Part 18 (2/2)
”I've never been to a game, but I like watching any kind of sports. It's like white noise.”
Regan grabbed the remote and found the game she was looking for. ”See how easy it would be to live together?” Callie just smiled at her, but as soon as Regan was engrossed, Callie found herself sneaking a glance at her much more often than she should have. There was something fascinating about watching Regan watch TV. That was almost a ridiculous thought, but it was true. Just watching Regan's beautiful eyes dart back and forth as she watched the players run up and down the court was mesmerizing. She was as fascinating as a 3-D movie with surround sound.
They kept to that pattern until Friday when Regan came home at noon and announced, ”How soon can you get packed?”
Callie looked up from her computer, eyes wide. ”Are you throwing me out?”
”No, but someone else is moving in and we have to leave.”
”Regan! What are you talking about?”
”I arranged to swap apartments with someone in Boston. They're coming this afternoon and we're going to stay in their place. We won't come back here before I take you to the airport, so pack everything.”
”I'm on it. I'm really excited, by the way.”
”Me too.”
”Where are we staying? Not that I know anything about Boston.”
”We're staying near the Fens. It's a little apartment, just one bedroom, but I know you don't mind sharing.”
Callie got up and went to her room to start packing while Regan stood in the doorway and watched her.
”Is this something you've done before?”
”No, I never have. But there are a lot of people in the city who like to come down to the South Sh.o.r.e for the weekend. The Irish Riviera is quite desirable,” she said waggling her eyebrows.
”I can see why. It's great around here.”
”I bet you're gonna think Boston is even better.”
Callie grasped and squeezed Regan's arm when they reached the apartment building. ”This is so great! What should we do first?”
”Have you had any exercise today?”
”Nope. I started working as soon as I got up. I thought we'd go for a jog when you got home.”
”Then we'll go for a jog. Up for twenty-six point two miles?”
”G.o.d, no! Oh! The Boston Marathon. I can do half of it...I think.”
”Let's just do around a quarter. I can show you some of the highlights.”
”Have you run the marathon?” Callie asked, amazed that Regan could possess such an important piece of personal trivia that she hadn't pried out of her.
”Sure have. It's been a couple of years, but I ran it two years in a row. I've been thinking about joining a club and trying to qualify again. Us old middle-distance people have to have a goal, you know. We can't self-motivate like you trail runners can.”
”I know how you people are,” Callie said, smiling broadly at her friend, while trying not to get caught staring. Patience had to carry the day. Only when Regan was over Angela could anything happen. Trying too soon would be disastrous. This was too important to screw it up.
Regan worked the key to get it to slip into the lock of the door at their swap, the third and top floor of an older building in the Back Bay. She finally got the key to turn and they entered while simultaneously giving each other suspicious looks. ”Garbage?”
”I hope so. We can throw garbage out.” They went towards the smell, and Callie leaned over the trash can in the small kitchen. ”Oh, lord!” She fanned the air above the can. ”Figure out where we can dump this. It smells like rancid fish.”
”A scent I'm all too familiar with.” Regan got on her phone and called the tenant, showing remarkable restraint when she casually commented that she hadn't asked where to throw the trash when they left on Sunday. As soon as she hung up she took the bag and dashed for the door. ”Open the windows. All of them!”
By the time Regan returned, her cheeks were pink and she still wore a pained look on her face. ”We've gotta get out of here. I hate the smell of rancid food.”
”Do you think there's anyone who likes it?” Callie asked, giving her a playful grin. ”Let's get changed and not come back until we're so tired we'd be able to sleep anywhere.”
They went into the bedroom and eyed the double bed. ”This would only be a queen in Munchkinland. d.a.m.n,” Regan mumbled. ”I should have checked the place out first.”
”It's fine. Really. I swear it's nicer than my apartment, so don't say anything too disparaging.”
Regan's smile returned and she nodded. ”It's fine. You're right. And it's always nice to save a few hundred bucks.”
”Absolutely.” Callie started to change. She was just a little dismayed when Regan s.h.i.+mmied out of her jeans and started to slip into a tiny pair of navy nylon shorts. She looked sensational in them...and that was the problem. Callie was used to running in baggy shorts over compression shorts. That's how just about everyone dressed in Dallas. But things were different in New England, she'd learned. A lot of people wore the kinds of outfits Olympic runners wore, showing off their lean bodies. The last thing she needed was to see Regan's lithe body displayed any more clearly!
But Regan evidently didn't know about Callie's burgeoning desire. She took off her s.h.i.+rt and put on a slim-fitting red singlet that advertised a running club from the South Sh.o.r.e, then tucked the singlet into her shorts, sat on the bed and put her shoes back on. Callie watched the long muscles of Regan's back flex and twist as she worked, then stood and clapped her hands together. ”Let's move!” Regan demanded, luckily not asking why Callie was standing there with her khakis in her hand, no running clothes in sight.
Callie walked out of the bedroom a few minutes later, dressed in her usual grungy running clothes. ”Where's the khakis?” Regan asked.
”Khakis?”
”Yeah. We need the khakis to get to Hopkinton.”
”What do my pants have to do with anything?” Callie asked, completely puzzled.
”Just teasing.” Regan picked up her keys and dangled them. ”If you find someone with a thick enough accent, that's how they ask for their keys. ”Where's my khakis?” she repeated, grinning.
Callie pinched her cheek. ”Let's go see Bah-ston.”
Regan had devised an ingenious way to see the highlights of the marathon course. It involved short runs of four or five miles, then a short car ride to the next spot. By the time they'd finished they'd been to the start, up and down Heartbreak Hill and cruised to the Hanc.o.c.k Building where they'd playfully waved to the imaginary crowds.
Afterwards, they headed out to one of Regan's favorite restaurants for dinner, and Callie was surprised that she'd chosen to return to Cambridge. ”Aren't you afraid of running into Angela?”
”No. I'm not going to lose Cambridge. I like it and I've lost enough.” She smiled thinly. ”Besides, she's not the type to go out to dinner alone, and she's not dating anyone. She's probably living on Lean Cuisine.”
”Uhm, how do you know for sure she's not dating anyone?”
They were riding on the T, Boston's subway, and it was noisy and fairly crowded. Regan leaned over and spoke right into Callie's ear. ”I believe her. She's not generally a liar.”
Callie nodded, not asking any more questions. When they exited the station, Regan said, ”I believe everything she told me the other night.”
Callie slipped her hand around Regan's arm, holding it close. ”But...”
”It's like I told you. I believe she's sincere about wanting me back. I believe she's working hard in therapy, something she swore she'd never do, to figure out why she was unfaithful. I even believe she's serious about going to couples counseling to figure out why we had such a bad s.e.x life.”
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