Someday Maybe Page 8

  Instead, I allowed Meghan’s voice to fill the space between my ears. She was still on cloud nine over her new dude. I activated the speakerphone and let her drone on as I massaged about a gallon of clary sage oil onto my temples, all while trying to figure out how I was going to dodge my sweet new intern.

  Wentworth.

  As I sat on the phone with her, chewing off my gel nail polish, I knew it was high time to unload the whole Oliver saga. Meghan was my best friend, she could help. Well, maybe not help, but she was a great listener.

  “He smells so sexy, Rach, like a millionaire lumberjack. I could easily turn into his love slave, if he’d let me.”

  Well, she was usually a great listener. On second thought, now was probably not the best time to bring it up, not until Meghan had a few more Diet Cokes in her system or until Rad took care of her sexual frustration.

  The thought suddenly dawned on me that maybe Oliver Wentworth wouldn’t remember me—or wouldn’t remember me with hard feelings. I pushed myself up in bed, feeling a tiny twinge of hope. Just because I’d thought about him around a thousand times over the past six years didn’t mean he had. Men got over things quickly. Like ex-girlfriends. And chicken pox.

  A controlled environment like idiot Tim’s wretched party might just be the perfect setting for a reunion to take place. I couldn’t help imagining what Oliver Wentworth might look like today—which caused my heart to do two complete somersaults. Sarah said he was a “hottie.”

  Well, duh. If he was a supreme hottie back when I knew him, what did the man-sized Oliver look like?

  Absolutely gorgeous, of course.

  My stomach did a belly flop when I remembered that Roger planned on making an appearance at Tim’s. Roger and Oliver in the same room, breathing the same muggy San Francisco air. Cue nightmare.

  Slamming my eyes shut, I flopped back on my pillows.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bruce reached out like he was about to touch my hair, but then stopped. “It looks different,” he said as we hovered over a first draft, large print ad for a Tahoe casino that was spread across the conference room table. “Nice.”

  I noticed his hand move again so I gave it the eye. Our team had just gone through a rigorous Code of Conduct training, and he dropped his meaty paw.

  “Thanks.” I tucked some loose strands behind my ears.

  “And you’re—” He leaned across the table and actually sniffed the air in front of me. “Is that new perfume?”

  Me thinks someone needed another COC refresher.

  I cleared my throat and straightened, making sure he couldn’t see down my shirt. “It’s aromatherapy, regular perfume irritates my skin.”

  He sniffed again. “What do I smell on you?”

  “Grapefruit and wild orange.”

  Moron Bruce actually cocked an eyebrow and growled. What a pig. It made me shiver and pull back even farther.

  “Hot date tonight?”

  “Party at a friend’s,” I answered, unwilling to divulge personal information to a guy who was as sensitive as a steaming pile of Sydney’s poo. “No big deal.” I circled a misspelled word with my red felt-tipped pen.

  Bruce glowered down at the circled word, and we fell into silence. When we were done, he rolled up our drafts and settled his gaze on me. “Whoever you’re out to catch better watch out—he’s about to get hooked, baby.”

  Gross.

  I tried not to let him spoil my mood. I’d been cheerful all day, and I was seldom overly cheery at work. I wasn’t sure if it was because it was Friday or because Claire hadn’t scowled at me since before lunch or if I was actually looking forward to Tim’s party.

  At T-minus two hours until the end of the workday, the evening plans were finally set. Sarah—who I didn’t have the heart to ditch—was going to call me when she got close to the office, and then we were meeting Roger and Meghan at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from my building. From there, we would head to North Beach and Tim’s place.

  My stomach twisted anxiously as I swiveled in my chair, unable to focus on the assignment on my screen. I tapped a pen against my keyboard then struck the X key over and until it filled the whole Word document. I pushed back my chair and stood, pacing a track around my tiny cubical.

  Out the window, I could see a corner of the Embarcadero that lead to AT&T Park. I stared at it for a while, remembering the time Oliver won us tickets to a Giant’s baseball game. I was jazzed at finally being at the stadium, but I’d been twitchy and paranoid through our whole date, knowing the camera was bound to sneak a shot of us together and Roger would find out about it. What an untrusting coward I’d been. Had I grown out of that?

