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The waitress set our steaks down and replaced the wine before stepping away.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I said.
“Gladly. Tell me about the championship parade plans, since I won’t be caught dead watching it.”
I laughed and ran down the list of over the top things my team had planned. I told him about my predictions for next season and listened as he told me about his desire to play for another football team. We swapped stories about our endorsement deals, laughed at our agents' Type A personalities, and by the time we finished, it was three in the morning.
“Shit,” he said. “I’ve got two hours to make it to the airport. I can’t believe I didn’t make you take me to the club while I was here. I wasted an entire day of my life on you.”
“I feel the same way.”
He laughed and extended his hand. "So, when will you see Charlotte again?"
I shrugged, attempting to be nonchalant. “What makes you think I plan on seeing her again?”
“Because I know you,” he said. “When?”
This week. "In a few weeks."
“Will this meeting be taking place on a Tuesday?” He smiled.
“Yeah.”
“Figures. Is she married? Any kids? Still sexy as hell?”
“No, not that I know of, and yes.”
"Well, look. I'll never repeat this because a part of me will always hate her for leaving you the way she did, but if you ever end up with someone for the long-term who isn't Charlotte Taylor, I'll have to be honest and tell you that you're making the biggest mistake of your life." He paused. "But she better have a damn good reason for leaving you, never making contact, and hiding her whereabouts. I mean, come on. Seven years? Does she have any idea who the hell she was dating back then?”
I laughed. “Thank you for your opinion, as always, Kyle.”
“You’re more than welcome,” he said. “One last thing, though. Do me a favor when you meet up with her.”
“Name it.”
“Ask her why she never called you once.”
CHARLOTTE: THEN
Seven years ago
Pittsburgh
“I HATE SEAFOOD PLACES." I rolled over on my bed and held the phone against my ear. "Especially the ones where they let you pick your crab and cook it for you on the spot."
Grayson’s deep laughter came over the line. “So, you’ve never actually tried seafood?”
"No," I admitted. "But I've walked out of plenty of restaurants that serve it, so I'm going to trust my instincts and accept that it's terrible."
He laughed again. “You should let me take you to one this weekend. I think I can change your mind.”
“I’ll consider it.” I blushed. I was about to ask him which seafood restaurant he thought was the best, but my alarm clock rang.
It’s six o’clock already? “Um. I have to go,” I said, sitting up. “I need to get ready for my morning class.”
“You have a class that starts at seven?”
“No, eight.” I stood up and slammed the snooze button. “But I have a ritual, remember? Hot shower, latte, newsstand stop, then class. If I don’t do those things in the exact order, my entire day falls apart.”
“You left out your need to grab an overpriced bagel at Einstein’s,” he said.
“That was implied.” I laughed. “So, I’ll talk to you later?”
“You’ll see me. Today is a Tuesday.” His voice over the phone was beyond sexy. “I’ll see you later.”
“See you later.” I ended the call and looked at the total time we’d talked. Seven hours for the eighth day in a row. The longest I’d ever talked to any guy on the phone.
Smiling, I undressed and headed to the shower room. Turning on the cold water, I leaned back against the tile to make sure I was fully awake and sane. That I was not wishing that I could stay on the phone with Grayson for the rest of the day instead of going to class.
I decided to make a list of ten reasons why he needed to remain in the friend zone, but by the time I finished my shower, I could only think of five. And the top three were “Because he’s Grayson Connors.”
Still struggling to come up with another reason, I tugged on a pair of my favorite jeans and vowed to figure this out later. With twenty minutes to spare, I tossed my notebooks into my purse and took the steps to the lobby.
I buttoned my blazer as I walked outside, stopping when I saw Grayson’s car parked right out front. Confused, I stepped closer.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Giving you a ride to class. It’s at Posvar Hall, right?”
“Yes, but ...” I didn’t move any closer. I just stared at him.
Say you need to pick up your latte. Say you need to—
“I picked up your latte,” he said, holding up a brown cup. Then he held up a white paper bag. “And your bagel.”
