Boyfriend by the Book: A feel good romantic comedy Read online

  I laughed, but my mind was focused on the reference to three or four weeks. I had envisioned Connor leaving much sooner than that. Would he extend his reservation at the hotel, then? I wanted to know but didn’t want to seem overly interested. Maybe he would bring it up if I waited.

  “So where to first?” he asked. “Bella’s Candy Shop? Or maybe that antique store that always smelled like mothballs? I bought some great vintage sports gear there once, so it wasn’t a total dump, if memory serves.”

  I had loved that store, actually, and bought several pieces from it to furnish my apartment after graduation. His dig against it made me feel a tad defensive. Then again, it might be a shabbier establishment than I remembered. Deciding not to argue about it, I told him, “Why don’t we just window shop for awhile? It’s a nice day, after all. Good weather for walking.”

  “Great idea,” he said.

  We strolled along, glancing in the windows of familiar businesses. Connor pointed to a set of reproduction tinker toys in the children’s shop, commenting, “My nephew would get a kick out of those. Maybe I should buy a set and have it shipped to his house.”

  Connor as an uncle—it didn’t seem possible somehow. He was probably good with kids, though. I smiled. “How old is your nephew?”

  “Seven. Or eight. I can’t remember which. He’s got a birthday coming up sometime in October.”

  “Is his uncle teaching him basketball yet?” I teased. Connor shook his head.

  “He’s not into sports yet. But he loves to build stuff. Well, mostly he loves to tear stuff up. The last time I visited, he took apart my digital camera. I ended up having to toss the thing and buy a new one.” He chuckled as if this were on par with a kid sneaking a cookie or throwing food against the wall. I was thinking it would have taken a hefty chunk of my holiday bonus to afford such an expensive item, not to mention replace it. Maybe the warranty was still good.

  “Hungry yet?” he nodded towards Poe’s, the place we used to swap study notes with friends over a late night snack. I felt a wave of nostalgia at the sight. It would be nice to sit down, as well, my feet starting to pinch from the dress sandals.

  Connor placed a hand on my back as we crossed at the light, a protective gesture I hadn’t expected. He opened the door for me, choosing a booth near the window. It looked the same as the last time I was there, the same vintage Coca-cola signs on the wall, red vinyl stools and booths, and a jukebox in the corner.

  We ordered burgers and onion rings. It was the first one-on-one meal I had ever shared with Connor, and I worried it might seem a little odd. But we kept up a steady stream of reminiscences as we ate, the way we had the first night in the hotel lobby. We both remembered things the other one had forgotten—or remembered them differently, as I rather suspected. Connor had been much more involved in campus activities than I was, being among the popular crowd. I had been part of the hangers-on and wannabes, but now, here we were, sharing a friendly lunch together. Time had closed the gap between our worlds, I thought.

  “What about dessert?” Connor asked, scanning the menu. “They still have ice cream. We could get it in a cone and eat while we window shop.”

  “I loved their ice cream,” I agreed. “Except the peanut butter one, of course.”

  “Because you’re allergic,” he said, as if remembering something all of a sudden.

  “Yeah, I am. But how on earth did you remember that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess stuff just comes back to you. Being in these surroundings, seeing you again…” He trailed off, his gaze finding mine across the table. “It’s crazy all the stuff you start to remember when the circumstances are right.”

  It had to be a lucky guess. We hadn’t even been close friends back then. Connor would only have known that kind of stuff about a girl he was interested in. One he planned to buy ice cream for, say. And that wasn’t me back when I first knew him.

  He bought it for me this time, however, paying our lunch tab without a word. I walked beside him down the sidewalk, our steps meandering in the direction of the park as we finished off our ice cream cones. We paused near the recreation section where a group of guys were playing a friendly game of basketball. Probably students from the university, I guessed, taking in their brand name sportswear. We watched as the tallest of the group, a gangly blond guy, made a shot, missed it, then stole the ball back to sink a basket.

  “Do you still play?” I asked, glancing at Connor.

