by Graves, Jane
She knew what this was all about. Brett just wanted to know every woman he came into contact with wanted him. Well, she had news for him. She didn’t want him. She had a lot going for her, but most of it was between her ears. Why would she spend one more minute with a man whose only goal in life was to get laid as often as possible?
She brushed past Brett. “I was following Edwin out the door.”
“You don't have to leave.”
“My apartment lock is fixed.”
“Which still doesn’t mean you have to leave.”
She kept walking. When she was almost to the door, he shouted at her. “Kelsey!”
She turned back, her lips pursed with irritation. “What?”
“Your bag?”
Damn. She backtracked and grabbed her carry-on. When she was almost out the door again, he said, “Your shoes?”
Crap.
She went back and grabbed her shoes, making every effort to avoid those stunning blue eyes again. She was smart enough to know her weaknesses, and those eyes were pure Kryptonite.
“See you Tuesday night at Gianelli’s,” Brett said.
Kelsey spun back around. “What?”
“You and Angi always come in on Tuesdays. Four-dollar cocktails and half price appetizers.”
“Uh…”
“And you know Angi will want to be there. It’s Paul’s divorce day.”
Oh, God. He was right. Angi had recently acquired the hots for Paul Schanbaum, one of the waiters at Gianelli’s. He seemed to be interested in Angi, but he was so scared of his soon to be ex‑wife that until the ink was dry on his divorce papers, he wasn’t chancing any kind of encounter. If Angi had her way, that would change on Tuesday.
“Angi can fend for herself,” Kelsey said.
“Nope. You know she hates to sit at the bar alone. Says it makes her feel like a cheap hooker drumming up business.” That smile again. “So I guess I’ll see you there?”
Kelsey hated that he was right. Hated it. If she didn’t go with Angi tomorrow night, she’d probably get an elbow to her other eye.
Without another word to Brett, she hurried across the hall to her apartment, telling herself that what Angi wanted didn’t matter. The very fact that Brett asked her if she was coming meant she had no intention of going. What did he expect her to do? Join the ranks of women who surrounded him at the bar and got all giggly every time he looked their way?
Nope. Whether Angi liked it or not, she was staying home on Tuesday night, and that was that.
* * *
2
No doubt about it. Edwin's timing sucked.
Brett tossed his beer bottle into the trash and Kelsey’s glass into the dishwasher, wondering once again if it was even possible to get past the roadblocks that woman shoved in front of him.
“Boomer?” he said. “What’s the deal with us and Kelsey? I thought we were irresistible.”
Boomer turned over in his bed and sat up, panting blissfully. If only Kelsey hung on his every word the way Boomer did, he might be able to get somewhere with her. Instead she treated him as if he had a communicable disease. So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?
Brett remembered a time in high school when he brought home one of his girlfriends for dinner. She was tall and model‑thin, wearing tiny shorts that barely covered the little round globes of her ass. She’d spent most of dinner shoving her food around on her plate as if she was anorexic, talking about how it was her goal to enter the Miss White Plains pageant. She figured she’d be a shoo-in because she had naturally blond hair and could twirl her batons while they were on fire. The fourteen hours she’d spent playing with the puppies and kittens at the Westchester SPCA would only be icing on the cake—the judges loved that community service thing. And then, of course, it would be on to Miss New York.
After she left, Brett’s brain focused on only one thing: what he could do to talk that little blonde into the backseat of his car and out of those microscopic shorts. And the whole time, every nerve in his seventeen-year-old body shouted, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in LOVE! But then his father looked over the top of his bifocals and said the strangest thing.
“Son? Did you know your mother can tie a square knot?”
Brett came off cloud nine and resented every moment of it. But when Frank Hollister spoke, most people listened, and his sons certainly weren’t exempt. “Uh…no, Dad, I didn’t know that.”
“Administer CPR?”
“Didn’t know that, either.”
“She can do the New York Times crossword puzzle. Every last bit of it. In pen. Are you catching my drift?”
“Not really.”
