He groans, “God you’re good.”
I wonder if I’m still good at other things.
“So, you and Angie hit it off?” he asks.
“Yeah, she’s cool.”
“I thought the two of you might get along. Her husband, Cam—”
“I know, she told me. How did you like working on set?”
“I should’ve known she’d tell you,” he chuckles. “It was fun, but Hollywood is definitely not for me. Too much politics. I like being in charge of my own show.”
“Control freak much?” I say lightly.
“Yeah, probably too much.” Josh gets silent before his voice lowers. “Sophie?
“Yes?”
“Where is Charlie’s father?”
I freeze. I haven’t really gotten involved in others’ lives for a long time—thus the no friends thing—but staying to myself keeps others to themselves, so I’m not startled and surprised by questions like this.
“Does he see her?” he tries.
“No.” I grit my teeth.
“Child support?”
I wince as if I’ve been hit. He can’t see me and I’m glad of it. “No. He … isn’t involved at all.”
“Does he know about her?”
“Holy shit, Josh! Feel free to pry.”
“Cool your engines, scrapper. I’m just trying to figure out the situation.”
“It’s not your situation to figure out.” My tone is biting.
I think about how safe I felt on the plane, how he protected me from the asshole at Williston’s gym, and then what Angie said about how he seems to be looking after me.
I also think about how people work, what makes them tick. What if I let Josh in? What if he turns into an asshole? In my personal experience, men always do.
“You’re right. I apologize. That was terribly rude of me.” His voice is soft.
I let that sink in, deep. “I’ve never heard a man say he was sorry before.”
Josh is quiet, then says. “Well, you’ll hear it from me often. I have a habit of saying stupid shit all the time. Not much of a filter, I’m afraid,” he quips self-deprecatingly.
I work his muscles down to his feet. Usually by about this time, my insides are clenching and my panties are soaking wet from touching him like this, but not now. Now all I think about are his questions, and trust, and fear and friendship … but mostly, I think about betrayal. Could confiding in Josh hurt me or Charlie?
Maybe it’d be a freaking relief to tell someone. I’ve been alone for so long, carrying this burden inside myself. By myself.
I want to know more about Josh too. I want to dig deep inside and see what makes him so complicatedly him. And, no doubt, I definitely want to sleep with him. Why couldn’t we do that? So what if the friendship or the relationship or the job didn’t last forever? Aren’t people always saying you should live for the present?
Maybe I should try that and not spend my time trying to figure out the one hundred steps ahead of me.
He feels so perfect under my hands. Oh, how his arms would feel around me … even for just one night.
But what if Josh didn’t want me once he knew? What if he thought what I did was wrong?
Then I’d have to move on … again. And Charlie? She would be heartbroken.
Fine. Let’s say all of that happens. Whatever. It’s not as if Josh knows him.
But would Josh turn me in?
The prospect of that is frightening, and I don’t even know how I’d go about testing the waters.
Josh is a fire fighter and they do work in conjunction with the police.
Better to keep my mouth shut.
Chapter Seven
Josh
How in the fuck do I do the exact thing I tell myself I won’t fucking do!? I pace across the carpet in my hotel room. My running shoes sink into the plush pile and leave tracks both ways.
“Answer your fucking phone, Caleb!” I bark into my unanswered cell. Back to voicemail. “Yeah, dickhead, this is only my twelfth message. ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!”
Okay, this isn’t healthy. I set the phone on the table. Why am I so worked up over this woman? I just need Caleb to give me some words of wisdom or some shit—tell me how to make this fucked up situation better.
I was going to ask her to dinner. “Hey, Sophie, would you and Charlie like to have dinner with me tonight?” I mimic out loud. “I’m such an asshole!”
What made me think giving her the Spanish-fucking-Inquisition about Charlie’s father was going to earn me a fucking gold star?
Honestly, I didn’t think it was going to go in the direction that it did either. I tried bringing the conversation somewhere else, but she was done. She actually told me it was better if we didn’t talk so I could “relax more deeply.” It was good bullshit though, I’d hand her that.
I sit on the edge of the bed in my room. Sophie’s just a few rooms away. Def Leppard’s “Hysteria” just came up on my iPod and it’s perfect. I’m in hysteria and she’s over there, hating my stupid ass.
A knock on the door brings me quickly to my feet and across the room. I pull it open, hopeful.
“Hello, Mr. North, your in-house order is ready.” The hotel’s delivery guy is pushing a shiny silver cart.
I’m more than disappointed. “Yeah. Thanks.” I remove a few bills from my pocket and set them in his hand. “I’ll take it from here.”
I pull the tray into my room and shut the door. Under the silver cover is beef stroganoff over fresh steamed green beans. It looks and smells incredible and I am starving … but I’m not hungry, not really, not for food. I eat anyway, knowing my body needs it.
When I’m finished, I head into the bathroom. Turning the faucet, I let the hot water run into the Jacuzzi tub. I pour a good couple cups of Epsom salt into it and wait till it fills. I’m just going to take a bath, watch a good skin flick and go to sleep early. I have to be at the gym at five in the morning anyway.
