Twenty
WE HAD TO fold Hutch up like origami to get him into Rue’s Mini Cooper.
Then, when he struggled to get his seat belt fastened, I leaned across to help and found myself face-to-face with him, watching me.
“What are you doing?” Hutch asked.
I paused to meet his eyes. My face was two inches from his. “I’m helping you with your seat belt.”
“I don’t need help,” Hutch said, holding still.
He seemed to be taking in the sight of me more than he was listening—right there, so close—his eyes looking all around my face at close range, lingering on my mouth.
“Yeah, you do,” I said. “I’ve watched you fumble with this thing for two full minutes.” I snapped the buckle and said, “You’re welcome.”
At that, Hutch closed his eyes, and I felt his arm come up behind my shoulders and clamp me down against him into a hug.
I let it happen. And then I lay there for a second, my head pressed to his breathing, thumping chest, until I heard him say, “You’re safe now.”
I lifted up. “Safe? Safe from what?”
“From me, dummy,” he said, turning toward the window. “I just saved us both from that hall pass.”
ON THE DRIVE, he tilted his head back against the headrest, displaying that Adam’s apple so luxuriously that I almost hit the curb a couple of times, just trying not to look.
Hutch kept his eyes closed.
“I think the alcohol is hitting me,” he said then.
“Only now?” I asked.
“Maybe adrenaline delayed the effects?” he suggested, adding an extra f to effects .
Maybe so.
Whatever it was, back at the marina, I had to pull him out of the car like a tug-of-war.
Then I had to put my arm around his waist to steer him.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I think it’s wearing off.”
“It’s not wearing off—it just barely started.”
We got halfway to the Rue the Day before Hutch tried to get out of my hold.
“I can take it from here,” he said.
“No, you can’t.”
“You should let me go.”
“And let you veer off the dock?”
“I’m saying it’s better if you go back to the car.”
“Once we get you inside, I’ll go back to the car.”
“You are not coming inside.”
“Fine. To the door, then. I’m not going to spend all night worrying that you fell into the water and drowned.”
“You know what I do for a living, right?”
“But are you drunk when you do it?”
Hutch nodded, like that was a good point. “Never.”
At the door, Hutch had some trouble with his keys. The door was locked with a simple hasp and a padlock, and Hutch fiddled with it for a while without getting the lock undone. Finally, I said, “How about I do it?”
“I’ve got it,” Hutch said.
“Not sure you do.”
“This isn’t rocket science,” Hutch said.
“You’re not used to being hammered.”
“That’s true.”
I stepped closer to take over, but Hutch didn’t move out of the way. Instead, I had to nudge him, and he resisted a minute before finally stepping aside and flipping around to lean back against the doorframe. I could feel him watching me then.
“Cole, huh?” he asked.
“What?” I said, like I hadn’t heard the question.
“I would never, in ten thousand years, have put you together with Cole.”
I wanted—so, so, so badly—to say, I’m not . But if tonight had made anything clear, it was that I couldn’t make their animosity worse. Friday , I told myself. Just one more day. Finally, I said, “Me neither.”
At that, I turned the key, and the padlock released.
“There,” I said.
But Hutch’s eyes were closed now, and he’d leaned his head back.
“Hutch?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hutch said, without opening his eyes.
“The door’s unlocked,” I said.
He nodded. “Okay. Got it. You can go.”
“I should see you inside,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder.
But Hutch pushed my hand away. “I’m good,” he said.
“Go inside, then,” I said, stepping back.
He opened his eyes and looked right at me. “I will. After you go,” Hutch said.
“I don’t want to just leave you here,” I said.
“I don’t want to open that door with you so close to it.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because,” Hutch said, looking away.
“Hey,” I said then, grabbing for his shoulder again. “Let’s not mess around.”
But Hutch stopped me again. “I’m not messing around.”
“I don’t understand what’s happening right now,” I said. We were here. The door was unlocked. All Hutch had to do was go safely inside. And yet, he wouldn’t. “Why are you being difficult?” I asked.
That’s when Hutch took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m trying,” he said then, “really, really hard… not to kiss you.”
A funny little joy bloomed through my body. I stepped closer. “You are?”
