Those Nights in Montreal Page 4

  When I get behind the wheel, I stow the phone in the console for easy reach should she actually text me back. Ten minutes later, just as I’m turning into the parking lot of my building where I share an apartment with Clint, a good friend on the swim team, my cell chirps, indicating an incoming message.

  This is a busy week for me.

  Just as I thought. I sigh and shove the phone in my pocket and get out of my car. I can see getting her back isn’t just going to be hard, it might very well be impossible.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  REBECCA

  John calls on Sunday and as usual, I ignore it. I’ve been ignoring them for years but like clockwork, he calls every month. In the messages he leaves, sometimes he sounds upbeat:

  Hi Becky, it’s your dad. Sorry I missed you. Hope things are going well at school. Would love to hear from you. Call me when you can. Love you, sweetie.

  And other times he doesn’t:

  Hi Rebecca, it’s your dad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please give me a call. I love you.

  I delete the messages and never return his calls. But his call reminds me what happens to girls when they put their trust in the wrong guys. So that whole week I try really hard to put what happened with Scott over the weekend out of my mind. I shouldn’t care that he wants me back. I’d figured that out about a month ago when all of a sudden he started appearing everywhere I happened to be.

  At first I’d thought the meetings were coincidences because initially he never tried to talk to me. I’d caught him looking at me a couple times but I’d thought that was natural given our past. But lately, it’d become obvious he wanted to talk, that he was interested and that’s when I’d started going out of my way to avoid him.

  Obviously I hadn’t gone far enough out of my way because he’d caught me.

  If you want to know the truth, him pursuing me had given my ego a much-needed boost. What girl wouldn’t want the guy she’d been completely head-over-heels for to want her back. I’d felt smugly triumphant. I’d wanted to crow, see what you screwed up and look and see what you’ll never have again.

  What I hadn’t counted on was the toil it would begin to take on me. Last weekend should have never happened. There’s no way I should have ever let him get that close, drunk or not.

  Speaking of drunk, I glance around the bar, then at the cold bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade clutched in my hand. One drink is all I’m having tonight. Contrary to my behavior last weekend, I’m not in the habit of getting drunk off my ass.

  “Scott’s not here.” April smirks as she sends me a sidelong glance.

  I make a face at her. “I wasn’t looking for him.” How could she tell?

  “Okay, if you say so,” she replies skeptically before taking a sip of her wine cooler. “I’m not,” I insist, lying through my orthodontically-straightened teeth. The fact is I revert to habit when I feel cornered so I’d ignored him. This week I’d ignored his many texts and almost daily phone calls. Thank God I hadn’t been there when he’d come to the apartment looking for me. Olivia told me about the near miss when I’d come home from my shift at the library where I have a slightly-better-than-minimum-wage paying job cataloguing books.

  “Well you can stop looking,” April says as if I hadn’t spoken, her amusement evident in her dancing green eyes. “He just walked in.”

  My traitorous heart leaps, my gaze flying to the entrance of the local bar many of us underage college students frequent because they rarely card us for drinks.

  It’s Scott all right, standing just inside the door scouring the room, two of the guys he hangs out with at his side. Damn. Why does he have to look so good? Tall and gorgeous, he doesn’t lack female attention. Never has and at this rate—because in the two years since I met him, he’s only gotten hotter with age—I’m sure he never will.

  I tear my gaze from him and hunker down on the stool at the bar. When he does see me—as he inevitably will—he won’t catch me gawking at him.

  Angling her body toward mine, April leans in and whispers close to my ear, “Too late, he’s coming this way.”

  My friend has this uncanny ability to read me even when I’m not being quite this obvious. An ability I find only beneficial when I need her to get me out of an uncomfortable situation, otherwise, it can be a bit of a pain in the ass.

  I immediately turn my attention to the guy who’s been eyeing me since we arrived fifteen minutes ago. I’m not interested but right now he’ll do to get a pesky ex out of my hair.