  “For exercise, yeah. But in a competitive sense? It’s been awhile.” He watched the youth dribble the ball around, the dark-haired one in the group making a shot as his gangly opponent tried to block it. When the ball bounced off the rim of the net, the third guy—whose beefy frame would have been more suited for playing football—let out a laugh at his friends’ expense.

  Connor shook his head. “Terrible defense moves. These guys would never have made it past Coach Miller’s tryouts,” he said, naming the college’s now-retired basketball coach.

  The players glanced in our direction. They seemed to have overheard Connor’s last remark. The beefy one caught up the ball, wearing a smirk as he sidled up to where we stood.

  “You some kind of critic?” he wondered, sizing up Connor’s button-down shirt and tailored jeans with an air of good-natured mocking. “Think you can do better than us, maybe?”

  Connor shrugged. “Depends. You got any moves better than what I’ve been seeing the last few minutes?”

  Beefy guy’s friends laughed at this observation, his own smile somewhat less amused. “I’ve got a few. You up for a game, or just for commentating one?” He tossed the ball in Connor’s direction. Who caught it, balancing it between his fingers as the offer hung in the air.

  “You want me to play you and your buddies?”

  “If you think you can handle it. Tim here is on the Braxton team,” he added, nodding towards the gangly, fair-haired member of the trio.

  “Pretty impressive,” Connor said, giving me a subtle wink. “I’m not sure it’s fair to pit me against a university athlete, though.” Connor, of course, had been one of the university’s star team members in his own college days. Clearly, he didn’t plan on sharing that fact with his challengers, his smile telling me that was a secret joke between the two of us.

  Tim—the current champion of the group—urged him, “Come on, man, show us what you’ve got.”

  “All right,” said Connor. “Why not?” He shrugged off his jacket, saying, “Hold this for me, will you, Jodi?”

  It smelled of aftershave, a spicy scent like pine I had noticed a few times earlier that morning. Connor rolled up his shirt sleeves, dribbling the ball across the court in a warm-up exercise. His opponents looked on with bemused expressions, nudging each other as he sunk a practice shot. I could tell they were expecting an easy victory against this older opponent.

  They were in for a surprise, though. Connor hadn’t lost his edge, despite his modest claims. He may have just been shooting hoops for exercise these days, but it seemed like he had never left the court at college as the four of them began to play. He ducked, dodged, and jumped better than any of his opponents—just the same as when I used to watch him from the bleachers on any given Saturday night.

  A couple of college-age girls stopped to watch the ongoing game. Mostly, they seemed to be watching Connor, trading a grin when he made another basket. They giggled when he caused the gangly youth to fumble a throw, cheering when he scored another point.

  I could see by the stunned looks on his challenger’s faces they were regretting this decision. Especially since the girls seemed to know them, calling them by name when they shouted at them from the sidelines.

  Not surprisingly, Connor won by a mile. He grinned and slapped his opponents on their shoulders, saying, “Good game, fellas. Keep working on those defense moves,” he advised, tossing the ball to the former champion, Tim. The girls drifted away after a few giggles for their classmates’ misfortune. We strode in the direct
ion of the sidewalk again.

  “Not bad for an old timer,” I joked, handing Connor his jacket. He laughed and draped it over his shoulder.

  “Guess it’s like riding a bike,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was the only time I saw him sweat, I remembered, his appearance always immaculate except when he was on the court. He started to say something else when his phone rang. With a frown, he pulled it out. “My boss,” he said. “I better take this.”

  He chatted a few minutes then hung up, frowning deeper than before. “I’m sorry, Jodi, but my boss just scheduled a phone conference for this afternoon. I guess our client has some concerns about the way the merger’s going. I’ll have to do some prep for it, so I better get going.”

  “Of course,” I said. A little disappointed his impromptu basketball game had cut into our visit. I might not spend time with him again, after all, and we hadn’t really gotten the chance to discuss anything more personal than old college memories. Connor looked disappointed too.