His father leaned forward. “If the apocalypse came, your mother would hike to the Alaska wilderness if that was what was necessary to save her family. And she wouldn’t be dragging a blow dryer with her, looking for an electrical outlet. Do you hear me?”
He heard. He just didn’t get it. “Uh…Dad? Is there a reason you’re telling me all this?”
“No way would your mother have ever been Miss New York. But she makes a damned fine Mrs. Hollister.” He skewered Brett with a no‑nonsense look. “There are girls you have fun with, and there are girls you marry. For God’s sake, son, when the time comes, don’t confuse the two.”
Brett spent the next several years ignoring his father’s advice, right up to the time he dated a woman who thought there were fifty cards in a deck and fifty two states in the union. After that, no matter how hot the woman or how good the sex, he thought back to what his father said and realized the man had a point.
Then he’d met Kelsey.
She came to Gianelli's at least once a week with her best friend and partner, Angi Clarkson. Angi was a woman Brett would never have taken for a cop if she hadn’t dropped by once in uniform. She looked like Law Enforcement Barbie, complete with bleach blond hair, cherry‑red nails, and bronzed skin that came from a “thirty days for thirty dollars” promo at Blazing Bodies Tanning Salon.
Kelsey, on the other hand, wore practical, non‑girly clothes. She had beautiful golden‑brown hair, but she always wore it shoved back in a low ponytail, and she was a stranger to all but the slightest bit of makeup. But there was a glow about her that was unmistakable, and even though she didn’t dress to thrill, he could still tell there was a body beneath her utilitarian clothes he wanted to see more of.
Because she was the kind of woman who could disappear in a crowd of two, at first he’d barely noticed her. Then one evening she ordered a White Russian, telling him she wanted him to make it with nonfat milk. He gave her an indulgent smile and told her she needed to stop depriving herself. He only made White Russians with cream, so if she wanted nonfat milk in a drink, she needed to go to Starbucks. She matched his smile and told him it was his job to make his customers happy, and if he insisted on doing crap like making her a White Russian with cream, he’d eventually end up in the unemployment line.
Under normal circumstances, he could hand a woman a glass of motor oil and she’d drink it. Not Kelsey. In the end, she got her nonfat White Russian, and he felt a tiny surge of interest he hadn’t expected.
In the ensuing weeks, they argued over politics, religion, the possibility of life on Mars, iPhone versus Android, immigration, the virtues of various laundry stain removers, Bigfoot, and whatever YouTube video went viral that day. But even when she disagreed with nearly every word he said, her intelligence and quick wit shone through. Against all odds, the more she snubbed him, the more he wanted to be around her. Then he moved into her building and found out there was more to her than he ever imagined.
He saw her knocking on her elderly neighbors’ doors with groceries in hand. Overheard her having tough-love words with teenagers who were skirting the law. Listened to other tenants’ stories about how she’d confronted the management when the security in their building wasn’t sufficient. She did things quietly, under the radar, the way people did when it was just part of who they were, and before long
his infatuation had become a full‑fledged obsession.
A few weeks ago, he tried to ask her out. Naturally, he used the same charming, gotta‑love‑me approach he’d been using to get girls since he was fourteen years old. He literally didn’t get the words out of his mouth before she gave him a dirty look and told him to stop messing with her. It shocked him so much that he clamped his mouth shut and retreated down the bar to find another woman to flirt with, just to make sure he hadn’t lost his touch. As it turned out, he still had it, but Kelsey wasn’t buying it. For the first time in his life, a woman intimidated him, and he just didn’t know what to do about it. He told himself he needed to move on to another woman who was easier to get, but a little voice inside his head kept whispering, She’s different. Don’t give up. She might be the one.
Tonight he’d been handed an opportunity on a silver platter, and he’d done everything he could to make the most of it. Then Edwin had screwed it all up. Brett had managed to slip inside Kelsey’s space and shake her up a little, but once the spell was broken, her cynicism had kicked in again and the walls came up. He just didn’t understand it. How could a woman who gave so much to others be so wary of taking anything for herself?
