and leave now. But seeing how enthusiastic and eager she was about being here, I knew it wouldn't be fair to break her heart simply because I was too chicken-shit to face Leo. Therefore, I continued to let her lead me toward the inevitable, despite the queasy feeling that had suddenly settled in my stomach.
Damn you, butterflies.

Next thing I knew we were at Section 103, where Steph showed a different usher our tickets, nodding when he pointed downward into the stands. She raced down the concrete steps, taking them two at a time toward the direction of our seats. Without even noticing him, she sped past a handsome, dark-haired, fair-skinned man moving up those same steps
.

Leo.

Was he leaving? I froze in place when I saw him coming, and he didn't notice me until he nearly ran smack-dab into my chest. He glanced up and seemed genuinely thrilled to find me standing in front of him. “You're here,” he stated. Leo wore one of his designer suits, but it was rumpled, untucked, and missing the jacket and tie. His dark hair looked like it had started the day in its usual perfect state, but had been ruffled from running his hands through it too many times. I'd never seen Leo so messy and I liked it. But I didn't like that I liked it so much, so I reverted back to the only way I knew how to act around him.

“Of course I'm here,” I grunted, being careful not to stare directly into his eyes—they were dangerous and the sunlight did funny things to them. “I said I was coming, didn’t I? No thanks to you, by the way. We waited and waited for that car you said you would send, but it never came,” I rambled, something I tended to do when nervous. “Then we were forced to take a taxi. I'm surprised we even made it at all. What the hell! Where are you going anyway? Are you leaving already?”

“Woah, slow down, killer. What?” He smiled wider and I got the impression that sober Leo checked out about five innings ago.

“Hi, Leo,” Steph said. I guess she'd noticed that I was no longer following after her and had come back up the steps to where we stood. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Hey, Steph,” he said back to her. “No problem. I'm glad you guys came.” Then Leo returned his focus to me. “I told you to text and let me know what you were doing. When I never heard from you, I tried calling. Your phone was off so I assumed that meant you didn't want to hear from me. I should have sent the car—I would have, had I known you wanted to come. I should have sent it either way.”

“I texted you.
Then
my phone died. But I did text you.”

“Who cares, guys?” Steph said. “Let's just go watch the game.” She turned and headed for our seats, but Leo didn't follow after her. Instead, he moved up one step closer. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but the red only made the blue in them burn brighter. They latched onto mine, demanding I look at him, and wouldn't let go. Those pesky butterflies returned, striking my stomach with a vengeance.

“Clara,” he murmured. “Did you mean what you said yesterday?”

I swallowed hard, my throat going drier than my Arizona dreamland. He was talking about my ‘
prove to me you aren't an ass and I'm all yours’
comment. Would those words ever stop haunting me? “I said a lot of things yesterday. It's hard to remember.”

Leo frowned. I had to give the guy credit; he could function as if perfectly normal while drunk when he wanted to—probably because he'd had tons of practice. Or maybe he wasn't drunk at all. I guess I couldn't tell. “Just answer me, please.” His voice came out dangerously close to sounding sincere.

“I know what I said to you last night, Leo. And...” Now was my chance. I could tell him I had too much to drink and last night meant nothing. But for whatever reason, I found myself unable and unwilling to lie about this. “Yes, I meant what I said. Every word.”

There…I admitted it.

Leo let a few moments slip away, taking his time respond. It was torturing the crap out of me and making my heart ba-bump harder than the
Jaws
theme song. He opened his mouth to say something, but then glancing downward, his lips immediately formed a straight line. “Dammit, what are you wearing? You have to take that off. Now.”

“You want me to strip down naked in front of thousands of people? Pervert.” I bit my lip to hide my smile. My 'Jesus hates the Yankees' shirt elicited the exact reaction I wanted out of him. Maybe I enjoyed messing with Leo—maybe I always had. He wasn't difficult to provoke, so maybe I was somewhat to blame for the way he acted toward me over the years.

“I'm serious,” he groaned, moving aside to let a family pass us on the steps. Then he added in his best 'I'm-pissed-at-the-world' voice, “You're going to get me slaughtered wearing that. Is that the idea? Is this your latest attempt at murder, killer?”

“Chill out. No one's said a single word to me yet.”

“
Yet
being the operative word in that statement. The Orioles are losing. That changes and I'm a dead man.”

Why would he have been a dead man? I was the one wearing the shirt.
Was Leo trying to tell me he'd defend me if anyone gave me hell about my choice of apparel? The answer to my question was ‘yes’—a resounding ‘yes.’ I'd seen Leo jump to Maggie's defense countless times, and I knew without question that he'd do the same for me.

I think he realized I was on to him, because he quickly broke eye contact and looked toward the baseball field. His hand rubbed the back of his neck and he exhaled a slow breath. I saw him make that same move yesterday when he asked me to come with him to New York. Was I making Leo nervous? Did Leo even have nerves?