Waiting On You

“What’s up?” Paulie asked. There was a hopeful look in her eyes, and Colleen felt her heart spasm a little. She’d been sick with nervousness all day long as it was, and the greasy cafeteria pizza at lunch hadn’t helped.

Colleen was popular; not mean-girl popular, just really well liked. She had the glamour of being a twin, not to mention her prettiness and ease with boys. Paulie had none of those things (except that everyone thought she was nice). But already, before she said a word, Colleen knew this wasn’t going to go well.

“So,” she said, sitting next to Paulie, who was clad in rust-colored corduroys and bedazzled sweatshirt. Damn. Faith would’ve been perfect for this job...Faith the sweet, the kind, the slightly tragic, would’ve had just the right touch. “Okay, well, here’s the thing, Paulie.”

“Yeah?”

Colleen’s stomach didn’t feel so good. She could almost taste the bitter smell. Didn’t Paulie’s mother talk to her about stuff? She cleared her throat. “Some of us were talking,” she said, biting her thumbnail. “And...uh, it was about things that, um, happen to some people when you’re a teenager and stuff.”

Paulie frowned. “Oh.”

Colleen’s stomach lurched. “It’s nothing bad, Paulie. You’re really nice and smart and stuff. But, um...well...there’s a certain...smell? There’s a funky smell around you.” She winced. “I’m sorry.”

Paulie looked at Colleen a horrible, long minute, then bowed her head. “I don’t smell,” she whispered.

Colleen swallowed. There was that taste again. Why had the other girls elected her? Why hadn’t Mrs. Hess said something instead, or had Paulie see the nurse, who could talk about hormones and whatever? “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But you do. It’s hard to sit next to you sometimes.”

“Who was talking about this?” she whispered, and a single tear slid down her face and landed on the molded plastic desktop.

“Just...a few of us. I—we thought you should know.”

“I don’t smell!” Paulie yelled, then pushed back from the desk and ran out of the room.

And Colleen threw up. Not because of the smell...because of shame. Shame and greasy pizza. But the rumor flashed—Paulie smelled so bad that she made Colleen puke.

Paulie didn’t come back to school for the rest of the week, and Colleen had never felt so small. She told only Connor about the conversation, and when he said, “Oh, Coll,” she knew for sure she’d done something terrible.

Later that month, they learned that Paulie had bigger problems. Her mother had run off with another man, and Paulie would be living with her dad from now on. When she returned to school, she had a new haircut. Her clothes were better, and the smell was still there, but it was fainter. Eventually, it went away altogether.

A thousand times, Colleen wanted to apologize; a thousand times, she convinced herself that it was kinder not to bring it up. In tenth grade, they were assigned to the same group for a social studies project, and Paulie couldn’t have been nicer.

So if Colleen wanted to help Paulie with her love life, who could blame her?

Paulie stood in the vicinity of Bryce’s usual spot at the bar. Gerard said hi to her, but Paulie didn’t answer, just stared at Colleen as if she was facing a firing squad.

“How about a mojito, Paulie?” she said cheerfully, tossing some mint into a glass.

“Sure,” Paulie mumbled, rubbing her hands on her sweater.

And then in came Bryce Campbell, all easy male grace, tall and lanky, dressed in a white polo shirt and jeans. He waved and made his way to his usual place at the horseshoe-style bar. A strangled noise came from Paulie.

Colleen handed her the drink. “Hey, Bryce, don’t you look handsome tonight,” she whispered.

“Coll, you could whisper to me?” Gerard said. “I can think of a whole bunch of things I’d like you to say.”

“Shush, child, I’m talking to my friend,” she answered. She gave Paulie a firm smile. “Now’s good.”

“I’m not ready,” Paulie whispered.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I can’t. Can you do it for me?”

“Like we’re in third grade, and you want me to tell him you like him?”

“Yes. Please.”

“No. Come on now. Handsome, shark, boobs, smile. And then you’re done. Now go.”

With a faint groan, Paulie inched toward Bryce, who was at the end of the bar, talking to Jessica Dunn. Hmm. Jess was way too pretty, all blonde and super-modelesque, Bryce’s usual type.

Paulie stopped just behind him and shot Colleen a terrified glance and appeared to freeze. Luckily, Hannah was behind the bar, too, so Colleen boob-skimmed her.

“Get your boobs off me. Sexual harassment and all that,” Hannah said.