  Since Oliver, I’d never had to test love, or rather, test how I would do in another intense relationship. Would I lose balance again? Or had the mistakes I made six years ago taught me a lesson?

  Done pacing, I sat at my desk and checked emails. A message from Krikit. I couldn’t face it, so I scrolled through Pinterest and Instagram, trying to keep my mind busy. Around five thirty, I grabbed my purse and headed for the ladies’ room. Leaning over the sink, I studied myself in the mirror.

  Huh. I tilted my head, a little surprised by how non-dead I looked.

  Despite not sleeping soundly the last week, the habitual circles under my eyes had miraculously faded, and thank goodness for new BB cream from a tiny shop in Japantown that worked like magic. The coral blush sweeping up my cheeks was in full bloom, probably because I couldn’t make myself calm down.

  Normally a bit frizzy and hyper from humidity, my dark hair was swingy and glossy for a change. I’d taken the time to run a screaming-hot flat iron through it that morning and added this spray stuff my beautician back in Dallas had been begging me to use. Wistfully, I ran my fingers from scalp to tips, wondering if this was what Jennifer Aniston’s hair felt like.

  This was the best and most put-together I’d looked in a while. Meghan warned me that she was going to cast an anti-intimidating glamor on me. Maybe she hadn’t been joking.

  Properly dotting it on my upper lip first, I applied then smacked the shiny tinted gloss I brought along for the occasion. The lady at the Clinique counter said it brought out my creamy skin tone. When I was done, I blew a kiss at my reflection, causing another self-inflicted blush to spread across my cheekbones.

  I couldn’t help strutting as I made my way back toward my cubical. A welcomed burst of self-confidence put an extra sway in my strut, and I was actually excited about what tonight had in store. More importantly, I was smiling ear to ear.

  I knew this because I felt the exact instant my smile dropped.

  “All you blankety-blanks better get your blankety-blanks out of the blankey-blank-blank and do the blankety-blank-blank-blank!”

  Wow. Bruce was in rare form, having to actually make up new profanity as the standards were insufficient for the occasion.

  “Do you see this stack?” He was shouting into the face of a trembling junior sales exec assigned to the Vondome account. My account. “They all have to be postmarked by tomorrow. Signed, sealed, delivered. And where are my proofs? We’re not leaving until they’re done all over again.”

  The sales exec looked like she was ready to cry. I was about to tiptoe to my cubical and grab my jacket when came the one word I dreaded the most from Bruce:

  “Rachel!”

  Okay, so I wasn’t great at my job—I was first to admit this. But I was trying, I was learning, and no one busted their ass more than me; late nights and long hours under the tutelage of Moron Bruce. Taking this job had been a huge step that I wasn’t certain I’d been ready for.

  But this thing with the missing Vondome proofs—that was not my fault. Any other night, I would’ve been fine with working late and taking Bruce’s verbal abuse. But tonight?

  First, I placed a call to Meghan. “We told you to quit that job!” was all she had to say. Next, I texted Sarah. She was already en route to the office to do some filing until I was ready to go. I to
ld her to stay away, far away! If Bruce saw her, she’d be trapped. Lastly, I called Roger to let him know I’d be late and the three of them should eat without me, but to keep their cells close so I could call when I was done.

  Vondome was my project. I worked extra hard, extra efficiently, helping anyone I could from every department involved, running the stairs from floor to floor, hoping to speed the process along.

  Around eight o’clock, the building’s AC decided to shut off. Heat from the concrete jungle below hit like steam from a sauna. My hair went simultaneously flat and frizzy. Mascara and eyeliner pooled under my lower lashes, causing the extremely sexy “raccoon eyes” effect.

  Everyone was sweating and ornery and aggravated. No one wanted to be working late on a Friday. My last phone call—with the last of my hopes of getting out alive—was to Roger around eleven. I got his voicemail, which made me feel even worse.

  The pathetic, whiney side of my brain took over. They’re all off having an amazing time without you, it said.