Hutch put out a hand, like Stop . “I am.”
Then I said, “But you can kiss me. You won the drinking contest.”
“That doesn’t mean I get the prize.”
“But you have Cole’s permission,” I said.
“Not really.”
“You have a hall pass. You can totally kiss me—guilt-free. Cole won’t ever know or care.”
“That’s not real.”
“Sure it is,” I said. “Cole was insisting.”
At last, Hutch opened his eyes. “Cole wasn’t insisting. He was daring .”
It was beyond frustrating to me in this moment that Hutch was refusing to get anywhere near me for a reason that wasn’t even real. Of course, yes , it was reasonable for him to refuse—under all circumstances—to kiss his brother’s girlfriend.
I just wasn’t his brother’s girlfriend .
“You have my permission,” I said then.
“Don’t say that.”
“You’ve kissed me before.”
“That was before I knew about you and Cole. And you should never have let that happen, by the way. Are you a bad person?”
“No.”
Hutch closed his eyes again. “Then why the hell were you kissing your boyfriend’s brother?”
“You kissed me first.”
“But you kissed me back.”
“It’s weirdly complicated.”
Hutch opened his eyes. “What were you thinking?” he asked.
“Look, I had a reason that it was okay, but I just can’t tell you about it right now.”
He closed his eyes again. “I take it back. I don’t want to know.”
And then I couldn’t resist saying, “It’s still okay, actually.”
“How? How could it possibly be okay?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Here was the problem: we were two single, consenting adults. But Hutch didn’t know that. And I wasn’t honestly sure if he’d still feel the same way about me after he knew the truth. I’d participated in Cole’s lie. As much as I thought I could justify my choices logically… logic and feelings were hardly the same thing. Who knows what kind of magic goes into one person liking another person? There were no guarantees that this bad situation wouldn’t just get worse.
I might never get another kiss, is what I’m saying.
Hutch would never kiss me before he knew the truth. But after he knew the truth—he might not want to anymore.
Hutch watched me wrestle with myself. Then he shook his head. “I think you better go now.”
I nodded. But I was frozen with indecision. I might never get another chance.
Hutch met my eyes. “I’m serious,” he said.
“I know,” I said. But I didn’t move.
“Katie—do I have to physically move you?”
I shook my head, but I still didn’t go.
There was that classic, concerned frown of his—though who he was concerned for wasn’t clear. He was breathing deeply, and I was, too. Time seemed to slow down.
He wanted to kiss me. He’d said as much.
He wanted to, but he wouldn’t. Even drunk, he wouldn’t. It was against everything he stood for. It was against his honor. Good guys didn’t kiss their brother’s girlfriends. Even with permission.
And Hutch was nothing if not a good guy.
My mind searched desperately for a loophole.
Then it occurred to me that I could kiss him .
If I kissed him right now—just reached up and pulled him in—I could take him by surprise. Could that work? If Hutch was just a hapless victim of a kiss he never saw coming? He couldn’t be held responsible for that, right?
The past was gone, and the future was uncertain, but right now was absolutely clear: I might never get another chance.
You never really know what other people are thinking, but from the way our gazes were locked, I couldn’t imagine Hutch felt any way other than the same.
No one would blame him…
I took a deep breath. Maybe this was the perfect answer.
… But he would blame himself.
I let the breath out.
Somewhere in the multiverse there was a version of this story where I pulled Hutch in with both hands and kissed him senseless until we stumbled backward into his place, and into the bedroom, and into his bed—and everything we did all night made everything else better, not worse.
But this was not that universe.
There was no loophole.
If Drunk Hutch kissed me thinking I was his brother’s girlfriend, even if I wasn’t, then he was a bad person. And if I kissed him knowing everything I knew, then I was a bad person.
He was holding himself back for a reason.
And for something that wasn’t real, that reason was real enough.
I was overthinking it. Maybe I should’ve volunteered for that drinking contest.
But it was what it was. There would be no kissing, no stumbling, no anything at all tonight.
I guess George Bailey must have agreed with my line of thinking. Because just as I broke eye contact with Hutch, George Bailey started barking at us through the window.
We both turned, and Hutch let out a long sigh.
“I should go in,” he said.
And all I could do was agree.