Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2)

by C. R. Grissom

  I need to get my bike from Grams’s parking space where I leaned it against her storage closet. I peek around the wall that separates the sheltered parking area for residents from the courtyard and spy a familiar golf cart parked in her space. Frick clamps a heavy chain and lock on my back tire.

  Holy crap. What the hell? Why are they such jerks?

  “This will teach her not to park her bike illegally,” Frick observes.

  “We can impound it until she pays the fine,” says Frack.

  For fox sake. I’m going to have to hit up an ATM to pay their stinking fine. I’ll deal with that tomorrow. I sneak away from the carport silent as a thief. Inventing new, vile names for the duo while crossing the grounds to the opposite exit. A three-mile trek to the gym looms in my immediate future. I send another text to Grams about leaving my bike behind, so she doesn’t freak. Well, she’ll be peeved about the chain when she sees it, but that can’t be helped.

  My cell rings in my pocket. I pull it out hoping it’s not Grams. The area code is seven-seven-five, which is Henderson, but it’s a number I don’t recognize. I accept the call and press the cell to my ear.

  You have a prepaid call from Helen Sharpe, an inmate at the Henderson Detention Center. To accept this call press five. To decline this call push seven. To block this caller press nine.

  Shit. I punch seven. I can’t talk to Mom.

  Arriving at Pump It Fit on the sweaty side and in an ugly mood, I wish the gym had punching bags instead of treadmills. I promise myself a token-filled evening with a HydroMassage table instead. My mood improves at the thought. The front desk sits empty, and my chest tightens. I press my finger against the sensor to log in and then realize the stupidity of following the rules. If no one knows I’m here, they can’t kick me out. Dammit.

  I’ve got to start covering my ass, be sneakier. And then it hits me. Mom played this game. She outsmarted and conned people. Rules didn’t apply to her. An icy finger of dread slithers down my spine like a bad omen. I don’t want to be her. Even though I shouldn’t crash here, I won’t scam the system by not logging in. Pain spears behind my left eye. I press my fingers into the spot above my brow to alleviate the hurt.

  If I get thrown out, so be it. It’s better to be caught straight out and take it on the chin than to dive headfirst on a slippery slide into complete lawlessness.

  “Hey, Phoebes. Are you okay?”

  I jump, knock my left calf into the foot rail at the counter, trip over my bag and wobble backward. Tiago catches me, wrapping his arms around me to keep me from hitting the floor.

  “Whoa. Are you sick?” He sets me on my feet, keeping one arm around me.

  I shake my head and close my eyes. It feels so good to be in his arms right now. Like maybe nothing bad will happen if I stay here. He smells like safety, citrus, and spice—masculine yet subtle.

  “I’m fine.” I try to step out of his arms, but his hold remains firm. “You startled me, that’s all.”

  He releases me. “Okay, Phoebes. I have a strict no-fainting rule in the gym. Please don’t overexert yourself tonight.” He smiles. “I’m keeping track of you.” He winks at me with a golden sparkle in his eyes.

  Well, crap. I’m frazzled and it’s showing. Just when you need to be incognito, you capture the attention of the gym’s alpha predator. “I’m chronically clumsy. Something you couldn’t understand, Simba,” I add under my breath.

  “Did you hit your head or something?”

  “Who, me? No.” Why did I say that out loud?

  His brows draw together. “Did you just call me Simba? Isn’t that the baby lion from that Disney flick?”

  “Yes, but he grows up. You know, by the end of the movie.” Can I sound more like a moron?

  “What’s with you and this lion thing?”

  Crap. “If you must know, it’s your eyes. They’re gold, like a lion’s. And you have this top of the food chain arrogance about you.”

  He laughs. “Seriously? You say it like it’s a good thing.”

  “Yes. No. Forget it. I need to change.” I step away from him but call out over my shoulder. “Don’t you have a gym to run?”

