Checked Out

by Hazel James

  He laughed and shook his head. “Well now you know about me and my boring summer vacations.”

  “Wrong. Now I know you have some seriously talented hands. In fact…” I felt myself grinning as an idea took root. “How would you feel about helping me with another Try It Tuesday episode?”

  “On?”

  “Playing with sharp objects.”

  He stared at me intently, his elbow on his knee, rubbing his jaw as if the answer was written in Braille among the stubble. “I’ll agree on two conditions. One, you wear the glove. I’d rather spend time with you outside the emergency room if I can help it.”

  Inner-Me shouted, “Jack Price wants to spend time with me!” Thankfully, Outer-Me had more restraint. “Agreed,” I said, rocking the heck out of my self-control.

  “And two… Well, I guess it’s more of a favor than a condition.”

  “I’m great at favors. Just ask Mrs. Fairchild.”

  “True, but this is a lot more than borrowing a cup of sugar.” He looked serious and slightly apprehensive.

  Getting into character, I pressed my hand to my heart and took a fortifying breath. “I know what you’re going to ask, and I just want to say yes, I’d be happy to give you one of my kidneys.”

  He laughed so loud that Taylor sprung up from his lap, spine arched and tail as wide as a bottle brush as she disappeared down the hall. I wasn’t sure which part made me feel more victorious—exacting my revenge on my cat or setting Jack’s mind at ease.

  His face was still flushed when he finally spoke again. “I think it’s safe to say I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

  I sat up a little taller. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “Trust me, it’s a very good thing.”

  Jack

  Man the fuck up.

  That’s what Diego said when I texted him in a panic from Tuesday’s bathroom. Denial had me holding on to the hope that despite her career, she’d never cross paths with Ricky. After all, she didn’t even want to stay in Idaho. Now that she might…

  Diego was right. I needed to man the fuck up.

  Part of that involved me going outside my comfort zone. I’d never been aggressive when it came to pursuing women. Instead of strutting around like a peacock, I preferred a more casual, low-key approach. But even the slightest possibility of Dicky Dick weaseling his way into Tuesday’s life meant upping my game.

  Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult.

  Everything about dinner with Tuesday came naturally—talking, laughing, and yes, even flirting. By the time we made it to her studio, I’d forgotten all about the dick-shaped curveball she unknowingly threw at me.

  Then I forgot about everything else when I lifted her in my arms. She felt good, almost too good, and watching her tits bounce as she laughed—let’s just say I had to lift her a little higher to keep her ass away from my pants.

  I might not be a peacock, but I was still a red-blooded man.

  “So, organ donations aside, what’s the real favor you need help with?” she asked.

  The way she said the word “favor” made it look like she was biting her bottom lip. Damn, that was sexy. “Remember the speech I have to give in a couple of months?”

  She nodded.

  “I was wondering if you’d help me with it. I still don’t know what to talk about, and then there’s the matter of actually speaking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I wasn’t a fan of highlighting my weaknesses, especially to the woman I found attractive, but there was no other way to explain the issue. I ran my palms along my jeans and hoped for the best.

  “A few years ago, my speech therapist joined the board of directors for the American Stuttering Association. He asked me to be the keynote speaker for their national conference. I felt like I owed it to him, you know? I didn’t want to disappoint him. The problem is, sometimes I still stutter when I’m really nervous or pissed off.”

  Tuesday nodded. “And when you get on stage, it turns into a cycle—you get nervous, which makes you stutter, which probably makes you mad, which makes you stutter…”

  “Exactly. I’m afraid I’ll get up there and make an ass of myself.”

  Sort of like I was doing right now. I’d just given Tuesday all the ammunition she needed to friend zone me for life: I was a twenty-six-year-old man working in a field dominated by women who couldn’t talk himself out of a paper bag in certain social situations.

  So much for manning up.

  “Does your therapist know you still have issues with public speaking?”

  “Yeah. He said not to worry about it because even if I do end up stuttering, I’d be in good company.”

  “Well, he’s right. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “We’re going to make sure you’re not nervous when you’re in front of the microphone.”

  I laughed once and shook my head. “Easy for you to say.”

  “I didn’t say it would be easy, just that it’s possible.” She gave me a pointed but playful look and extended her hand. “I’m up to the challenge if you are.”

  She’d lost her mind, I knew that much, but I still found myself taking her palm in mine. “Deal.”

  If I was playing “two truths and a lie,” it would sound something like this:

  The library was hosting a trunk-or-treat event on Halloween.

  Cara and I were finalizing the last of the details.

  My mom wasn’t excited about it.

  Mom was always the first one in the neighborhood to decorate for the holidays. And not just the big ones, either. Snowflakes turned to hearts, then leprechauns, bunnies, American flags… that woman had something for everything. Dad and I joked that if we held still long enough, she’d wrap a garland around us.

  Naturally, she was taking her trunk-or-treating duties seriously. Maybe a little too seriously, based on the basket of Death by Chocolate cake pops in front of me. Mom said they were a “quick trial run” before the big day. Nothing about individually wrapped pumpkins, ghosts, and mummies looked quick to me. “You know most people just pass out candy, right?”

