Page 43 of More Than Pen Pals

I want to gather this woman into my arms and never let her go, but instead I stand two feet away from her with my hands fisted in my pockets and say, “I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not an answer. You said you’ll be honest when it matters. This matters, Ash.”

I look down at the sidewalk. “I have Randall.” He may tease me about the whole thing, but he’ll be better than nothing. Because she’s right. I can’t keep this all to myself. I’ll lose my mind if I try.

“Do you trust him?”

My gaze snaps back to Leslie’s. “With my life.” That’s no lie. He’d put his life on the line for me and I’d do the same. No question. And he’ll keep anything about her between the two of us. If he could manage it at lunch with Mom, he’s more than up to the task.

“Good. Promise me you’ll talk to him?”

I nod. “I promise.” I’m glad she made me promise, because now I won’t let myself chicken out at the first hint of teasing from my brother.

“You can tell him anything I’ve said to you, okay? I don’t mind. I won’t feel like you’re betraying me if you do.”

“Okay. And you can tell Aunt Star as much as you want. But Wendy?” I grin. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be discreet.” She smiles back. “I don’t want my personal business to end up in a CIA dossier somewhere. Now, how long are we going to stand out here talking to each other and delaying the start of Operation Pen Pal?”

“All night?” I say hopefully. “Your shoulder could get cold, though. I might be tempted to warm it up.” Her bare collarbone has been driving me to distraction all night. I’m dying to trace it with my fingertips. Oh, who am I kidding? I want to trace it with more than my fingers.

Leslie glances at her shoulder and then raises an eyebrow at me. “I’d better get inside before we say or do anything else we’ll regret in the morning.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t—”

She cuts me off. “Ash, you haven’t done one thing wrong. You’ve been a perfect gentleman. Well, other than the butt comment, but I’ll excuse that.” She giggles and blushes again. “I think we’ve proved how much we need Operation Pen Pal.”

I open the door for her, like the gentleman she believes I am, though my current thoughts are anything but polite. “I’m going to write the best letters you’ve ever dreamed of reading.”

“I’m counting on it,” she declares as she sweeps through the doorway. She unlocks the inner glass door past the mailboxes and walks away without giving me a backward glance. I know this because I watch her until she disappears into the stairwell.

twenty-three

Ican feel Ash’s eyes on my backside as I stroll to the stairwell, but I force myself to keep looking straight ahead.

As soon as I enter my apartment, I kick off my shoes and flop down onto my bed. The answering machine is blinking again, but I need some time to process the evening on my own before talking to anyone about it.

I shimmy out of my skirt and hose without leaving the bed and toss them across the room. The skirt lands on top of my briefcase, reminding me of work and the fact that I’m going to a baseball game tomorrow afternoon. I can’t quite believe I’m going to get paid to watch my favorite team play—even if Diego Sanchez has forbidden me from cheering for them. I momentarily wonder what I should wear to a sporting event while on the clock, but then my thoughts turn back to Ash … and Glenn.

Like I told Ash, I haven’t given myself time to mourn the loss of my relationship with Glenn. The past few weeks were so action-packed I had no mental space to think about anything but moving and my new job.

I was absolutely stunned when Glenn wasn’t happy about me getting the job, and I was more astonished when he broke up with me over it. We weren’t the romance of the century, but I thought we were solid. I can’t believe I was so wrong about him—about us. Tears leak from my eyes and roll down into my ears. I wipe them away with my sheet and then immediately regret it when I spy the makeup I transferred onto my new peach sheets.

I heave myself off the bed and pad over to the bathroom to remove the rest of my makeup. While I wait for the warm water to arrive, I avoid looking in the mirror. I don’t want to see the misery in my eyes or think about the reasons I’m sad.

Brrrrring!

I don’t move.

Brrrrring!

There’s no doubt the caller is Wendy, but I’m not yet ready to talk to her.

Brrrrring!

I splash water on my face.

Brrrrring!

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