“I can fix this,” I say determinedly. “I WILL fix this. Tomorrow is a new day.”
*****
2005
I’m sleeping when I hear the lock disengage and the door open.
“Time to get up, Josh,” Cade says.
Fuck. “I like it in here.” I roll over in the cot and face the wall. Fuck getting up. Fuck him.
“Come to breakfast. I know you’re hungry.”
Cade’s footfalls go back the way they came down the hall. The aroma of pancakes and bacon wafts through the empty room. I sigh deeply, resignedly, and roll out of the bed. The fight happened last night before I had dinner—I’m famished. After I get washed up and dressed, I make my way downstairs and into the dining room.
Almost everyone is already at the table, but a few stragglers like me are still coming in. I make sure I sit away from Liam, who I’m not done hitting yet. The huge picnic-style table is about twenty-four feet long. This kid, Reese, is putting plates all around it. Seconds later, Dylan comes stalking his way through the room and shoulders past Reese hard, knocking him against the table.
“What the fuck?” Reese is immediately up in Dylan’s face.
“Back off, Irish, or I’ll fuck you up,” Dylan warns.
This is great entertainment, but unless someone swings soon, Cade will break it up before it starts.
“Are you assholes serious? Can’t we just fucking eat without a fight?” Talon, a Native American kid with long black hair, rolls his eyes. He’s a couple years younger than me and has been here a few months. “I’m getting so sick of this shit.”
“Fuck you too,” Dylan shoots at Talon.
Now Talon stands up and gets behind Reese.
Someone says something, and the first punch gets thrown. A few of the girls back up into the adjacent living room to get out of the way, while a couple others step back to watch the show. In a few seconds everyone else is up fighting. There are about twenty of us and it’s a fucking ruckus! Liam and I get to each other, and I fully intend on finishing what we
started yesterday.
Liam swings. I duck and watch as his fist goes through the wall and gets caught in the plaster. I laugh until he kicks me into the table. The plastic cups rattle against the wood and several fall to the floor. He gets his hand free and we square off again.
A foghorn blares deafeningly through the room! Everyone stops and covers their ears.
Cade stands at the head of the table with the can and calmly announces, “Quinn has a special meal planned for us all. I expect us to act in a manner that shows we’re grateful.”
Quinn pushes through the swinging kitchen door with two monster platters stacked with pancakes. Behind her, Cade’s wife Debra, brings in a vat of maple syrup and a pan heaped with slices of bacon. It smells good. It smells like home.
“Look,”—Quinn drops the platters to the table, demanding our attention—“None of us wants to be here. We all come from shitty situations that we don’t have the power to change. All we can do is change our own actions. We’re lucky to be in a home like this one.” She nods and her soft blond curls sway with the movement. “Cade and Debra are the best people I’ve ever known. Being here gives us a real chance to be okay!” Quinn’s voice gets louder. “To make something of ourselves! To have a future away from our asshole parents, away from the gangs who don’t care if we live or die, away from the streets! So get it through your heads, you idiots! Right now we’re all we have. So instead of all the fighting and cock measuring, we need to pull it together and have each other’s backs. God knows nobody else does.”
*****
Present
The alarm that wakes me reminds me of a boxing match.
Round Two, I think. I have to make things right with Sophie. Today’s conversation is going to go very differently. I’ll make sure of it.
At the gym, I’m going through the motions. Caruso shouts at me to put my heart into it. I try to make him think I am, but I’m really just watching the door. Sophie should be here by now.
Watching the clock is like a fucking torturous nightmare. Now, McGee is yelling at me so bad his face is turning bright red.
Squatting, I wedge my fingers and hands underneath the massive tractor tire, then push it up and over.
“DO IT AGAIN!” McGee crows. People can probably hear him across the fucking street.
So I do it again, all the way across the floor and back again until McGee is satisfied.
Christ, where is she?
McGee tosses a rolled up jump rope to me. “Work it out, loverboy.”
I catch it and give him a death stare.
“Ha!’ he laughs. “Put it into the workout.”
I shake my head and he walks off.
Lifting my sports bottle, I spray a stream of water into my mouth and then set my earbuds into place and hit play on my iPod. How many times can a human being listen to one song over and over again? Because honestly, Trapt’s “Contagious” has been playing on repeat since last night, and all I can do is listen and chant it under my breath.
How the fuck has she done this to me? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I was discharged from the hospital. When she’s near me, I feel relaxed and calm. When she’s not I’m agitated or nervous, wondering about what’s going on in her personal life. When she goes home at night or has the day off, all I think about is what she’s doing, if she’s thinking about me, if she’s safe, if she’s seeing other guys, what she looks like naked …
When she finally walks through the door, I almost lose it. I don’t try to hide the fact that I’m looking at her. I don’t try to hide the expression that betrays the feelings that are coursing through me—that I blew it, and that she means something to me.
Sophie looks at me from under her lashes but then averts her gaze. She looks pained. I wonder if she’s going to quit. Christ, I pray she doesn’t quit! I hate that I pried and hurt her. I don’t understand the buttons I pushed, but I’m sorry as hell that I pushed them.