  The sound of his laughter follows me to the women’s locker room. My face is on fire, revealing my shame like a beacon, kind of like the single-red-emergency-spinning-strobe Frick and Frack attached to the roof of their golf cart. I change into my workout gear, which consists of ankle-length yoga leggings and a T-shirt that reads, Four out of three people struggle with Math.

  I need the power of HydroMassage to help me forget this day’s anxieties and blowups. Setting my earbuds in, I select ballads from my playlist. John Legend’s “All of Me” starts playing and a familiar ache fills my chest. I’d love to find what he and his wife have found in each other. The odds are astronomical, though, and I have lousy luck with men.

  I head out and store my laptop in my rented locker, resolute about not beginning a conversation with the lion-eyed gym-boy. I already agreed to boba tea with him tomorrow. No need to engage now. Too bad the tables are positioned behind the front desk and a certain Simba.

  Earbuds in, I strut to the front desk and plunk down cash to exchange for tokens.

  His eyebrows lift. “Are you planning to spend the night?”

  “Tokens, please,” I ask and remove one earbud, pretending I didn’t hear what he said.

  He drops the pile of tokens into my palm. “Was it something I said?”

  “Thanks,” I say, ignoring his question. Popping the earbud back in, I head over to the farthest table from him.

  Once the tokens are in and I’ve programmed the table, I relax for the first time in hours. Niall Horan’s “This Town” lulls me into what might be a meditative state. The jets work their magic while I unpack the guards’ latest move. Maybe I should talk to the people over at student housing again. Explain my situation. See if anything can be found for me. Maybe someone in the dorms changed their mind or transferred out. It’s not impossible.

  “Are you asleep?” the voice next to my ear asks. I startle awake and knock into the head belonging to the voice.

  “Shit. Damn. Man, that hurts,” Tiago says as he clutches his forehead.

  I’m holding the spot at the top of my head where I know a lump will form. “Ow. What the hell? No, I wasn’t asleep. I’m getting a massage.”

  He cracks open an eyelid to peer at me. “Your massage ended a half-hour ago.”

  “I was contemplating adding more tokens or extending my session.”

  “You’re out of tokens. And I know a load of crap when I smell one. Come on. My boss will be here any minute. He’ll go apeshit if he thinks you’re crashing here.”

  Caught on my first day. My heart tries its best to beat its way out of my chest. I roll off the table. “I’m not crashing here. My roommate has company. I came here to give her privacy.”

  That’s not a lie. I live with Grams. Gavin is her company. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. The HydroMassage works wonders. I’ll hit the showers and get out of your way.”

  “It’s late, almost one o’clock in the morning. Do you need a ride home?”

  “Nope. I’m good.” My left eyelid tics. I turn my face away from him, so he doesn’t notice.

  “Did you ride your bike? I won’t let you ride that thing at this time of night. It’s dangerous. Drivers won’t expect you to be on the road. You can get hurt. Believe me.”

  “Stop. I’ll be fine. Thanks for the offer.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the cyclist my dad almost hit thought, too.” He swipes his hand across his mouth. “It was late, and he was tired. He swerved to avoid the dude on the bike and hit the center divider. Now he can’t walk.”

  My chest goes tight. I wrap my arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Tiago.” I feel absolutely awful about triggering this memory for him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  His arms come around me to hold me briefly. “No, but thanks. I’ll wait for you at the front desk. We can leave as soon as Sonn
y gets here.”

  I’m screwed. I step out of his loose embrace. “Okay. Give me a half hour.”

  My cell rings as I step inside the locker room. Recognizing the number makes my heart skip two beats. What the hell does Mom’s boyfriend want, and why would he call me in the middle of the night? I send it to voicemail.

  While I wait to see if he leaves a message, I use my phone to search for an apartment complex close to an all-night diner and memorize the address, double-checking street view to familiarize myself with the building. I can’t let Tiago know my true situation. I can only hope he won’t try to walk me to the door.

  My phone dings and I launch voicemail to listen to what he has to say to me. “Phoebe, it’s Calvin. Checking in. Your mom’s trying to reach you. She needs your support now more than ever. Do me a favor, kiddo, and call her.”

