About That Night
Page 8
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Darn sparks shot right down to her toes. She gave him her best no-nonsense stare. “This was supposed to be just a walk.”
“It’s only one date, counselor. We’ll get chicken wings and beer and bitch about how bored we’re going to be living here this summer.”
Actually, that didn’t sound half-bad. “And what if I’d said that I wasn’t sticking around for the summer?” Rylann asked. “What if you’d been right, and tomorrow I was leaving for Chicago to move into my quaint and overpriced two-bedroom apartment in Wrigleyville?”
He grinned, a smile that could melt the polar ice cap. “Then I guess I’d be driving two hours to pick you up for those chicken wings. See you tomorrow, counselor. Eight o’clock.” With that, he turned and strode back down the staircase.
A few minutes later, safely ensconced inside her apartment, Rylann leaned her head against the front door, musing over the evening’s turn of events. She closed her eyes, a smile curling at the edges of her lips despite all her attempts to fight it off.
Wow.
AS FATE WOULD have it, however, the good feeling didn’t last.
Rylann waited until ten o’clock, two hours after the time Kyle had said he’d be at her apartment. Then she finally gave up and slid out of her jeans and heels.
He’d stood her up.
This was okay, she assured herself. Her internship, which she’d been looking forward to for months, started in a week, and she didn’t need to be distracted by first dates with a sometimes-charming sexy billionaire computer geek and the whole will-he-call rigmarole.
Poor Rae would be crushed, she thought. Before leaving for the summer, she’d left Rylann her black Manolos specifically for the occasion.
“I can’t have you running around in flip-flops for your date with a billionaire,” Rae had lectured, playing it cool and trying not to appear too sentimental as she’d handed over the shoe box to Rylann before getting into her car.
Rylann had hugged her friend. “You and the rest of your shoes need to get back here soon.”
“Call me tomorrow and let me know how the date goes,” Rae had said. “Maybe he’ll fly you to Italy for pizza or rent out a restaurant for your first date.”
Or maybe he’ll just forget the whole thing.
Resolved to ignore the disappointment she felt, Rylann changed into a camisole and drawstring pajama pants. No sense in being dressed up if she had no place to go.
She got comfortable on the couch and absentmindedly flipped through the television channels. It struck her how quiet her apartment was, and in the next moment, she realized how dangerously close she was to wallowing in self-pity.
No way, she told herself, refusing to go down that road. It wasn’t as though Kyle Rhodes was that great. For starters, he was cocky and too confident, and he dressed as if he’d just fallen off a tractor. And the whole computer thing? That was a snooze-fest of a conversation topic if she’d ever heard one.
Honestly, she hadn’t even liked the guy much.
Really.
THE NEXT MORNING, Rylann came out of her bedroom dressed and ready to go for a run. With all the studying she’d done over the last few months, she’d barely worked out and felt the need to rectify that situation. She suspected this enthusiasm would last for about fifteen minutes, until she collapsed in a gasping heap somewhere in the middle of mile two.
She was in high spirits for a woman who’d been stood up the night before. Most of this stemmed from the fact that she intended to toss Kyle Rhodes’s flannel shirt in the Dumpster on her way out, and also from the fact that she had this great one-liner planned in the event she ever did run into him again, about how she hadn’t gotten the chance to put his shirt where she’d really wanted to, so she’d stuck it in the other place the sun didn’t shine.
When she stepped outside her apartment—MP3 player in one hand and the soon-to-be-forgotten flannel shirt in the other—she saw the newspaper lying in front of her door. As she picked it up, the early morning sun made her blink, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking about how it was going to be a warm, gorgeous May day. A perfect day for the pool, she thought. Maybe I’ll—
It took a moment for the newspaper’s headline to register. At first it seemed like any another tragic headline, the kind that makes a person pause at the brief sadness one feels when hearing such things. Then it dawned on her.
WIFE OF BILLIONAIRE ALUMNUS
KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT
Marilyn Rhodes.
Kyle’s mother.
Without looking up from the newspaper, Rylann shut her front door, sat down at her kitchen table, and began to read.
Three
Nine years later
THE CHILLY MARCH wind cut across Lake Michigan, an icy sting that could easily bring tears to one’s eyes. But Kyle barely noticed. When he was running, he was in the zone.
It was dark outside, after seven p.m., and the temperature hovered right around forty degrees. Every day for the past two weeks, he’d hit the jogging trail that ran along the lake and run a twelve-mile circuit from his apartment and back. His doorman, Miles, had commented yesterday on the routine, and for simplicity’s sake, Kyle had said he was training for a marathon.
In truth, he just liked the quiet solitude of running. Not to mention, he reveled in the freedom he’d come to appreciate while running. Ah…such glorious freedom. The knowledge that he could keep going, with nothing but physical exhaustion to stop him.