  “Of course, but this is your first big event. I want to help make it successful.”

  They looked amazing, but there was one tiny problem. “Mom, we’re expecting three hundred kids.”

  Undeterred, she plucked a mummy from the basket, unwrapped it, and passed it to me over the countertop. “Consider it a labor of love. Now try this before I go. Your father’s waiting in the car.”

  I was about to ask if she was high on frosting fumes when Cara playfully bumped me aside and helped herself to a pumpkin. “While we’re on the topic of love, did you know Jack has a crush on his neighbor? He’s been gushing about her all morning.”

  “Oh?” Mom’s face lit up like she’d just learned about a brand-new international holiday. Great. I was going to kill Cara for starting this. Never mind that I didn’t know how to hide the body—there had to be a book about it somewhere in this library.

  “First of all, men don’t gush. And second, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been in my office all morning. Alone.”

  Cara, the traitor that she was, had the nerve to smile at me. “Sorry, it must’ve been the other handsome library director who made three trips to the Keurig because he was up late last night with a friend.”

  Okay, that was true. I was at Tuesday’s until after midnight, watching her film and edit, and then just talking.

  I know.

  Me?

  Talking all night?

  I was equally shocked.

  But mentioning I was tired after hanging out with Tuesday was a far cry from gushing about her. “Can’t a guy have some coffee without being hassled?”

  “Nice try. You hate flavored coffee.”

  Also true. Pumpkin spice belonged in a crust under a pile of whipped cream, but it was Cara’s turn to stock the Keurig and undercaffeinated beggars can’t be choosers. Stil
l, I refused to admit she was right—about the coffee or my crush—so I opted for eating the cake pop instead of answering her.

  “Anyway,” Cara continued, “his phone’s been dinging all day. He got fourteen texts before I stopped counting.”

  Mom’s mouth fell open. “What’s her name? How did you—”

  I held up a hand to stop her while I finished chewing. “It was a group text with Erin and Diego because I’m dog sitting for them this weekend.” Again, that was technically true—three of those messages were about me picking up Brutus tonight.

  They didn’t need to know that the other ones were from Tuesday with updates on her blog post and demo reel (both finished), the applications she submitted (four), and random bits of conversation after that. She even sent me a picture of Taylor lying on the bed, sprawled on top of a sweater. The caption said, When the cat becomes your fashion consultant and tells you what not to wear. Was she naked when she snapped that photo?

  “If you were texting about a dog, why are you turning red?”

  Shit. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. The higher it climbed, the bigger her smirk got, and then she and Mom were cackling like a couple of hens. “That’s it. Cara’s fired, and you’re both banned from the premises.”

  My empty threat did little to curb their laughter, but that didn’t matter because my payback had just walked through the door. Roger was a retired teacher in his sixties who looked like Richard Attenborough’s long-lost brother, according to Cara. He came to the library every Friday at two p.m. It was her favorite time of the week, and right now, it was mine too.

  “Afternoon, ladies. Jack.” He nodded a greeting and slipped his books into the return slot.

  “Roger! It’s good to see you.” I flashed a grin at my co-worker. “Isn’t it good to see Roger?” Cara’s stilted smile told me she was likely plotting my murder. The irony of this new development had me laughing inwardly. I wasn’t cruel enough to divulge her crush right in front of him, but I was going to have some fun. “Hey Roger, would you mind doing a favor for me?”

  He nodded again. “Sure.”

  I briefly introduced my mom and the cake pops she brought in. “Could you help Cara pass them out to our guests? Mom’s gotta go and I have a meeting.” That was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that.

  Cara let out a strangled cough and patted my shoulder a little harder than necessary. “I’m sure he has more important things to do, Jack. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t mind.” They reached for the basket at the same time, his hand closing over hers. The pink tinge on her cheeks brought a youthfulness to her face that zapped any guilt I had for starting this. Cara thrived on routine—it was one of the reasons she genuinely liked Roger’s weekly visits to the library—but in the years after her husband passed, she got used to being alone. You can’t thrive on routine when you’re not actually thriving.

  From the looks of it, maybe that was about to change for her.

  For me too, I hoped.

  And that was very much the truth.

  It’d been twenty-four hours since I last stood on Tuesday’s doorstep. It was crazy how much could change in one day. Namely, I wasn’t a nervous wreck this time. I didn’t need encouraging texts from Diego, not that it would’ve mattered since he and Erin were halfway to Seattle right now. I didn’t even tell him my plan when I picked up Brutus earlier.

  I was on my own, armed with a cake pop and an invitation that served two purposes—it gave me an excuse to see Tuesday tonight, and hopefully a chance to see her on Halloween, too. I hid the treat behind my back and knocked on her door.

  “Who is it?”

  What the…? I stepped back, double checking the metal number on the placard. It was definitely Tuesday’s apartment. “Umm. It’s Jack. Tuesday’s neighbor.”

  The door swung open, revealing a little girl in a princess-style dress up gown and fuzzy slippers. “You’re the one she was telling Mommy about. She said you’re cute.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She also said you have a nice bottom, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to hear that part.”

  I chuckled as the girl’s eyes fell to the ten-pound hairball beside me.