  In a city of over eight hundred thousand, it seemed like I was the only car driving east on Market Street as I headed home at midnight. I didn’t know who I loathed more: Bruce for being a moron, or myself for believing that my sucky personal life actually had the chance of taking a turn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, everything felt achy and off, though nothing specific. I was hungover without the benefit of alcohol to drown the memory. My head pounded and rang, worse than when you’re flying in an airplane and your inner ears won’t decompress.

  Around nine, I lost all hope of lying in bed any longer when the sound of “Back in Black” seeped out from under my brother’s bedroom door. The AC/DC meant Roger was in a good mood. And that just plain pissed me off.

  That must’ve meant he’d had a good time at the party last night. He was obviously awake, so I could’ve knocked on the door and asked him what I’d missed. I stood outside his room, going as far as making a fist.

  But my palms got all clammy just thinking about what he might say.

  Unwilling to remain in brooding solitude, I located Sydney’s leash and together we hit our favorite dog/bike/jogging trail that wound around Golden Gate Park. There was no way I was jogging, though. I could barely stagger.

  The sunshine seemed extra bright for so early in the morning. The grass was green from recent rain, and the sky shone bright blue. It might’ve been a lovely day had I the desire to enjoy it. Helmeted bikers whizzed past, as well as a procession of random exercisers either on foot or on various wheeled contraptions. It took genuine stamina to hit the hilly miles of the park, especially this morning when everything felt uphill.

  Not far into our walk, Sydney stopped to sniff a rock, so I took the opportunity to plop down on the grass off to the side of the trail. Leaning back on my hands, I yawned so wide it hurt the corners of my lips. Too many days of restless sleep and self-induced mucho stress were catching up to me.

  My sweat-dried then slept-on hair was loose and hanging wildly over my shoulders, probably matching how hideous my unwashed face felt. Meghan had told me once that she loved the natural Rachel; that I looked best with wavy “beach hair” and hints of last night’s makeup. But everyone knows only supermodels can pull of that “morning after” look.

  As I sat there taking a breather, watching Sydney scratch around a cluster of purple flowers, I observed the parade of runners trotting past. They looked trim and fit, taking the hills with no problem, while I felt my backside sink deeper into the ground. I decided to let one more pair of beautiful, Special K-eaters pass before puppy and I returned to the flow of traffic.

  I hadn’t thought to bring sunglasses and was squinting into the sun while noting the oncoming couple. She looked all healthy and springy, and the guy was tall with nice shoulders. I moved farther off the trail, about to let them pass. Until I heard a familiar voice.

  “Nooo. Stop.” Followed by breathless laughter. “You wouldn’t! You swear you wouldn’t!” Megs. I couldn’t help snorting, wondering how long it had been since she’d willingly exercised on her own.

  Knowing Meghan, if I didn’t pull her focus, she probably wouldn’t notice me. But since I’d already scooted off the grass, I took the high road. Sort of. I extended one leg across the path in a pretend attempt to trip the approaching duo. Seeing my barricade in the nick of time, they knocked into each other, nearly falling onto the grass beside me.

  Catching Meghan’s startled expression set me into a fit of mad giggles, and I rolled back on the grass, cackling out loud and clutching my stomach. Nothing like a good belly laugh. Meghan marched toward me, while her guy was turned the other way, leaning over to pick up the baseball cap that had fallen off his shaved head.

  Ahh, so I was about to meet the infamous Rad.

  “Devil woman,” Meghan hissed, glaring down at me. “You could’ve killed us.”

  I couldn’t respond because I was still caught in the throes of giggle hysteria as her shadow darkened my view of the morning sky.

  “Fine, laugh away,” she continued, while Sydney barked at her protectively. “Your little doggie can’t defend you. I know where you live and I’ve seen where you sleep.” Her face finally broke into a smile and she grunted a laugh, tightening her ponytail. “It’s awfully early for you to be up, isn’t it?”

  I rolled onto my knees and wiped the corners of my eyes. “Funny, I was about to say the same to you. I didn’t think you knew this trail existed. You never come out here when I want to go for a run.”

  “Yes, I do.” She kicked my shoe, which was probably supposed to be a subtle request for me to play along, though Meghan had never grasped subtlety. “I run here all the time. Remember?”