And, of course, a team of armed U.S. marshals if he went more than ten miles from home.
“It’s only one date, counselor. We’ll get chicken wings and beer and bitch about how bored we’re going to be living here this summer.”
Actually, that didn’t sound half-bad. “And what if I’d said that I wasn’t sticking around for the summer?” Rylann asked. “What if you’d been right, and tomorrow I was leaving for Chicago to move into my quaint and overpriced two-bedroom apartment in Wrigleyville?”
He grinned, a smile that could melt the polar ice cap. “Then I guess I’d be driving two hours to pick you up for those chicken wings. See you tomorrow, counselor. Eight o’clock.” With that, he turned and strode back down the staircase.
A few minutes later, safely ensconced inside her apartment, Rylann leaned her head against the front door, musing over the evening’s turn of events. She closed her eyes, a smile curling at the edges of her lips despite all her attempts to fight it off.
Wow.
AS FATE WOULD have it, however, the good feeling didn’t last.
Rylann waited until ten o’clock, two hours after the time Kyle had said he’d be at her apartment. Then she finally gave up and slid out of her jeans and heels.
He’d stood her up.
This was okay, she assured herself. Her internship, which she’d been looking forward to for months, started in a week, and she didn’t need to be distracted by first dates with a sometimes-charming sexy billionaire computer geek and the whole will-he-call rigmarole.
Poor Rae would be crushed, she thought. Before leaving for the summer, she’d left Rylann her black Manolos specifically for the occasion.
“I can’t have you running around in flip-flops for your date with a billionaire,” Rae had lectured, playing it cool and trying not to appear too sentimental as she’d handed over the shoe box to Rylann before getting into her car.
Rylann had hugged her friend. “You and the rest of your shoes need to get back here soon.”
“Call me tomorrow and let me know how the date goes,” Rae had said. “Maybe he’ll fly you to Italy for pizza or rent out a restaurant for your first date.”
Or maybe he’ll just forget the whole thing.
Resolved to ignore the disappointment she felt, Rylann changed into a camisole and drawstring pajama pants. No sense in being dressed up if she had no place to go.
She got comfortable on the couch and absentmindedly flipped through the television channels. It struck her how quiet her apartment was, and in the next moment, she realized how dangerously close she was to wallowing in self-pity.
No way, she told herself, refusing to go down that road. It wasn’t as though Kyle Rhodes was that great. For starters, he was cocky and too confident, and he dressed as if he’d just fallen off a tractor. And the whole computer thing? That was a snooze-fest of a conversation topic if she’d ever heard one.
Honestly, she hadn’t even liked the guy much.
Really.
THE NEXT MORNING, Rylann came out of her bedroom dressed and ready to go for a run. With all the studying she’d done over the last few months, she’d barely worked out and felt the need to rectify that situation. She suspected this enthusiasm would last for about fifteen minutes, until she collapsed in a gasping heap somewhere in the middle of mile two.
She was in high spirits for a woman who’d been stood up the night before. Most of this stemmed from the fact that she intended to toss Kyle Rhodes’s flannel shirt in the Dumpster on her way out, and also from the fact that she had this great one-liner planned in the event she ever did run into him again, about how she hadn’t gotten the chance to put his shirt where she’d really wanted to, so she’d stuck it in the other place the sun didn’t shine.
When she stepped outside her apartment—MP3 player in one hand and the soon-to-be-forgotten flannel shirt in the other—she saw the newspaper lying in front of her door. As she picked it up, the early morning sun made her blink, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was thinking about how it was going to be a warm, gorgeous May day. A perfect day for the pool, she thought. Maybe I’ll—
It took a moment for the newspaper’s headline to register. At first it seemed like any another tragic headline, the kind that makes a person pause at the brief sadness one feels when hearing such things. Then it dawned on her.
WIFE OF BILLIONAIRE ALUMNUS
KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT
Marilyn Rhodes.
Kyle’s mother.
Without looking up from the newspaper, Rylann shut her front door, sat down at her kitchen table, and began to read.
Three
Nine years later
THE CHILLY MARCH wind cut across Lake Michigan, an icy sting that could easily bring tears to one’s eyes. But Kyle barely noticed. When he was running, he was in the zone.
It was dark outside, after seven p.m., and the temperature hovered right around forty degrees. Every day for the past two weeks, he’d hit the jogging trail that ran along the lake and run a twelve-mile circuit from his apartment and back. His doorman, Miles, had commented yesterday on the routine, and for simplicity’s sake, Kyle had said he was training for a marathon.
In truth, he just liked the quiet solitude of running. Not to mention, he reveled in the freedom he’d come to appreciate while running. Ah…such glorious freedom. The knowledge that he could keep going, with nothing but physical exhaustion to stop him.
And, of course, a team of armed U.S. marshals if he went more than ten miles from home.