  I delete the message. He knows how I feel about him. Why pretend we’re friendly with each other? Now I have two criminals to avoid. Except Calvin wasn’t charged. His lawyers claimed Calvin had a silent partner with access to the business. Without evidence, he’s free while Mom is a guest of the Henderson Detention Center awaiting trial.

  I don’t have time for this shit.

  After jumping out of the shower I dress in one of the spare outfits I packed, and head out to the front desk after grabbing my laptop. Tiago speaks quietly to a shorter man who stands behind the counter.

  “Ready?” he asks when he sees me. “Where’s your bike?”

  “I walked.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t ever walk alone in this neighborhood after sundown.”

  I nod and follow him to an older SUV parked behind the gym. He uses the key fob to unlock his car, yet still walks with me to the passenger side to open the door. A first for me.

  It’s tidy inside, a half-empty Gatorade bottle in the drink holder represents the only object in the car that doesn’t belong. Tiago climbs in and cranks the engine.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Willow Glen. I’ll program it on my phone for you.” I quickly type the address from memory into the maps app.

  “Huh. I’ve never had anyone do that. People usually tell me where to turn along the way.”

  Even to my own ears my laugh sounds fake. “Yeah, well. I haven’t lived in the area long. I wouldn’t want to get us lost.”

  “Good point.”

  I despise not telling the truth to anyone, but especially Tiago. Someone who cared enough about my safety to drive me home. He’s quiet on the drive to my fictional apartment. When we arrive, he parks on the street. “Listen,” he says. “About earlier. I want to ask a favor.”

  Worry weaves through my system, but I ask, “What’s the favor?”

  “About my dad… Um. You know, the accident. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it to anyone. It’s private.”

  I release the breath I’ve been holding. “Of course. I don’t break confidences. I won’t ever share what you’ve asked me to keep to myself.”

  He nods. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  Time to escape before he gets ideas about walking me to my nonexistent door. “Thanks for the ride. Good night.”

  I scurry from his car like rabid dogs are chasing me, walking quickly through the center of the eight-plex. Tossing a wave back at Tiago, who hasn’t started his engine yet. Ducking to my right, I press myself against the exterior wall while holding my breath because someone could call the cops on me for trespassing. I’m scared spitless. My phone buzzes in my hand. It startles me and I nearly hit the pavement. Tiago sent a one-word text: Inside?

  I use the thumbs-up emoji. So I don’t lie.

  After thirty seconds or three lifetimes, the motor cranks and Tiago takes off. I wait in the shadows a few more minutes before I head back out to the street on shaky legs and the diner that’s four blocks away. It’s going to be a long night.

  *

  The next afternoon, I stand outside Mama Chen’s Boba Tea Shop and take a deep breath. Convinced I smell like an all-night diner, and not the homey smells of apple pie or strawberry milkshakes—I imagine I smell like french fry oil and sauerkraut, even though I changed into my last spare outfit in the diner’s restroom. I check my reflection in the window and groan because my hair looks like I’ve nursed ten cups of coffee then crawled across an electrified ceiling on my hands and knees.

  I’m meeting Tiago here for my first bubble tea. It’s not a date. It’s a thank you. Which should make me happy since I don’t have time to date anyone. Much less the guy with a gaggle of girls who follow him around the gym like he’s some kind of Portuguese Pied Piper.

  Get over yourself. Go inside. Drink tea. Stop being awkward. He shared something private with you. He’s a good guy. I push into the shop and spot Tiago at the counter. He’s talking to the gal behind the case containing pre-made cold teas.

  He’s so pretty. Dark hair, wide shoulders, eight-pack abs and a firm butt. My core goes tighter than a slot machine rigged not to pay out.

  He glances my way. “Hey, Phoebes. What’s your pleasure, hot or cold?”

  “Cold, please.”

  “Okay, first-timers should always try the milk tea with mini boba.”