She’s so beautiful—so soft, so gentle. She’s a loving, tender mother, and I can tell because of the way she is with me that she’s a great friend. Sophie disappears down the hallway toward the offices.
Just like that, I want to take all her hurt away.
Now I perform like a fucking fighter. McGee, Caruso and Silva are watching me like I became someone else since the early morning workout.
“GET UP THE ROPE!” Caruso shouts.
I strain every muscle as I pull my body up the rope. At the top, I hit the buzzer and everyone in the gym cheers. We all have a love/hate relationship with the rope.
Sophie is now sitting with Angie up at the front desk. They talk and watch me intermittently, and I’d give my left testicle to know what they’re saying!
Back on solid ground, Caruso hands me an electrolyte replacing drink and I suck it down in seconds. “You want to run in or out today?” he asks.
“In.” Watching her, I feel more settled than I have all morning. Knowing she’s close. It really doesn’t make sense, does it? Why can’t I stop thinking about her?
Stop looking at her every millisecond, you look like a stalker! I shift my eyes and head to the treadmills.
I start flipping through artist playlists and stop on Van Halen. “Okay, Eddie, give me something.”
*****
“That rope kicks my ass every time,” I groan.
Sophie’s deft, hot hands are making my arm muscles melt like butter.
“I don’t know,” she says, “looks to me like you got the best of it.”
She hasn’t quit and she is talking to me … at least a little.
My mind is going ballistic trying to think of how to start a conversation without messing it up. I remember how we found common ground over philosophy.
“Do you remember who said this one?” I ask. “Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power … you are free.”
“I should know,” she admits. “Don’t tell me.” I hear a smile in her voice, and it’s relieving.
“Okay, give me a hint.”
She’s playing. I can go with that. “‘Break on Through.’”
“Not getting anything.”
I sing, “Come on, baby, light my—”
“FIRE!” she comes in strongly. “Morrison.” She sighs and adds, “He died too soon.”
“Yeah, I agree, way before his time.”
“Do you like The Doors’ music?”
“Yeah, I like everything music, from classic and hard rock to grunge and metal to Yo-Yo Ma.”
“That’s a varied musical appetite,” Sophie deduces.
I have an insatiable appetite.
“Okay, flip it over like a pancake,” she says and then laughs. “Oh my God! I’m sorry!”
“Hey, I can flip it like a pancake.” I roll over onto my back.
“I give Charlie massages most every night before bed,” she explains. “I use it with her so often … it just slipped out like it was normal.”
I laugh with her. It’s the perfect song.
*****
“About time you returned my call, you miserable fuck!” I complain.
“Oh, relax, I haven’t had time. What the hell is going on?” Caleb asks.
Why do I suddenly feel like an idiot? “I met someone.”
Caleb laughs. “You’re always meeting someone.”
“This someone I want to invite home for Christmas.”
Silence.
More silence.
Pissing-me-off silence.
“Say something!” I growl.
“I don’t know what to say,” Caleb exclaims. “You’ve never even brought a ‘someone’ home for dinner before, let alone a major family holiday. I think I need a drink for this conversation.”
“Skip it, I don’t think she’ll come. I’m having a hard time getting her to come out with me at all,” I admit.
“Have you grown a pair to ask her?”
“Fuck you. Yes. I invited her to both events this weekend.”
&
nbsp; “And she said no?” he reasons.
“She’s said nothing.”
“When’s the last time you talked to her?”
“A couple hours ago.” I’m alone in my hotel room—not like me at all—and what am I doing? Thinking about Sophie of course.
“Alright, asshat, you either talk or I’m hanging up,” Caleb threatens.
“She works for me,” I tell him. “The masseuse.”
“Oh, yeah, I saw her at the hospital a few times. She’s hot,” he trumpets. “So you hired her … ha! And now you want to date her … you’re putting both of you into a precarious situation. No wonder she’s not giving you an answer.”
“What do you mean?” I demand.
“She’s caught, man. She might want to say yes, but doesn’t dare risk her job. Really, you’re not an idiot, man. Just think about it.”
When I don’t say anything he continues, “Sleeping with the boss at night makes for an uncomfortable work experience during the day, don’t you think?”
“Maybe I should fire her,” I say.
“WHAT?”
I laugh gruffly. “I didn’t think about the fact that I might have been sabotaging myself when I offered her the job, then pretty much dared her to take it by doubling the salary.”
“You did what?” Caleb says, sounding mystified.
I explain it all to him, including the bet and what will happen if either of us makes the first move.
“Come on, Josh, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, obviously.”
“What is it about her you’re so enamored with?”
“Oh, God, her hands alone—” I begin.
Caleb interrupts. “No! Don’t need the imagery—SKIP!”
I sigh deeply. “Sophie is intelligent and philosophical. She’s a deep thinker. She has a good sense of humor and is an amazing mom.”
“An amazing what?” Caleb halts my train.
“She’s a single mother to the cutest three-year-old little girl,” I verify.
Dare Page 7