  “Let’s have dinner,” he suggested. “Soon.”

  “Okay,” I said. Too surprised to say anything else, since that was the last possible stroke of good fortune I could have imagined for myself.

  ~16~

  I checked the screen on my phone and found this message from Connor: Free for dinner tonight?

  So he was serious about meeting again. I swiftly typed back, asking what he had in mind.

  You, me, candlelight.

  I grinned at the playful wording. Debating how to answer, I mimicked his lighthearted tone. Flirting with me?

  Guilty, he wrote back.

  I could feel my smile growing bigger as I asked him where and when.

  “Is that from Darcy?” Kristen asked, popping a French fry in her mouth. I shook my head, ignoring her nickname for the author, Gareth Hart. My friends were determined to think of my relationships in terms of the self-help book, it seemed.

  “It’s a different friend,” I explained. “Someone I went to college with.” Why mention the friend happened to be a man—much less, the same one I had crushed on six semesters straight? That was just asking for trouble where my friends were concerned.

  The Blue Net at seven? Connor suggested. It was a little sea food restaurant I had been to a couple of times with people from work. Not the five-star elegance our customers tended to prefer, but I liked its low-key atmosphere and friendly wait staff. My fingers flew over the key pad, accepting the invitation.

  “Jodi, are you texting someone special?” Monique asked. “Because you’re smiling like your favorite movie star just made contact.”

  “Just a friend,” I repeated.

  “Who?” Kristen scooted her chair closer, making a playful grab for the phone. I let out a yell, quickly pulling it out of reach.

  “None of your business, that’s who. Is it so hard to believe I have a friend that’s not one of you three? I do meet other people, you know.”

  They looked at each other, Steph and Kristen breaking into laughter. Monique shook her head, saying, “Jodi, we know you better than that. If you’re not hanging out with us, you’re usually sitting at home. So either that’s your handsome author friend, or you’ve got a new admirer you haven’t told us about.”

  Got to go, Connor texted. See you tonight.

  “Okay, spill it, Jodi,” said Monique. “You know we’re on to you. What’s his name?”

  I turned off the phone, tucking it back inside my bag. Might as well face this head on. Being evasive would only make it seem more significant than it really was. And I was already confused enough about my social life without making it any worse.

  “His name is Connor Mills,” I began. "Like I said, he’s someone I went to college with. He’s in town for a few weeks, so we’re catching up on old times. And that’s all it is.”

  But just who was I trying to fool? Because my friends certainly weren’t buying it. Kristen was already Googling his name on her tablet, pulling up pictures from the alumni’s social media page. Connor playing basketball in a long-ago tournament. Posed in a suit for spring formal and accepting his diploma at graduation.

  Even his yearbook photo was flawless, almost like a glamour shot while somehow appearing totally natural. Kristen seemed to agree.

  “Whoa,” she said. “That is one gorgeous specimen of manhood.” She held up the screen for Monique and Stephanie to see, both of them crowding closer for a look at it. Steph let out a soft whistle.

  “Way to go, Jodi,” she said, punching me on the arm. “He’s a stud. Did you go out with him in college?”

  I shook my head. “We just shared some common friends and classes. It’s not a big deal,” I added, sensing how carried away they were already getting. “He wants to spend some time together while he’s in town for a work assignment. So it’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

  “But you’re making plans to see him again,” Monique pointed out. “Which is it—coffee, dinner, or lunch?”

  “Dinner,” I admitted.

  “Hmm. Casual or formal?”

  “Casual,” I said, thinking I had scored a point there. Maybe they would see this wasn’t that serious. But they seemed even more impressed by this development.

  “That means he’s comfortable with you,” said Kristen, tapping her fingers against the tablet. “Especially since it looks as if he can afford five-star dining. I mean, anyone who works for a big, successful law firm is sure to be well padded in the credit department.”