But Brett wasn't backing down, and he wasn't giving up. Kelsey was the real deal, the kind of woman he'd been looking for his whole adult life. She didn't know it yet, but before it was all over, she was going to want him every bit as much as he wanted her.
* * *
Kelsey unpacked her suitcase, tossing dirty clothes into her laundry basket and returning toiletries to her bathroom. Then she tucked the suitcase into the spot beneath her bed she’d carefully carved out for it, the exact place it had occupied since the day she moved into her tiny apartment. If she didn’t have a place for everything, how could everything be in its place?
She went back to the living room, where she picked up a small container of goldfish food. She flicked a tiny pinch of it into the bowl, and Francine swished her way to the surface. She sucked in a few of the nasty-smelling flakes, then retreated to the bottom of her bowl, where she floated aimlessly, her gills pulsing in and out.
Kelsey checked the clock on her stove to make sure it wasn’t blinking, which would tell her the power in the building had gone out for the umpteenth time and food might be spoiled in her fridge. All was well, but she still did a quick tour of her milk and vegetables to make sure she hadn’t incorrectly estimated spoilage dates, culling out a red pepper that looked a little iffy. Then came a quick check of her window by the fire escape, looking for evidence of an attempted breach while she’d been gone.
Everything looked ship shape.
She changed into jeans and a T-shirt. After grabbing the shopping bag she’d brought home from Jamaica, she left her apartment and walked down the hall to 502. When she knocked on the door, she heard a baby crying inside, and then some shuffling around. A long pause. Then the smack of two deadbolts and the jangle of a chain lock.
Finally the door opened and Sofia DeVita peered out. She wore a pair of frayed denim shorts cut all the way up to her butt and a white tank top dipping dangerously low toward her breasts. A pair of headphones hung around her neck. She had pink streaks in her jet-black hair and wore so much mascara she could barely keep her eyes open. Anybody just passing by would have taken her for eighteen rather than thirteen, a situation that was dangerous on just about every level.
Sofia held Ricky in one arm, resting him against her hip. Tears filled the baby’s eyes, and his face was red. He gripped an orange plastic teething ring, making every effort to chew it to pieces. Across the room, Rosa sat cross-legged in front of the television watching some too‑loud show aimed at the preschool set. She wore a threadbare T‑shirt and jeans, and her dark, unruly hair was shoved away from her face with a pink plastic hairband.
“Hey,” Kelsey said.
Sofia shifted the baby to her other hip. “Hey.”
“Just wanted to let you know I’m home from Jamaica. Is your mom still at work?”
“Uh-huh. So if you want to talk to her—“
“Nah. I just wanted to drop by for my key.” Kelsey slipped her ten dollars. “Thanks for feeding Francine.”
Sofia took the money, then picked up Kelsey’s key from a table beside the door and handed it to her.
“Mind if I say hi to Rosa?” Kelsey asked.
Sofia backed away and opened the door wider, and Kelsey walked into the apartment. Rosa looked over her shoulder, and a big smile came over her face.
“Kelsey!”
“Hey, kid,” Kelsey said. “How’s it going?”
Rosa leaped to her feet. “I’m watching Angelina Ballerina.”
“Yeah?”
“I can dance. Wanna see?”
“Sure.”
She did a clumsy pirouette, her hands stretched out from her sides. As she came around, she whacked a lamp shade. If Kelsey hadn’t grabbed it in time, the lamp would have crashed to the floor.
“Stop it, Rosa,” Sofia said. “You’re going to break something.”
“No harm done,” Kelsey said. “I’ve got it.”
She righted the lamp and sat down, and Rosa immediately climbed onto the sofa and sat beside her. Sofia flopped in the tattered chair next to the sofa, setting the unhappy baby in her lap and jiggling her knee, clearly trying to stave off another crying jag. Kelsey wanted to mention that maybe it was a little late for the kids to be up, but she sensed Sofia wouldn’t take kindly to a critique of her parenting skills.