  It only takes a smile and a coy look from beneath veiled eyes and the guy is sidling up next to me. A quick glance reveals Scott is making his way toward me. Even though the place is wall-to-wall students and locals, I don’t have a lot of time to properly engage my dark-haired admirer.

  “What’s your name?”

  Hmm, interesting. A surprisingly high voice for a guy who looks like he could bench press two of me without breaking a sweat. His gaze darts to April—a natural compunction for most red-blooded males when faced with the beauty that is my roommate. I’m used to it now. April smiles faintly as she regards us then flicks a glance behind me.

  “Rebecca,” I reply, smiling warmly. “What’s yours?”

  “Evan.”

  A solid name for a big, solid-looking guy. I like it.

  “I know this is going to sound like a line but haven’t we met before?”

  I suppress a smile. It doesn’t sound like a line, it is a line, but I think he actually means it.

  “Not that I can remember. I just have one of those faces I guess.” I’ve been told I look like Kate Beckinsale. Don’t I wish. More like her less attractive younger sister. If there’s a resemblance, it’s because we’re both brunettes and around the same height.

  “I like your face,” he says with a flirtatious lift of his eyebrows.

  Before either of us can say another word, I feel the familiar touch of a hand just above my right elbow. I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. And even if I didn’t know his touch like I know my own reflection, I inhale the faint scent of Royal Copenhagen cologne. My favorite. I’d introduced him to that cologne, which I’d discovered while working in men’s fragrances at a department store.

  My senses are instantly heightened by his proximity. Then I feel a breath of warm air near my ear.

  “You planning on answering any of my calls any time soon?” His low graveled voice is in stark contrast to Evan’s and I hate that I’m drawing a comparison.

  “I’ve been busy.” My reply is cool but the smile I flash Evan is falsely bright. Evan eyes Scott curiously, his gaze settling on Scott’s proprietary hand on my arm.

  “Well maybe you can make yourself unbusy for few so we can talk.”

  He’s still touching me and he’s standing way too close. I make a move to create some distance between us but his hand tightens around my arm keeping me practically chained to him.

  Raising his gaze to Evan, he addresses him. “You don’t mind if I borrow my girlfriend do you?” He couldn’t have sounded friendlier but his eyes are Arctic cold.

  That gets Evan’s attention—and mine too. Evan straightens to his full height. He’s as tall as Scott but broader in the chest and thighs. Clearly shocked, Evan stares at me as if expecting to find the answers on my face. I’m not sure what my expression conveys, but apparently he finds what he’s looking for if his response is anything to go by.

  “Hey, man, I didn’t know she was taken. She didn’t say anything about a boyfriend.”

  Taken? I stare at Evan, affronted. Way to make me sound like a possession.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “No problem, shit happens.”

  Scott’s pay-no-mind response conveniently tramples over my furious and indignant denial. The next thing I know, Evan is looking at me like I’ve been branded with the scarlet letter. Without another word to me, he turns and rejoins his friends at the end of the bar.

  Stunned, I direct a wide-eyed stare at April, who appears
to be trying to hide a smile. Like there’s anything funny about this situation.

  “Okay, Scottie, I delivered you the goods, so we’re even. Thanks for the heads up on the history quiz.” Then casual as can be, my roommate turns to me. “I’m doing this for your own good. You’ll thank me later.”

  Without waiting for the blistering reply I’m busy formulating in my mind, April slides smoothly off the stool and walks away—slim hips swaying and drawing at least a dozen pair of eyes along for the ride.

  Traitorous bitch. I’ll deal with that Judas when I get home.

  Finally I turn back to Scott seething in the knowledge that I’d been set up by my best friend and fed to the biggest wolf of all. But he’s not smirking at his apparent victory, he’s just looking down at me wearing an inscrutable expression. A lock of sun-lightened hair hangs just below is eyebrow and for a brief moment, I have to quash the instinctive urge I have to brush it away like I used to. Instead I force myself to remember he is the one responsible for putting the look of disgust on Evan’s face before he walked away.