  “What’s your dog’s name?”

  “Brutus.”

  “Can I pet him?”

  “Sure.”

  At the sound of her kissy noises, Brutus wagged his way over the threshold and flopped down at her feet, presenting his belly to her. I couldn’t hold it against him, though. I would’ve done the same thing if Tuesday made kissy noises at me.

  Speaking of… “Is Tuesday here?”

  “She’s in the kitchen making popcorn. You can come in if you want.”

  Hell yeah I did, but not at the suggestion of a kid who looked like she could count her age on one hand. “Maybe you should ask her first.”

  The girl angled her head over her shoulder and shouted, “Aunt Tuesday, the boy you like is here!”

  “Very funny!”

  “He brought his dog, too.”

  “He doesn’t have a dog.”

  “Well he doesn’t have a nice bottom either!” She looked up at me and shrugged. “No one does. Butts are gross.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, my chest bouncing with silent laughter. This was going far better than I could’ve imagined. It was time to kick it up a notch. “Tell her I need to borrow a cup of sugar.”

  As soon as she relayed my message, Tuesday emerged from the kitchen, wide-eyed, with a bag of popcorn in one hand and a plastic bowl in the other. I loved the flush of her cheeks almost as much as I loved what she was wearing—pink flannel pants, a shirt that said pajama llama, and a pair of red-framed glasses. She was fucking adorable. She set the popcorn supplies on the coffee table and crossed the living room. “Jack! Hey! Come out of the cold.” She motioned me inside and shut the door behind me.

  “See, I told you he was here with his dog.”

  “It’s my best friend’s dog, so technically your aunt is still right.”

  “I want a dog, but Mommy said no.”

  Tuesday nudged the girl with her knee. “She also said not to open the door to strangers.”

  “But it wasn’t a stranger. It was the boy you—”

  “I have an idea! How about you choose our next movie while I talk to Jack?”

  The girl scooped Brutus into her arms and stood up, nuzzling his fur. “How about Jack watches the movie with us so I can play with Brutus some more?”

  “I’m not sure he wants to spend his Friday evening watching a Disney movie.”

  If it meant sitting next to Tuesday for the next few hours, I’d volunteer to play beauty shop and have my nails painted while I was at it. “I’ve actually never seen one.”

  Both girls stared at me, mouth agape, like I’d committed a sin. “How is that possible?” Tuesday asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t have any sisters.”

  “Yay!” The girl unclipped the leash and handed it to me. “Come on Brutus, you can help me pick out a movie.” She was gone in a flash, leaving Tuesday and me in the entryway.

  “Sorry about that. Olivia’s…”

  “She’s cute.”

  “She’s something, all right.” Tuesday shook her head and smiled.

  Maybe one of these days I’d work up enough courage to tell her how beautiful she was when she did that. For now, I’d stick with my original excuse for stopping by. “Do you have plans on Halloween?”

  “My Aunt Alma and I are taking Oliva trick-or-treating. My brother’s having surgery on his foot the day before, so Selena is going to stay home with him and pass out candy.”

  I brought the cake pop from behind my back and waved it in front of her. “Want to go trunk-or-treating at the library instead? It’s our first year doing it, but it should be pretty fun. We’ll have fire trucks, a bounce house, and the best Death by Chocolate cake you’ve ever had. I figured you could get some footage to add to your demo reel while y
ou’re there.”

  Tuesday’s entire face lit up. “Would you be willing to go on camera for an interview?”

  Shit. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My gut reaction was a solid no, but it wasn’t like anyone would actually see the clip. “If you come, I’ll do the interview,” I heard myself say. She had a way of doing that to me. I blamed those damn glasses she was wearing. Her smile, too. They should both come with a warning label—May impair decision making; view at your own risk.

  Tuesday

  My fairy godmother needed a raise. Not only had she granted a night with my favorite girl, she’d also delivered my very own Prince Charming right to my doorstep. One who brought some darn good cake, I might add. I was cloud nine’s newest resident. “You were right. That was delicious.”

  Jack beamed with pride. “My mom makes them. She always goes overboard for holidays, but I can’t fault her for it.”

  “Will she be there on Halloween?”

  He nodded. “Knowing her, she’ll make enough to feed a small army. I think she misses my baseball days when she was the team mom.”

  “Baseball? I thought you were a swimmer.”

  Jack tipped his head down, his mouth curving into a smile. “How’d you know I was a swimmer?”

  Oh God. Because I’m a cyberstalker and found videos of you and your spandex-covered man parts. You have an impressive bulge, by the way. “I was… doing some research for my blog. Background info and whatnot.” I waved my hand in the space between us like my cheeks weren’t on fire and I hadn’t just sacrificed the outermost layer of my skin. Who knew embarrassment was such a great exfoliator?

  Jack’s smile grew wider. “And during this research, you randomly stumbled on clips of me swimming from seven years ago?”

  “Yep.” All sixteen of them. “Congrats on your win! Go Rebels!” And if my verbal diarrhea wasn’t bad enough, I actually fist-pumped the air. Fairy godmother, why hath thou forsaken me? All I could do now was shut up, close my eyes, and pray the floor would swallow me whole.