  “How did you know about that?” I demanded. But Kristen had continued her web search, finding Connor’s profile at Hurt, Palmer, & Morris. She would probably know more about him than I did by the time she was done scouring the web. I bristled slightly, wondering how my personal life became such a public activity. Shouldn’t I find some way to rein in this behavior?

  “This guy looks even better than your Mr. Darcy type,” Steph commented, leaning over her shoulder to gaze at the search results. “Outgoing and adventurous, but with a tender streak. I mean look at this—he does rock climbing and surfing, but he’s also a book club member.”

  "You've surpassed our teachings," said Monique, in mock awe. "Three hot guys in a row, Jodi."

  "Four," corrected Kristen. "Remember the first one? The older guy from the jewelry store?"

  "I was forgetting the tortured artist you picked out," retorted Monique. Kristen blushed and checked her reply. Obviously she was still embarrassed that she set me up with a potential psychopath.

  “Oh, my gosh. Look at that—he quotes Shakespeare on his twitter account.” Kristen shot me a meaningful glance. “This guy has it all, Jodi. He’s dashing, handsome, passionate, good with words. He’s like, I don’t know…”

  “Romeo,” Monique said firmly.

  “Yeah! That’s it,” said Kristen. “He’s definitely a Romeo type. Very romantic.”

  “You don’t even know him,” I scoffed, thinking Romeo was way too morose a hero to compare with someone like Connor. Then again, I hadn't finished the play, had I?

  “It’s just a generalization, remember? And we were right about Brock being a Heathcliff, weren’t we?”

  As if I needed reminding about that comparison. “Yes, but this is different," I answered. "Connor is a friend, and not some guy I can analyze with a book. So knock it off.”

  “But Jodi,” said Stephanie, “Romeo is as good as it gets in the storybook romance. You should think hard before letting this guy slip away again. I mean, how many people get a chance to correct a mistake like that?”

  "Star-crossed lovers, love at first sight," chimed in Kristen. "This could be once in a lifetime, Jodi."

  I was amazed how they managed to twist a simple reunion into a second chance love story, completely selling the idea of Connor being some dashing hero that would sweep me off my feet. Imagine if they knew about the way he rescued me from those two customers the night he arrived. I couldn't help but be glad I had omitted that part of the story.

  And yet…I could
n’t deny that Connor had a lot of the qualities they had described, when I was seated across from him that evening at the Blue Net. He was telling me about the time he and a group of buddies went snorkeling in Santa Cruz. They had gone out to explore the waters only to find themselves inundated with sea lions. “They were everywhere,” he remembered, “and they’re super friendly with tourists. So it was pretty much impossible to get a picture of the place that didn’t include sea lions.”

  “At least they’re cute,” I said, thinking of the whiskery creatures from a travel special I had watched. “And I’ve heard it’s beautiful down there.”

  “It is,” Connor agreed. “I actually prefer the Bahamas weather wise, but you can’t beat the Galapagos Islands for snorkeling. Although, we mostly stuck with Santa Cruz for the spring trip, so I can’t vouch for more than a couple locations really.”

  “That’s more than most people can claim,” I said, cutting another piece from my baked salmon. Connor had ordered the filet mignon, offering me a bite when I told him it looked good. It was the most expensive item on the menu, and I could see why after I sampled it. “Delicious,” I said.

  “You should have the kind they serve at the Vine,” he said, naming a restaurant on Martha’s Vineyard. I hid my look of surprise behind my napkin, wondering how he managed all these exotic trips. Maybe some of them were business oriented, his employer’s footing the bill. But not the expensive hobbies. Those must be coming out of Connor’s own pocket, and there were a lot of them, judging from the stories he told.

  “Ever tried parachute gliding?” he asked, after sharing an anecdote about it from his coworker’s thirtieth birthday party.

  I shook my head. “Extreme sports aren’t really my thing. That is, I haven’t tried many of them,” I said, wishing I had more to contribute to the subject. Connor’s stories about these hobbies seemed never ending. I felt out of place just nodding and listening, unable to offer anything of my own. What if my life seemed boring by comparison?