“Shh.” She smiled firmly at Paulie, who took a deep breath, swung her shoulders and bodychecked him right off his stool, Jessica Dunn stepping neatly aside as Bryce sprawled on the floor. Colleen’s view was all too clear. “Goddamn it!” Paulie said. She reached down to help him up, tripped on the dangling end of the Thneed, stepped on Bryce’s hand and spilled her mojito right onto his head. “Shit! Shit!”

So much for soft and feminine. Colleen tossed her hair for the “abort” sign. Paulie didn’t notice, Gerard was wheezing with laughter, one of those guys who loved nothing more than the physical pain of others (he was a paramedic, after all). Now Paulie was hauling Bryce to his feet, but she was too strong, and she yanked him not only up, but slammed him into the bar, causing the hanging glasses to rattle and sway.

Colleen tossed her hair again. Coughed. Coughed again more loudly. Tossed. Coughed. Tossed. Cough ’n’ tossed.

“Wow, Paulie, easy does it, okay?” Bryce said, rubbing his arm at the shoulder. Paulie’s face was broiling-red. She took both ends of the Thneed and twisted them in anguish.

Another hair toss, this one so hard Colleen thought she might’ve dislocated her neck, and still Paulie didn’t see her. Colleen threw up her hands

“What are you doing?” said a low voice behind her.

Colleen’s heart froze, as though she’d swallowed a large ice cube, and it was stuck right over her heart.

She turned around.

Yep. Lucas Campbell.

None other. Standing approximately two feet from her, looking at her with those knowing, dark eyes.

Her skin suddenly felt tight. Mouth: dry. Brain: dead.

“What are you doing, Colleen?” Lucas asked again.

“Nothing,” she said as if it hadn’t been ten years since she’d last seen him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m here to see my cousin.”

“So go see your cousin.”

“What are you doing to my cousin?”

“I’m not doing anything to your cousin.” So mature. And did they have nothing else to say to each other? Ten years apart? A river of tears (hers) and blood (his...well, she wished it was his blood).

Lucas just looked at her, his pirate eyes unreadable.

Shit.

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she started thinking, then squelched a blossom of slightly hysterical laughter.

Lucas Damien Campbell was here. Here in her bar. You think he could’ve called? Would that have been so much to ask, huh? Hmm? Would it? Hey, Colleen, I’m coming to visit my cousin, so be prepared, okay?

Colleen took a ragged breath, then coughed to cover. Unfortunately, the cough became genuine, and tears came to her eyes as she hacked and choked.

“You okay?” he asked in that ridiculously sexy, river-of-dark-chocolate voice.

“Yes,” she wheezed, wiping her eyes. “Just great.”

“Good.”

He dragged his eyes off of hers and looked over at the little knot of people at the end of the bar; Jess was laughing, Bryce smiling and Paulie looked like she was praying for a swift death.

“Are you trying to fix Bryce up with Paulina Petrosinsky?” he asked. Damn. She’d forgotten how...observant he was.

“No,” she said, proud of getting that one word out.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes. You are.” He raised an eyebrow, and her knees wobbled. Sphincter! He was here. Here and beautiful, and damn it, older. A decade older than the last time she’d seen him, and yet it seemed like yesterday when he’d walked with her down to the lake and broke her heart. Irreparably, the bastard.

Her breath wanted to rush out of her lungs, but she held it in carefully, not wanting to induce another sexy choking fit.

She’d forgotten how he looked, like a pirate, like Heathcliff of the moors, dark and slightly dangerous...except for his eyes, which could be so sad. And so happy, too.

His black hair was slightly shorter than it had been years ago, but still gypsy beautiful, curling and black. He’d lost his boyish skinniness, had broadened in the shoulders. He hadn’t shaved today, and he seemed taller now than he had back then.

Back when he loved her.

He seemed to read her mind, because something flickered through his eyes.

In the year after Lucas left her, Bryce would come into the bar and mention him occasionally. Went to see my cousin last weekend, or Hey, Lucas is taking me and Dad to a White Sox game! Finally, in a rare show of vulnerability, Colleen had asked him not to talk about Lucas anymore. And in an even rarer show of understanding, Bryce seemed to get it.

She knew he was married. No kids—surely Smiling Joe Campbell would’ve mentioned that. She knew he worked for his father-in-law. That was about it.

She had told him never to call her again, never to write, and he took her at her word.

And now, her heart was jackhammering in her chest, and though she hoped like hell her heart wasn’t written all over her face, she was...terrified.