Parenting? God, this was so wrong.
Kelsey knew Gloria was doing what she could as a single mother, but she worried about the pressure that put on Sofia. It was hell for her to be thrust into crushing responsibility at an age when she should have been playing video games and going to slumber parties.
“I have something for you,” she told Rosa. She reached into her bag and pulled out a stuffed crab with big, googly eyes. She handed it to the little girl. “There are lots of crabs in Jamaica. I thought I’d bring you one.”
Rosa grinned and took the stuffed toy, hugging it to her chest. “He looks like Sebastian.”
Kelsey looked at Sofia.
“The Little Mermaid,” Sofia said.
“Oh.” Kelsey pulled a little white box from the bag and held it out to Sofia. “This is for you.”
Sofia blinked. “For me? What is it?”
“Just a little something.”
Sofia juggled the baby to one side, opened the box, and stared down at the dainty necklace. “A seashell?”
“A lady in a shop in Montego Bay makes them,” Kelsey said. “I thought maybe you’d like one.”
Sofia looked at it a long time, finally reaching out a finger to touch the seashell. “It’s pretty.”
“Do you want me to put it on you?” Kelsey asked.
Sofia looked undecided. “No,” she said finally, putting the top back on the box. “Ricky will just pull it off me.”
“I don’t think he will. It fits close to your neck.”
“Maybe later.” She set the box down on the end table and turned back to the baby, who’d screwed up his face as if he was going to cry. Five minutes. I wish you could be a teenager for just five minutes.
“The wedding I went to was nice,” she told Sofia. “I was a bridesmaid.”
“Yeah?” Sofia said, her eyes brightening. “With the dress and everything?”
“Yeah. I’ll show you a picture sometime.”
“What color was it?”
“Kind of blue. Turquoise, I guess.”
Then Sofia's expression locked down again, and she turned away. “Weddings are dumb. I watch those shows on TV. If I had that kind of money, I wouldn't be spending it on a wedding like those, that's for sure."
Kelsey hated that. Girls Sophia’s age were supposed to be watching those shows and fantasizing about dresses and rings and the men of their dreams. Kelsey knew it wasn’t that Sofia didn’t want those things. It was just that she couldn’t see a wa
y, within the world she knew, that she could ever have them.
Kelsey tweaked Ricky’s foot. “How’s he doing? He seems a little cranky tonight.”
Sofia sighed. “Still teething.”
“I’ve heard that’s pretty hard to deal with.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How's school going?” Kelsey asked.
“Okay.”
That was probably a lie. When in the world did Sofia have time to study?
“So is your mom still seeing Eduardo?”
Sofia paused. “Yeah. She’s still seeing him.”
The downturned eyes. The stiff posture. The tight, clipped words. Kelsey picked up on all of it. “You act as if you don’t like him.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
Sofia shrugged weakly, her eyes still shifted away from Kelsey’s. “I just wish he'd stop coming around. That's all."
A faint but worrisome alarm went off inside Kelsey’s head. Eduardo was a maintenance man at the hotel where Gloria worked, a big, unsmiling man with a craggy face and a gruff manner. A more positive person might say he was simply the strong, silent type and leave it at that. But the few times Kelsey had seen him, her cop instincts had kicked in, and she wondered whether there was something lurking beneath the surface that Gloria had better be watching out for.
Eduardo spent far too much time at their apartment, and Kelsey wondered how long it would be before he found a way to move in with Gloria and start sponging off her. After all, Gloria was one of those sweet but clueless women who weren’t particularly smart when it came to choosing men. The fact that she had three kids by two men already, both of whom had left her high and dry, attested to that. She had no idea how disruptive a revolving door for men could be to her children, Sofia in particular. Kids knew. They always knew when something wasn’t right, and Kelsey wondered if Sofia’s feelings about Eduardo might be right on target even if Gloria’s weren’t.
“Well, I’d better be going.” Kelsey wrapped her arm around Rosa’s shoulders and gave her a little hug. “Take care of your crab.”