  I shaded my eyes from the sun and coughed a laugh. “Uhh, sure, Megs. Whatever you say.”

  It was right about then that I glanced past my best friend’s shoulder and took note of her running date, who was standing frozen in place, purple Colorado Rockies baseball cap between his hands. Staring at me.

  You know that scene in Jaws when that little boy is getting devoured by the shark amid a geyser of blood? Spielberg did that cool “forward tracking, zoom out” shot on stunned Police Chief Brody’s face. Everything around him is pulled forward while he seems to be pulling away. Spielberg said the purpose of the shot was to give a sense of dizzying vertigo or a “falling away from yourself.”

  Which was exactly how I felt. I was falling away, but with perfect tunnel vision of the subject.

  Pressure built inside my head. It was going to explode in the blink of an eye…in the blink of a pair of very familiar metallic gray eyes.

  The guy made a sound that, in any other circumstance, would’ve sounded like a low, hissing curse word. But I knew it was my name he’d quietly hissed between his teeth.

  “Hey. Rach.” Meghan kicked my shoe again, harder.

  I shifted my eyes back to her, woozy and dazed. “Huh?”

  “Why aren’t you blinking?”

  I blinked twice for her benefit, causing my mascara-smeared eyes to burn. I blinked again and looked past her shoulder at Oliver Wentworth. Six years older, but I’d know him anywhere, those eyes and mouth, those shoulders and hands. I even knew his knees.

  “Rach,” Meghan repeated, causing me to flinch. “This is Rad.”

  Oliver took a step toward me. I recoiled, sinking deeper into the grass.

  “You know,” Megs added, sotto voce, “the one I told you about.”

  “Hi,” Oliver said to me, sounding a little winded and a little…something. He wore a bright blue T-shirt, the sleeves straining over his biceps, and long black shorts, the word Creighton printed in white block letters over one knee. I found myself studying his workout gear longer than necessary, because it struck me as really odd that I didn’t recognize either piece of clothing. Which—I know—made no sense.

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Polite convention dictated I was to shake his hand or whatever, but, “Um, hello,”
was all I had.

  “Rachel and I grew up together.” Meghan lunged into a calf stretch then pointed her toes, probably something she’d seen on an exercise DVD. “She was supposed to be at Tim’s last night but got stuck at work. I think I told you that.”

  “Only about ten times,” Oliver said, looking at me and lifting a pleasant smile.

  No, it wasn’t pleasant—dammit. It was heart-stopping, just like in college whenever his silvery eyes settled on me.

  My head felt heavy but light, and the pit of my stomach was a cyclone of heat. How did my body remember exactly how to respond to his presence? After my heart was done with its stopping, it went into spasms, trying to beat its way up my throat.

  “I did not tell you ten times, Rad.” Meghan swatted his arm playfully.

  I’d almost forgotten she was standing there. Between us.

  Oliver’s eyes left me and slid to her. He smiled dotingly. I knew that smile by heart, but I’d never witnessed him giving it to another girl. It was so out of context it made my stomach twinge with jealousy.

  “I’m coming over tonight, remember?” Meghan said to me.

  “Right.” I shifted my weight to stand, but feared my legs were about as sturdy as rubber bands, so I stayed put, petting manically at Sydney’s head. “To do what?”

  “Rog is helping me with my Spanish accent for an audition. Gotta nail these lines. Her brother Roger is like a super genius at languages,” she explained to Oliver.

  He looked at me again. “Your brother Roger. Huh.” He scratched his chin. “Wasn’t he the student body president at USF? I think I ran into him on campus once.”

  Hi. I’d like to die now.

  “Uh.” I rubbed my nose. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  Had he really forgotten who Roger was, or was he trying to be funny? Or torture me?

  “I keep forgetting you went there, too, Rad,” Meghan said. “Such a small world.”

  “Getting smaller by the minute.” After the side note, Oliver looked away. Had his face turned just a tiny bit pink? It was probably from exercise. I didn’t need a mirror to know my face was an extremely attractive beet red. “Meghan, we should keep moving if you want to make it five miles.” He shifted his weight back and forth like an athlete whose muscles were cooling, forcing me to take quick note of his leg muscles. Good grief.