Lucas took a breath. “Colleen, I’m only back in town because Joe asked me to come. I imagine you know he’s pretty sick.”

Her heart gave an unwilling tug. “I do,” she said, then, fearing that sounded a little too matrimonial, she added, “Know he’s sick. I do know he’s sick, I mean. He’s sick, I know it, the dialysis, not easy, I guess, and I’m sorry.” Her Tourette’s of Terror, Connor called it when she babbled. Not that she was terrified often, but hell, she certainly was now.

“Thank you.” He glanced again at Bryce—right, right, there was something going on with Bryce tonight, whatever—then looked at Colleen again. “It’s good to see you.”

“Can’t say the same,” she answered.

His mouth tugged on one side, causing a respondent tug in her special places. Five more minutes, and she’d be back in love.

“Bryce doesn’t need more complications in his life right now.”

“And by complications, you mean what, exactly?”

“The Chicken King’s virgin daughter.”

“Oh, cool! That sounds like a Harlequin romance. I would definitely read that.” The Chicken King’s virgin daughter was nowhere to be seen at the moment. “And how do you know Paulie’s a virgin, huh? Maybe she’s the town slut.”

Yeah. This wasn’t going well.

“I doubt she’s the town slut.”

She bristled. “What are you implying, Lucas?”

He gave her a strange look. “Nothing. Just that Paulie doesn’t seem like the type.”

“Well, what if she is a slut, huh? Maybe Bryce likes sluts.” Time to shut up now, Connor’s voice—her conscience—advised sagely.

“I’m sure he does.”

“So what’s your problem, then?”

“I’m trying to have a rational conversation here.”

“Yeah, and I haven’t seen you in ten years, and you just waltz into my bar and start insulting me and bossing me around. I do know about your uncle and how sick he is, because guess what? I visit him. I like him. I bring him magazines and cookies, and he likes my dog.”

“You have a dog?”

“Yes, I do, so just...you just, um, put that in your pipe and suck on it.” Smooth, O’Rourke. She tried to look haughty and dignified. “Maybe I happen to think that Bryce needs someone to help him through this difficult time.”

“Maybe he has other things to deal with.”

“And maybe I’m right and you’re wrong.”

He tilted his head to one side. “I’m getting the sense that you’re still mad.”

“I’m not.”

“Leave my cousin alone, all right?”

“Make me.”

He rolled his beautiful (damn them) eyes and walked over to Bryce, hugging him.

Humph. He hadn’t hugged her.

“Let’s stop being stupid, shall we?” she muttered to herself.

Lucas said something, then smiled. Shit, that was a good smile. Hardly ever saw it, that was the trick. She, on the other hand, smiled like a pubescent monkey or jackal or hyena or some other animal that smiled a lot. “What do you think?” she asked Victor Iskin, a regular at the bar who had a well-documented love of animals. “Do hyenas smile more than monkeys?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Do I look like a hyena right now?”

“Can’t say that you do, dear.”

“Colleen! Leave the customers alone!” Connor called from the kitchen.

Lucas and Bryce were leaving, thank the sweet Christ child.

Her hands were shaking. She heard an odd sound; it was her, sucking air.

“Who was that?”

Colleen gave herself a mental shake. “Hey. Paulie. How’d it go?”

“I knocked him down, stepped on his hand, spilled a drink on his head, yanked his arm, hurled him into the bar and then hid.”

“That’s good,” Colleen murmured.

Paulie frowned, then looked at Colleen more closely. “Who was that? The guy you were talking to. He looked familiar.”

“That’s...that’s Bryce’s cousin.”

“Oh, man, I remember him! Lucas, right?” Paulie ran a hand through her hair. “You were together, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” She closed her eyes.

“Well, shit. Are you still in love with him?”

“No!”

“Are your special places tingling?”

“Excuse me? No. No, that’s...of course not. I mean...he broke my heart. First love and all that crap. A long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’d give anything to have Bryce look at me the way Lucas was looking at you.”

“We were fighting.”

“I’d give anything to have Bryce fight with me that way.” Paulie raised her eyebrows.

A change of subject was definitely needed. “Okay, so tonight’s Bryce encounter didn’t go as planned,” she said. “The good news is, you got his attention, right? That’s the first step.”

“The first step in his filing a restraining order against me, maybe.”

“Oh, come on. Bryce probably doesn’t know what a restraining order is.”

“He’s not dumb, Colleen.”

