Quick Study - By Gretchen Galway Page 0,31
she touched herself and thought of him.
The next time he called, she picked up.
She was jogging down the bike path along the BART tracks—she brought her phone with her on a run, if just to remove a temptation from her nosy roommates. Maybe it was pity, maybe it was the dream, maybe it was just that she liked him a lot and she missed him.
Her breath was already labored from the run, and holding the live phone to her ear made her heart pound harder in her ears. “Hi, Paul.”
He inhaled sharply, then recovered. “Bonnie,” he said. “Bonnie. I am so sorry.”
She waited, composing her thoughts. Kicked a pebble off the path. Watched a hawk circle overhead. “You didn't leave any kind of explanation in your messages.”
“There wasn't one that was good enough.”
“You should have lied.”
He made a low choking sound she realized was laughter. “All right. I was kidnapped.”
“Well, I'm not paying any ransom. You can rot in the rainforest for all I care.”
“Drown me in the Pacific?”
The reminder that he'd fled to an exotic vacation spot—instead of, say, an alcoholic uncle's trailer in Bakersfield—just reminded her that they were not on bantering terms. Her whole life she'd fantasized about traveling the world, not alone, but with an adventurous partner. She had the money, and now that she'd quit school she was free to pursue her dream. But he hadn't thought to invite her. Or even say goodbye.
He wasn't The One.
She hung up on him.
While she jogged back home, the silent weight of the phone in her pocket slapped her thigh with each step and she thought of strong, disapproving professors.
He was starting to hope, which was dangerous. He'd been asking himself if she'd left him for weeks, would he forgive her?—and only because the answer was of course did he allow himself to keep calling her.
That and the certainty that she was The One. He was sure, he was determined, and he was patient.
And so he kept calling.
He never should have taken the backpack out of the closet months earlier. He had intended to run off for only a day or two to the Sierra, but then he had driven to Oakland Airport and happened to have his passport with him and a month of vacation time. . .
He never should have taken the backpack out of the closet.
“The thing is,” he left in his next message, since she hadn't answered his calls for another few days, “I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you and that freaked me out. Because I thought it was impossible to want that so quickly. I thought it was impossible that you would want it too.”
After he hung up on that one, he kicked himself with the knowledge that he'd gone too far. If he had any chance of winning her back he'd have to back off for a while. He closed all his curtains, holed himself up in his office, and poured his energies into his job so he could bear to wait for her. She had to think he was nuts, coming on fast, running away, and then practically proposing marriage. He wouldn't blame her if she called the cops, beat the crap out of him, then ran over him in his car.
But he didn't think she would. The connection that had sparked between them had been terrifying but real, and he knew he wasn't the only one who had felt it.
The next day, she sent him a text message inviting him to meet her for a drink.
“Just so you know, buying me a smoothie isn't going to fix everything,” she said.
She looked so good. Different, somehow, with looser clothes that had colorful stains down the front. He didn't care if she showed up in a Hefty bag. His body was on high alert at the first glimpse of her shape through the plate glass storefront. Her smile, which she quickly suppressed when she saw him, made his heart ache like an unprepared muscle after a workout. He sipped at his cold strawberry-flavored drink and tried to look cerebral, not horny as hell. Loving and cerebral, the kind of guy worth forgiveness.
A lifetime of it.
“It's great to see you,” he said. She couldn't help another tiny smile, so he grinned back. “Will you marry me?”
She gaped at him, then rolled her eyes. “Aren't you funny.”
“Not particularly.” He got up. “What can I get you?”
She waved him away and went over to the counter alone, glancing