Put Me Back Together(26)

“Well, what are you doing skulking beside the library, anyway?” I said with an obvious note of irritation in my voice. “You know you have to read the books to learn something. You can’t just suck up the knowledge through the walls.

I knew something was wrong when that didn’t get a chuckle out of him.

He pointed down University Avenue. “This is the route I used to take to the gym. I used to walk this way every day when I was on the team.”

We both looked down the street, almost as though we expected to see the Lucas of the past walking by, his gym bag over his shoulder.

“When’s the last time you went in there?” I asked quietly. I didn’t know why Lucas had quit basketball, but I knew a thing or two about avoiding things and places and people. I knew what it felt like to be afraid of going back.

He shook his head, and his small smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was trying to make light of it. “A long time. Months. It doesn’t matter.”

“We should go there, together. We should go to a game,” I said, startling myself as the words left my mouth.

We should what?

“That’s the kind of thing friends do, isn’t it? Friends go to games together. Sporting events are very friendly.” I clamped my mouth shut and bit my cheeks to keep it closed.

Lucas raised his eyebrows, not capable of holding back his laugh this time. “Sporting events are friendly?” he repeated carefully.

“Well…” Having no explanation for that nonsensical string of sentences, I decided to start over again. “Isn’t there a game tonight? A basketball game?” This was a wild guess. I had no idea if there was a game tonight.

“Actually, there is,” Lucas said. “They’re playing against Carleton tonight. But I’m not going. I’d love to go out with you, Katie…”

Resist!

“But I can’t go to a game,” he finished. “I can’t sit there and watch them play. I just…I can’t.” He wasn’t even looking at me anymore, just looking out at the snow and the street. He looked so melancholy. I just couldn’t leave it at that.

“What if you didn’t have to watch?” I said. He frowned at me, but I could see the hope in his eyes. The desire to believe that I could find some way to get him into that gym again, that he could leave his fear behind.

“What’ve you got up your sleeve, Hero?” he said, that reliable grin hovering at the edges of his lips again. I should have known. A guy like Lucas could never resist a little mystery.

“Take me to the game tonight and find out,” I said.





8





He picked me up at seven thirty after I’d spent a humiliating amount of time picking out what to wear. I’d settled finally on the sweater and jeans I’d been wearing all day because lord knew what a person was supposed to wear to a sports game, anyway. Besides, I didn’t have to look nice. This wasn’t a date after all.

I repeated this to myself a lot, both in my head and out loud to the cat as he lay purring on my pile of discarded clothes.

This. Isn’t. A. Date.

Although it did kind of feel like one when he rang the buzzer and I met him at the door. His hair was slightly wet, as though he’d just washed it, and I could smell his cologne as he held the door open. His blue pea coat, which made him look a little like a sailor, was smartly buttoned. He’d shaved. He looked like a shiny new penny, while I looked like that crumpled five-dollar bill you found in the bottom of your pocket after it had gone through the wash.

Great.

I wondered if he could tell that no guy had ever come to pick me up before, that no one ever buzzed my apartment, not even Emily, who had her own key. I wondered if he could tell how incredibly nervous I was, and then I realized that he probably could, since I was still standing on the upper step near the door, staring at him, without having said a word. Although it’s also worth pointing out that he was standing two steps below me staring back, and he hadn’t said a word, either.


It was as though we were both in some kind of dream state where time moved more slowly and all social conventions, like conversation, were suspended.

His eyes swept over my face languidly and then moved upward to my hair, which I’d shoved into a messy bun on top of my head.

“I like your hair like that,” he said, and actually reached out as though he wanted to touch it, but I caught his fingers just as they reached the level of my face and gently pushed them away.

No. This was not a dream I wanted to have.

“Are we late?” I said, jogging down the stairs ahead of him and heading for the street, effectively breaking our joint daydream.

He easily caught up with me and took my arm, placing it over his. And I let him, because it was cold, and…well, because it felt nice. But that was okay, because it was the type of thing friends did, wasn’t it? I suddenly realized I had no idea what guys and girls who were friends did.

“Well, are you ready to attend a friendly game of basketball, Hero?” he asked, steering us down the sidewalk toward his car. “Because this is a friendly night, the type of night I would only share with a friend. And I want you to know I can only ever be your friend. I think it’s important that we both understand that. Don’t you think so, friend?”

So apparently he’d heard my whole “friend” tirade loud and clear.