Colleen winced. “No, you’re right. Sorry. Anyway, you were memorable, so it’s not all bad.”

As she and Paulie talked, there was another voice in her head. Common sense, call it. Don’t fall for those eyes again. Don’t notice his hands, or his mouth. Those are just tricks. We’re not doing this again.

Already, it felt like she was in a whole lotta trouble.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FIRST TIME she ever saw Lucas Damien Campbell, Colleen fell in love.

Not that she was a believer in that kind of thing.

Even at the tender age of eleven, when her mother had sobbed through yet another sappy romantic comedy, Colleen pointed out the fact that the characters had known each other for only six days, so it was a little hard to buy into the whole everlasting soul mate philosophy. In seventh grade, Tim Jansen sent her a letter full of hyperbolic compliments (“your eyes are shinier than a mirror,” which Colleen thought was creepy and hoped wasn’t true) and anguished love (“I feel like my heart will explode when you smile at me”). She patted his hand and said he probably should take up a sport to channel some of that energy.

High school was no different, though the boys abruptly grew taller...despite the abundance of hormones, despite her abiding love for Robert Downey, Jr., Colleen remained above the fray. No, she’d rather hang out with her brother, laugh at his friends, and watch Faith and Jeremy, the perfect couple, with fondness and a satisfying bit of melancholy. By the time she was a senior, virtually every boy in Manningsport had asked her out and received a kindly “no.” Love—especially the sloppy, frenching-in-the-halls type—was not meant for Colleen Margaret Mary O’Rourke.

“What do you mean, you’re not going to prom?” her mother asked one night around the family dinner table. Con was going with Sherry Wong, a mathlete like himself. “Hasn’t anyone asked you?”

“Nine guys have asked her, Ma,” Connor offered, taking another shovelful of mashed potatoes.

“It’s not for me,” Colleen said easily. “Drama, rayon dresses, crepe paper, the inevitable tears. I’ll pass.”

“That’s my girl,” Dad said with an approving nod. Connor sighed, and Colleen could feel his mood drop several degrees. It was no secret that Colleen was their father’s favorite.

People like them, Dad said once in a while, were too smart for that. Just what that was, Colleen wasn’t sure, but she was flattered to be included. Her father’s approval was everything. Connor was smart, too—smarter, at least according to his grades, but “we think alike,” Dad would say.

Pete O’Rourke was still handsome enough to get stares from women of all ages—black Irish, the same clear gray eyes Colleen had, unlike Connor’s blue. He was the youngest of his family, widely viewed to be the star of the family by his older sisters, who fussed over him at family gatherings, getting him plates of food as if he were an invalid, cooing over his latest real estate coup. In town, men shook his hand, laughed loudly at his jokes, came to him for advice—Dad owned six of the fifteen commercial buildings in town.

Mom was still sappily infatuated with him, which Colleen found both cute and annoying. When his car pulled into the driveway, she’d rush to ditch her slippers, shove her feet into heels and put on lipstick. If he commented on her appearance, “Jeanette, is that a new hairstyle?” She’d flush with pleasure. “Oh, thank you!” she’d say, not quite noticing that it wasn’t exactly a compliment. And Dad would give Colleen a little wink of collusion, which made her feel simultaneously guilty and clever.

Mom never finished college, knocked up in the great tradition of the O’Rourke family. She worked part-time for an interior designer and actually could’ve joined the firm; her boss quite liked her, but she always said no. “Your father is such a good provider,” she’d say.

Slightly overweight, she’d go on fad diets before the holidays or the annual Manningsport Black & White Ball, get her hair done, buy a new dress...but still, Mom always looked a little older, a little frumpier, a little less certain than Dad. Pete O’Rourke was, there was no mistaking it, one of those guys who got better with age, Manningsport’s version of Pierce Brosnan: the graying hair, the extreme good looks.

To Colleen, the best compliment she could get was that she was her father’s girl. Except when Mom said it, for some reason; there’d be a slight and rare tinge of bitterness in her voice. Then again, Mom loved Connor best. It was only fair.

So yeah, a high school romance, prom, and all that...leave that for the other girls: Theresa and Faith, who’d marry their high school honeys, no doubt. Let other girls worry over boys (or girls, in the case of Deirdre and Tiffy). Colleen would give advice to the girls, deflect advances from the boys, cheerful and observant and not at all lonely...not with a twin and a best friend and adoring father. It was exactly how she wanted things.