  “What the hell are you doing?” My voice is deceptively low and controlled despite the fury inside me wailing to come out.

  “I’ve been trying to talk to you for a week now,” he answers in a perfectly calm and even tone.

  This infuriates me even more. “The fact that I’m not taking your calls should be self-explanatory. I don’t want to talk to you, get it?”

  His jaw tightens as he glances around the noisy bar. He returns his narrowed gaze to me. “Look, I can’t talk to you in here. Let’s go somewhere else.”

  I blink in disbelief. What part of I don’t want to talk to you doesn’t he understand? “I’m not going anywhere with you, Scott,” I reply tersely, still trying to keep my rising anger in check. We are in public and he knows that scenes are so not my thing.

  With that, I go to breeze by him but his arm whips out and the next thing I know I’m caught in his grip, his large hand wrapped firmly around my forearm. Again.

  “Two choices, Becca, talk to me or make a scene.” It’s a bluff. Scott doesn’t do scenes either.

  Now I’m so way beyond furious it isn’t funny. Just as I’m about to wrench my arm from his grasp, I make the mistake of looking at him. I mean really looking at him. A flurry of emotions flash across his face: resolve, stubbornness…and a vulnerability in his eyes I wish I could look away from.

  The pinch it causes in my heart is so sharp, I gasp softly at the pain of it. I feel my will crumble and I cave.

  Wuss.

  I sigh heavily. Maybe, more than for him, I owe this to myself. I’m over him. I am. Okay, I’m practically over him and once I get this across to him, he’ll leave me alone.

  “Fine, you want to talk, let’s talk,” I throw out waspishly. Yeah, I’ll talk to him but no one said I had to be nice about it. “But first I have to tell April—”

  “No you don’t. She knows you’re leaving with me.”

  “Oh yeah right, I almost forgot the two of you are conspiring against me.” I don’t care if I sound like a drama queen. I do want to know when the two of them had become so chummy.

  He releases my arm only to place it on my lower back as he leads me toward the door. “C’mon, we can talk at your place.”

  My place? My gaze flies to his face.

  He doesn’t look at me when he says, “My roommate’s girlfriend is staying for the weekend and I know Olivia is staying over at Zach’s tonight.”

  If I were smart, I’d simply refuse to let him come back to my apartment. Better yet, I’d just tell him I’m not giving him a second chance. But I don’t. And don’t ask me why because I don’t have an answer that makes sense. With the fight drained from me, I allow him to lead me out of the bar and bundle me into his car.

  Not a word is exchanged between us during the ten-minute ride to my apartment. That’s how Scott deals with stress, he goes silent. In that way, we’re the same. Right now my stomach should be labeled a disaster area. It’s not butterflies in there, I’m pretty sure it’s the larvae or caterpillars or whatever, going through a painful metamorphosis.

  The elevator ride up to my apartment is tortuous. Now that my anger has dissipated, it’s hard to look him in the eye. Scott, on the other hand, doesn’t share my problem, his gaze boring through me like he’s trying to see inside my head.

  I fumble a bit trying to unlock the apartment door. Scott’s standing so close I want to snipe, give a girl room to breathe, but I don’t want him to know the effect he still has on me.

  Inside, I tip my chin toward the living room, which is dominated by April’s floral couches. My contribution is the oval, glass-top coffee table between them. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.” For effect, I sigh as if I’m already bored by the whole thing.

  Before I can mentally start writing the acceptance speech for my Academy Award winning performance, Scott gives me the look. You know that look that tells me I’m no Meryl Streep. I’m probably not even Brittany Spears. “After you,” he replies politely, his gaze never wavering from me.

  Suppressing a shiver, I march off in front of him. If he intends to be all adult about this then that’s fine with me, but I refuse to sit until he does. Then I promptly sit on the other couch and as far from him as physically possible. At this point, the air is so thick with the tension between us, proximity to him wouldn’t just be unwise, it would be the height of stupidity. My stupidity.

