Definitely, Maybe in Love(10)

"How?" I couldn't help asking.

"We were both on the soccer team. Same position. Henry was first string,  I was bench. Which I didn't mind," he was quick to add. "I didn't need  the spotlight like he did, but when I started getting more time off the  bench, he got pissed, and the next thing I know I'm being hauled into  the dean's office. A laundry list as long as my damn arm of bogus  infractions thrown at me. The grapevine said it was Henry. " He  scratched his chin. "I was expelled the next day."                       
       
           



       

"Why didn't you protest?"

Alex didn't speak for a few minutes; he was staring blankly through the  windshield, as if remembering something unpleasant. I didn't want to add  to that.

"Because of his family and connections," he said at last, "there was  nothing I could do. He was the one born with a silver spoon in his  mouth, not me. I've had to work like the effing devil for everything  I've got."

I understood this. I could also understand the bitterness he was  harboring after four years. What I couldn't understand was how he'd bent  over and taken it, hadn't fought the decision of his expulsion, hadn't  disputed it.

"But, ya know, I never owned up to the crimes." Alex chuckled, but there  was a bite of anger underneath. "Kicked out on my ass, anyway. It was a  shame, too, because I actually liked the guy, thought of him as a  brother. I know his family, his little sister." He muttered something  under his breath that I couldn't hear while he ran a hand through his  light hair. "But after a while, you gotta call a spade a spade, right?"  After he pulled into a parking space, he turned to me with a sigh. "I  guess money can buy you anything. It even bought him admission to  Stanford Law. Guy hasn't worked an honest day in his life." He touched a  finger to my chin. "Believe me."

"Well, the bigger they are the harder they fall," I offered, caught up  in Alex's rainfall of cliché sayings. "I mean, I do. I believe you."

"Thanks," he said. "Ready to eat?"

"I'm starving."

The main drag of downtown Palo Alto was packed. Seemed all of campus was  out attempting to savor one last bit of freedom before life as we knew  it completely stopped. We had only a few blocks to walk, and once I was  able to actually stroll beside him, Alex made it a point to laugh at  whatever I said and touch me-my hand, my elbow, my shoulder. It was the  usual repartee that goes along with a first date, when you don't know  much about the other person. I was an expert at the first-date routine  because I seldom allowed myself a second.

"Have you ever heard of a movie called Annie Hall?" Alex asked as we stopped at a crosswalk.

"Woody Allen."

"You know The Wood-Man?" He nudged my shoulder. "I might have to marry you."

The light turned green, and we joined the queue of other crossers.

"Do you remember what happened on Alvie's first date with Annie?"

"It's been a long time since I've seen it. Did Alvie forget his wallet? How typical."

"They were bantering in that neurotic Woody Allen way," Alex said,  shooting me a sideways glance. "Kind of like we were doing the other  night." He took my hand and tucked it into the crock of his elbow.  "Alvie said to Annie something like, ‘At the end of this date, I'll want  to kiss you, but it'll be awkward and embarrassing from all the  tension. So, why don't we get it out of the way now while there's no  pressure.'"

"Clever," I said.

Alex peered at me with that lazy smile he wore so well. "The thing is,"  he said, raking a hand through his hair, so charmingly nervous, "I think  I'll be feeling some similar pressure at the end of our date."

He stopped walking. So did I. It took two seconds for my mind to catch up to where his already was.

After correctly assessing my grin of agreement, Alex stepped up and  placed a hand on my cheek. But then he paused and glanced around,  inspecting all the people ambling down the sidewalk around us. The next  thing I knew, he grabbed my hand and was pulling me away.

We walked very briskly next to each other for about five seconds, and I  followed him around the corner to a parking lot. It was valet only and,  aside from the dozen or so parked million-dollar vehicles, it was  vacant.

Without a word, he grabbed my free hand and yanked me forward. There was  barely time for me to giggle before the kissing began. His arms were  strong around me, and his lips were soft on my lips and chin and neck.  Just as he had done on the dance floor, his hands were on my hips,  swaying me like we were moving to music. His mouth had a minty taste,  not exactly toothpaste, something sharper.

Not that I was a prude, but even at the end of a date I would not have  completely sucked face with a guy … and here it was the beginning of our  first date. But for whatever reason, I wasn't letting anything slow me  down. I felt determined and a bit defiant, like I was trying to prove  something to someone.

Plus, it had been a long, dry summer back in Coos Bay, Oregon. My mother  spent most of June complaining about how my father had refused again to  pay for any of my tuition. Not that I was surprised … I hadn't expected  anything from my father in years. My two brothers and I decided ages ago  that the sooner we forgot about him, the better. The rest of the  summer, Mom delved deeper into her crystals and tarot cards. My brothers  came home for only one visit. I was working two full-time jobs,  anyway-no time for dating or fun. Maybe that was why I was so into  Alex's kisses.                       
       
           



       

His hands slid to the small of my back, still rocking us to the beat of an unheard rhythm.

Julia had a theory about there being two kinds of kisses. The first kind  of kiss is when you want to experience the purely physical pleasure of  kissing. There can be heat and excitement and plenty of sparks during  this first kind of kiss, but it's mostly just doing whatever will bring  personal gratification. These kisses are fun and freeing and preferably  non-committal. The first kind of kiss is corporeal, touching only your  body and the shallowest of senses, but never deep emotions, and never  your soul or your heart.

What I was experiencing in that dimly lit parking lot was the first kind  of kiss. Obviously so, since I was cognizant enough to realize that  Alex was merely filling a physical desire and nothing more. My emotions,  soul, and heart were all fully intact. Perfect.

According to Julia, however, there is a second kind of kiss. This kiss  comes with a whole list of prerequisite regulations. There is  commitment, caring, giving, sacrifice, compromise, relationship, and  especially love. Apparently, all of the above-listed rules make the  second kind of kiss something more magical and earth-shaking than even  the steamiest first kind of kiss.

As Alex's hands moved up and down my spine like I was his bass fiddle, I  couldn't imagine a thing like that were possible. But Julia did have  her harebrained theories.

First kind or not, Alex was a great kisser. Very creative. I probably  could have kept it up for the full fifteen minutes-that was usually my  limit before I grew bored-but when a valet attendant tried to push past  us to get into the blue SUV Alex had me pressed against, we pulled  apart.

"Well, you're full of surprises," I said, a bit breathless.

He touched my chin with one finger, then ran it down my neck. "Want to go back to my place?"

"What?"

Almost as if he were snapping out of a trance, his intense expression  dissolved and his lazy smile was back. "Come on, gorgeous." He took my  hand, linking my arm through his, and we walked out of the parking lot.  "You pick the restaurant."

"I can't believe you stole your moves like that," I said, thinking what a pervy beast Woody Allen must be in real life.

Alex laughed and shot me a sideways glance. "If that's what gets your  engines blazing, I'll be sure to talk about Henry more often." He put  his hand over mine and squeezed.

Knightly? I almost tripped over my own feet. Why on earth would Alex be  thinking about him? Or assuming that I would be thinking about him while  we were kissing?





Chapter 7

"I'm sorry. No more empty tables."

I moaned and glanced over the hostess's shoulder at the unusually, overly packed café.

"It's the rain," she explained with a shrug. "No one wants to be outside."

"Yeah," I agreed, perturbed that all of Stanford apparently chose to eat at Oy Vey Café that morning.

"You can get your order to go," she suggested, then pointed behind me at  the dozen or so people already standing in line. I guessed that was my  only option.