And then she met Lucas Campbell.

It was big news, of course. Manningsport had a tiny year-round population; just about any change was cause for excitement.

“Kids,” said Mrs. Wheaton, their beleaguered English teacher, adjusting her corduroy (ouch) jumper, “we have two new students joining our class shortly.” She consulted her paperwork. “Bryce and Lucas Campbell. Uh...cousins, it says here. Please be nice.”

“Is Bryce a boy’s name?” Tanya Cross asked. She wasn’t tremendously bright.

“Yes,” Mrs. Wheaton asked. “Now, getting back to Hamlet. Does anyone have an opinion on Ophelia?”

No one bothered answering. A ripple went through the class. Two new members of the senior class? Jeremy Lyon had transferred in last summer, and look how totally awesome he was! Could lightning strike twice? The girls began either whispering to or ignoring each other. Posture: improved. Hair: tossed. Legs: crossed. Lips: licked.

The guys in the class exchanged glances, aware that two new roosters in the henhouse would shift the dynamic. Well, not all the boys. Asswipe Jones was sleeping (hungover, probably), and Levi Cooper stared at Jessica with that hot look of his. Jeremy was running a hand through his own dark hair.

As for Colleen, she didn’t need to sit up or lick or cross. She already had it going on. (False modesty—not one of her flaws.) Still, she too glanced at the door. Just because she didn’t want to date anyone didn’t mean she didn’t want to be acknowledged as, yes, the prettiest girl in high school, the funniest and the most sought-after.

The door opened, and in came the newbies.

There was a stunned silence, then a collective murmur.

“Oh, my God,” Tanya breathed.

Yep, the first guy was a looker. Blue, blue eyes, sweet smile, dark brown hair that was styled but not too embarrassing. Dimple in his left cheek. Were Colleen the dating type, she’d probably be all over that. His eyes stopped on her, his smile widened, which was gratifying. Colleen allowed a faint smile back. The not-quite-catty thought came to her—she could have him if she wanted. Which she didn’t, but still.

Then she noticed the second guy. Her smile faltered.

Holy St. Patrick. Her face didn’t change (she hoped), but her body was...was doing things. Stomach tightened, mouth dried, knees (and other parts) tingled. She acknowledged the feelings from afar because her brain couldn’t quite function at the moment.

He looked a lot like the other boy, but he was darker. Not quite as good-looking...well, no. Not quite as perfect, but a lot more compelling. Black hair instead of brown, olive skin and deep, dark eyes.

He looked like a Spanish pirate. Like a Romany gypsy. Like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, and like Heathcliff, there was something about his expression that said he knew things, saw things, that he wasn’t as sweet or as easy or as simple as the boy who stood next to him.

“Now, which one of you is Bryce?” Mrs. Wheaton asked.

“I am,” said the blue-eyed guy. “This is my cousin Lucas. He lives with us.” And even though Bryce made the introduction, it was Lucas who shook hands with Mrs. W. first, causing his cousin to follow suit, and Colleen could sense the dynamic: Lucas, the cousin who lived with “us,” was in charge.

“Nice to meet you,” the gypsy boy said, and Colleen just about slid out of her chair in lust. Because that voice, good God, did eighteen-year-old boys really get to sound like that? It was deep and mellow and just a little rough and caused a reverberation in Colleen’s special places, and what the hell would happen if he actually spoke to her?

“Welcome, boys,” Mrs. Wheaton said. “Find a seat, if you’d be so kind.” There was a tremendous screech as the female half of the class pushed their chairs back to make room for the newcomers.

Lucas went past Colleen, and it was horrifying, embarrassing, thrilling to have her heart pound so hard. He smelled like soap and sunshine and wore faded jeans and black Converse, and that was all she saw because she didn’t dare look at him. Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me, her brain chanted. He didn’t, just went past to the back of the room, the longest four seconds of her life. Her cheeks burned—honestly, a boy making her cheeks burn? This never happened!—and she stared at the words in her book. I do not know, my lord, what I should think.

Preach it, Ophelia.

Where was he? Was he looking at her? Who was he sitting next to? A girl? Probably a girl. Jessica? She always sat in the back. She’d probably already given him her number. They were probably already planning a hookup, because everyone knew Jess just used Levi for sex. Would the Spanish pirate boy go for someone like that? Colleen would lose all respect, not that she had any just yet, but you know, she could already feel herself getting mad, boys were so stupid, and—