  A choking silence settles over the room as I wait for him to say whatever he dragged me away from the bar to say. Having given in to him too many times to count, I’m well acquainted with his skills of persuasion. He’s good, especially when it comes to those one-on-one debates. Panties, bras, clothing period never stood a chance of staying on when Scott’s at his most persuasive. A talent I used to love about him. Tonight, not so much. I inhale a deep breath and steel myself to hear all the reasons I should give him another chance. I steel myself against him.

  “I miss you.”

  At the stark simplicity of his statement delivered in a low and quiet voice, the only sound that manages to make its way past my constricted throat is strangled and incoherent. My chest feels as if I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me. My heart doesn’t ache, it literally hurts.

  Damn him.

  This is not what I expected, not at all what I’d prepared myself for. He’s not playing fair. This is dirty pool.

  Without the constant glare of the sun, his hair turns a more a golden blond than the lighter shade it usually is in the summer. His square jaw is a bristled plane of dark-blond hair and his attention is so focused on me, my entire body suddenly feels restless…and needy. And hot. I’m swamped with the overwhelming desire to strip down to my bra and panties. I’m wearing the kind of peekaboo thong that used to drive him nuts.

  I swallow hard and drag in a lungful of air as I resist the urge to touch him. To take my clothes off.

  I’m over him. I’m over him.

  Argh! Why aren’t I over him?

  “Look, Becca, you know where I stand. I want you back. You know that. I think by now, everyone knows it.”

  Oh God. I can’t breathe. My heart is beating at a full out gallop. Talk about cutting me off at my knees. His special way of extracting a pound of flesh.

  “But if you want me to stop, tell me now. Tell me to stop and I promise, you won’t see or hear from me again.”

  I should be happy. This is what I told him I wanted. The problem is I think I’m terrified he means it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  REBECCA

  It takes every little bit of emotional strength in me to say what I say next. “Scott, I’m not in love with you anymore.” Okay that might be a bit of an overstatement because while I’m pretty sure my mind concurs, it’s my body I’m constantly doing battle with.

  My body still wants him.

  A lot.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Wait. What? Apparently he knows it too.

&
nbsp; As strange as this might seem, this isn’t how I imagined the conversation playing out. He’s not sticking to the script. I mean not even an “Are you sure?” or “I’ll make you love me again.” It’s hard to know whether I’m dealing with a colossal ego or if he’s deliberately trying to be obtuse.

  “I’m not,” I state firmly. “It’s been a year, Scott and I’ve moved on.” I’m not lying exactly. Moving on is like a book, it’s subjective. Although the thought of him with someone else makes me queasy.

  “This is me, Becca. I know you.” He doesn’t come across as arrogant or smug. Everything about him now is just really intense especially his voice and the way he’s looking at me. Like he knows me better than I know myself.

  Well the girl that had been head over heels for him is gone for good and he needs to accept that.

  “I’m not saying I don’t have any feelings for you. Despite everything, I do. You were my first real relationship and I have a lot of fond memories of our time together. But if you want to know the truth, those feelings aren’t—um—you know—physical, at least not anymore. And you know what? I’m tired of being angry with you and hating you because I don’t. I do know that there’s no going back for me and I hope you can accept that.”

  Usually, I can’t lie for shit but when I have to, I must say, I’m pretty damn good. This is definitely a rise-to-the-occasion kind of situation. That was always the one way he could get to me. Sex. But I’d like to think it was more than that for him. It certainly had been for me.

  “Then tell me to stop.”

  Right, I hoped he’d forgotten that part, the words I’ve yet to say that will send him away for good. Funny, I can lie and tell him I don’t want him physically anymore and that I’m over him. But the words he needs to hear that will completely sever the ties can’t seem to make it past my constricted throat.

  “You won’t say it or can’t say it?” he asks, watching me intently.

  I’m not exactly sure what it is that won’t let me lie about this so I say nothing. Safer just to remain silent just in case I’m not as good an actress as I need to be.