Page 12 of Not A Chance

The conflicting feelings inside me had an awkwardness I rarely felt settled in my chest, making it hard to think. I cleared my throat to say something.

“Rocky?”

My long-ago nickname for Indie fell from my lips, and she whirled around, eyes wide.

The voice of the man I’d steadfastly avoided for six years rang out behind me.

I had exactly 2.4 seconds to school my face into a cool, impassive mask after Theo Yao-Miller shocked me into turning around.

The term of endearment exclusive to him was still echoing in my ears.

My arms still overloaded with pet supplies and my huge tote for the office, I slowly turned to face my former teenage crush.

“Theo?” I put some confusion into my tone, despite knowing exactly who was standing in front of me.

I’d recognize Theo anywhere, anytime. Aside from being a media darling, every bit of his essence was burned into my brain.

Theo, however, didn’t need to know that.

At one point, I’d been so obsessed with him that if I were given the right magical powers, I could conjure him from thin air. It seemed too much to hope that he was a figment of my overworked brain.

I wanted to blink and wish him back into my now smothereddaydreams. But he really stood in front of me after all these years.

“Merry Christmas, Rocky. What are you doing up?” Theo stood in their family kitchen after an early gym workout.

I made myself answer him, trying to come off casual, but my voice betrayed a slight tremor.

“Dunno. Just couldn’t sleep.” I shrugged, as if I hadn’t planned the next few minutes for years.

“Yeah, strange bed and all that. I know how hard it is for me to sleep during away games in all those hotels. I don’t blame you.”

That was Theo, always trying to make others feel at ease around him. He turned his back to me to get the coffee maker started. I took the opportunity to silently erase the distance between us.

I laid my trembling hand in the middle of his back. And he swung around, his eyes widening at the physical closeness between us. I’d avoided the hello and goodbye hugs over the years, finding that touching him in even a platonic way made my heart hurt.

“Indigo? What are you doing?” There was a hesitation in his tone that I couldn’t heed.

I quickly opened the palm of my left hand and revealed the beat-up sprig of mistletoe that had left sharp imprints on my hand from my strangling grip. Before I lost my nerve, I closed the distance between our mouths, brushing my lips lightly over his before immediately kissing him more firmly.

My brain must have short-circuited in those few short seconds as I felt his soft lips on mine. When his hands came up to gently grip my hips, my first thought was “Yes! He wants me too.”

It took another few seconds to realize that his lips were not moving under mine, and his light hold on me was to hold me back from pressing into him further.

Horrified, I took a big step back, dropped the sad little sprig on thefloor, and covered my mouth with both hands.

His expression looked shocked. I had seen that kind of expression on people’s faces before. It was the kind that meant bad news was coming and the person was sorry to have to say it out loud.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I couldn’t ever look at him ever again.

I had experienced my share of painful moments in my life, but the excruciating pain of his rejection coupled with a feeling of humiliation so acute I thought I might pass out if I didn’t get out of there.

“Indie. I… ugh, we… can’t. You’re way too young for me. I’m flattered. You’re a great girl.” His voice got quieter as I bolted out of the room, needing to get out of that house as fast as possible.

I cataloged the changes in him since that fateful Christmas morning in his family’s kitchen while I attempted to offer a bland but not rude smile.

If the years of dread at facing this moment turned my efforts into a grimace, then so be it. It was the best I could do being caught so off guard running into him this way.

He was just as handsome as the last time I saw him. His height and frame still commanded notice. His hair was a little longer, still so dark brown it was almost black. Now, its waves flopped down over his forehead, covering the side of one of his espresso-colored brown eyes.

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