That Kind Of Girl. Kim Mckade

even this afternoon when she’d actually looked herself in the eye in the rearview mirror and said, “I believe I’ll just stop by and see if Colt Bonner needs anything.” As if she hadn’t been planning it from the moment she saw him pull up in front of his house.

      She’d deserved what she got, too, she decided as she dropped the graphite stick on the tray in disgust. She tucked her feet up on the stool and examined the red scrape on her shin. Her power suit was back in the closet where it would be until the next open house at school. Her demolished Silky Sheer Precious Ivories were wadded in the wastebasket. She’d come home, humiliated, and changed into flannel boxers and a white tank top.

      She gathered her hair into a ponytail and wound it on top of her head, jabbing a pencil into the mass to hold it in place. It had been a long time since she’d felt like such a fool. But then, it had been a long time since she’d tried to be something she wasn’t.

      She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, the cold air chilling her bare toes. At least she no longer had to waste hours of her life, imagining ridiculous scenes of how Colt would react when he saw her again. At least she no longer had to wake up at night visualizing something out of a movie—Colt taking one look at her, being instantly bedazzled and setting out in pursuit of her like a man possessed.

      He’d seen her—and been terrifically underwhelmed. And in her power suit and manicure, no less!

      She pulled a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and told herself again that it served her right. What was she expecting? That when Colt realized it was she standing there, he would confess that he’d traveled the world in an attempt to get her out of his mind, that he couldn’t forget the taste of her, the feel of her? And that now that he’d come to her again, he would never let her go?

      Come on.

      She frowned and poured a big glass of tea. Okay, so maybe that was a little over the top, even for her. But would it have killed him to say she looked nice?

      But she had learned the lesson years ago and, except for this one crucial day when, apparently, she was hell-bent on humiliating herself, she’d lived by the wisdom of it.

      She bent and made a face at her reflection in the chrome toaster. “Accept who you are,” she said firmly. “Accept what you are.”

      “What was it trying to be? A can opener?”

      Becca shrieked, jerked and spun. She splashed frigid iced tea all over herself at the same moment she saw Colt standing at her open kitchen window.

      She tried to draw breath to speak, but all she could manage was a series of shallow gasps and then a noise that came out sounding like “Uhhuhhh.”

      “Sorry. Did I scare you?”

      She nodded, openmouthed.

      “I only meant to surprise you.”

      “Yes, well…you did that, too.” She finally got some air into her lungs and stepped up to the screen.

      “Cold, huh?”

      To his credit, Colt did make an attempt to hide the grin that crept up his cheeks.

      She nodded again. “What are you doing here?”

      “You invited me, remember?”

      “Yes, and I—I also remember you declined.”

      “I reconsidered. Is the offer still open?”

      “Of course it is.”

      “Um, Becca?”

      She cocked a brow.

      “That was really cold tea, wasn’t it.”

      “Yes.” Hadn’t he already asked that? She looked down and wished this time for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Her white tank top—now virtually transparent—tented out under the hard buds of her nipples.

      She grabbed at the shirt with both hands and pulled it away far enough that he could probably see down the neck as well. “I’ll just—I’ll just go change.” She backed away, picturing how she must look with her pencil-eraser nipples, scraped shin and gaping mouth. Quite lovely, to be sure. She kept backing, and bumped into the doorjamb.

      “That’d probably be a good idea,” he said.

      “The front door’s unlocked. Make yourself at home. I’ll just be a second.”

      In her bedroom she stripped down to her underwear, wondering what had changed his mind. Certainly it hadn’t been her cool, sophisticated poise. And he’d told her to her face that her looks hadn’t made an impression. That left the power suit and the Precious Ivories. Or maybe it was the ingenious way she had of falling through his porch that won him over.

      One day back in town and the man already had her mind twisted in knots. She didn’t know what to think about that kiss. In fact, every time her mind even barely brushed up against the thought of it, she got even more confused. So she told herself she just wouldn’t think about it. Which, of course, she recognized as a lie as soon as she thought it. She hadn’t forgotten their last kiss, and that had been twelve years ago. She could still feel his hands and lips on hers, without even trying. The kiss today hadn’t shared that same unharnessed passion, but it did share the same barrier-shaking intimacy.

      She walked into the adjoining bath and wiped off her midriff with a warm washcloth. She caught her reflection in the mirror, and her hand slowed, then stopped. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes as bright as if she had a raging fever.

      Why was she doing this to herself? What was it going to take for her to learn?

      She’d worked hard to build her self-esteem. It had taken years of conscious effort for her to accept herself, to even like herself. It had not been easy; she had a lifetime of feeling like a freak to wipe away. But she’d done it. And now she was champing at the bit to let it be brushed aside by a few careless remarks and a kiss that obviously meant nothing to Colt.

      She put her palms on the counter and faced her reflection sternly. It was time to be perfectly honest. The truth was, she’d always had a bit of a soft spot for Colt. Okay, a big soft spot. A ridiculous crush, in fact. And maybe a part of her had always wondered whether if she looked different, and acted differently, he would see her differently. Less as the weirdo girl who lived down the road and made up stories to tell him when they were kids. Less as the bookish wallflower in high school, and more as…well, as more.

      But the fact was—aside from falling through his porch and splashing iced tea all over herself—she hadn’t done anything overwhelmingly embarrassing. At least she hadn’t thrown herself at him—again. And if there was a God in the sky, Colt would not remember that night and she could go on pretending it had never happened.

      The only real injury today had been to her pride, and she was an old hat at rebuilding that. So there was no reason she could not go out there as Colt’s old friend, have dinner with him, catch up on old times, and act like a normal person. If she stopped behaving like an imbecile right this second.

      Whatever had changed Colt’s mind about dinner, it surely involved little more than an empty stomach. And if she had any brains at all—which she knew she did; they were in there somewhere—she would go out there and quit reading something into every little move he made. She would relax and enjoy herself.

      Just to prove to them both that she really didn’t care if Colt found her attractive or not, she left her hair piled in a messy nest on top of her head. She dragged on baggy sweatpants, topped off with a T-shirt that announced “Math is Power.” Then she faced her reflection again and nodded. Now, there was a woman who was truly comfortable with herself, in all her nerdiness.

      When she went back to the kitchen, though, he wasn’t there to test her indifference. Neither was he in the living room. She slumped against the arm of the sofa and made a face. She scared him off already. This had to be a new record for her—

      “This is really good. Did you do it?”

      She