  “Sounds great.” I hope it doesn’t have caffeine because, if it does, I’ll be so wired I’ll be able to scale the side of the ten-story bank building next door.

  He pays for two tall cups and adds a dollar to the tip cup. “Thanks, Li.”

  If he’s on a first-name basis with the employees he must come here often.

  “Let’s grab a table.” Tiago leads me toward the far corner of the shop.

  He passes a cup to me when we find an empty spot. I almost choke on the mini boba when it hits my tongue. I didn’t realize the beads could fit inside the large straw. Taking a cautious bite, I manage to not embarrass myself. The pearl is chewier than I anticipated. The light sweetness is unexpected but flavorful.

  “Well. What do you think?”

  “It’s different, in a good way. Tasty actually.”

  He smiles at me. Full wattage. My stomach balls like a fist. I tell myself. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. But the words come out of my mouth anyway. “To be clear, this isn’t a date.”

  His eyebrows raise. “Okay.”

  “I mean…” Shut up. Shut up. “Right?”

  He smiles. “Nah. We’re just hanging out, right?”

  Oh, shit. Why did I open my mouth? “Thanks for the ride last night—I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  I slurp my drink. A boba bead hits the back of my throat. I cough in reaction and the bead lands on the table between us.

  He picks up the boba and studies the small orb. “Strong gag reflex.”

  Dying here. Why can’t I melt into the tiles? “You’re not the first guy to mention it.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tiago

  Sitting at Mama Chen’s with Phoebes has been an experience. She could have taken my eye out with that mini boba cannon shot a minute ago but didn’t.

  No harm. No foul.

  Every minute spent in her company makes me like her more. Dangerous because I want answers, not a girlfriend. When she clarified we weren’t on a date, disappointment stabbed me. I shut down that emotion. A good segue to move the conversation to her mom is all I need. I go with boring. “Tell me about yourself. You grew up in Vegas. What was that like?”

  “Only people from Cali say Vegas,” she corrects.

  “Only people from Vegas say Cali.” Well, and everyone outside of California.

  “Touché. Technically we lived in Henderson, outside Las Vegas. I don’t miss temps that reach one-twenty, but I miss my old neighborhood.”

  Adrenaline spikes, and I fist my hands under the table. “Did you live there all your life?”

  “I lived in the same house growing up. Right before I transferred, we had to sell and move into an apartment.”

  “Oh?” Come on. Tell me about your mama.

  “Long st
ory. Depressing. How about you? Have you lived here all your life?”

  “Yes. Do your parents still live in Henderson?”

  Her forehead wrinkles and her face flashes with an emotion that might be pain.

  “Dad died before I was born. Mom moved to a new place about the time I transferred here.”

  A truth, but she left out her mom’s new address at the Henderson Detention Center. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thanks, but you can’t truly miss what you never had.” She sips her tea while an awkward silence stretches between us. “My grandmother lives in the area though, so I’m not completely alone.”

  Her simple statement staggers me. I’m never alone. I have my family. Even after Dad’s accident, we’re together. They’re my foundation. I have the entire Portuguese community. And I have the team. Everest, CW, Baloo—all the guys. One text would bring them all.

  Time to change the subject. “What’s your most embarrassing memory?”

  Two blotches of pink instantly stain her cheeks. And now I’m dying to know what happened.

  “Why do you think I’d share my most embarrassing moment with you?”

  “Why not?” It’s not what I want to know, but the question was out before I considered it. “I’ll tell you mine. One time I split my pants drop-kicking a football. It would have been funny, except I was going commando. Mom never let me forget it. No sympathy, she shook her finger at me. ‘Bem feito.’”

  Phoebe laughs. “I can totally picture it. How old were you?”

  “A freshman in high school. Talk about living your nightmare.”

  Her eyes sparkle when she smiles. My stomach muscles clench.

  “What does bem feito mean?” she asks.

  “Loosely translates to ‘that’ll teach you.’”

  “I suppose it did.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t ever drop-kick a football while wearing street clothes anymore. Your turn. Tell me something embarrassing.”