by A. S. Teague
I have no idea how she walks in those things, but I thank the fashion Gods for having made them. Her legs seem to go on for days in her skin-tight designer jeans, and each time she stands, I can see that she clearly doesn’t skip leg day at the gym.
“All right, boys!” Rebecca calls, clapping her hands together. “The best part of the day! Lunch!”
The kids all jump up, cheering, and swarm the banquet table that’s laid out with the most delicious-smelling pizza and cookies. I amble over behind them and grab a plate, and my ears perk up when I hear one of the kids quietly address Rebecca.
“Miss Rebecca?” He tugs on her arm, and she pauses in line and bends down in front of him.
“Yeah, Max?”
“I, uhm, I just wanted to say––” He stops speaking and glances around. When he’s satisfied that no one else is paying them any attention, he continues in a whisper.
I strain my ears to hear what he’s saying, only feeling slightly guilty at my intrusion.
“My daddy was real proud of me the other night at the exhibition. I haven’t seen him smile like that since Mama––well, anyway. He told me that you were the reason I’m able to keep coming here. I just wanted to tell you thanks. For making my daddy smile again.” He glances around once more and then throws his thin arms around her neck in a tight hug.
She wobbles on her heels but recovers and wraps him up.
I can see her lips moving by his ear but can’t make out what she’s saying. Whatever it is, it’s obvious that it means something to both of them. When her gaze darts up and she catches me staring, I can’t look away. I’m lost in her brown eyes, which are glistening with tears. When one rolls down her cheek, she loosens her grip on Max and wipes it away. With a final smile, she sends him on his way with a plate of pizza and a cookie then stands and turns toward the buffet.
I snag a couple of slices of pizza from the table and drop them onto my plate. I’m reaching for the biggest chocolate chip cookie I’ve ever seen when I hear Rebecca behind me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks crisply.
Slowly, I turn to face her and see that she has both arms crossed over her chest. Once again, she’s wearing a top that shows just enough cleavage to tease me, and I have a hard time dragging my gaze away.
She clears her throat again. “Earth to Ryker.”
I force my eyes up and reply, “Having lunch.” Making a show of looking over my shoulder at the clock on the wall, I ask, “It is lunchtime, right?”
“Yes, it is. For the kids.” She gestures at the group seated along the wall. “Just like this pizza. It’s for them. Not the trainers.”
I can’t tell if she’s serious or just giving me a hard time, but regardless, I pick a slice up and take a large bite, raising my eyebrows at her. “This pizza?” I ask, my mouth full of sausage and pepperoni.
Her jaw falls open, and her eyes narrow. “You’re disgusting.”
Still chewing, I grin at her.
“I mean it, Ryker. Put that other slice back! And that cookie. You most certainly cannot have one of my cookies,” she insists, her arms waving around wildly.
I drop the half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box and pick the cookie up. “You made these?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
“No. But I bought them. So that makes them mine. And you can’t have one,” she snaps childishly.
I’m bringing the cookie toward my open mouth when her hand slaps it out of mine, and it falls to the floor.
“Oh my God, look at what you did!” she squeals, staring at the broken cookie lying on the dirty gym floor.
“Me? You’re the one who knocked it out of my hand!”
“Yeah, because you were going to take a bite of it. After I told you to put it back.”
I’ve only eaten a protein bar for breakfast and am currently starved. But my rumbling stomach aside, I was enjoying her eyes widening every time my jaw clenched as I chewed.
“So, now, no one gets the cookie?” I ask.
She cocks one hip and puts a hand on it before confirming. “Yep.”
Shaking my head at her terrible logic, I change the subject. My stomach’s growling, but it’s obvious that I won’t be filling it with any more pizza.
“So, what exactly was little Max over there thanking you for?” I ask, dropping my empty plate in the trash can beside her. I purposely chose that one to get closer to her, and I’m rewarded with the scent of her perfume. It’s subtle, but sexy, and it’s a smell I’m sure I’ll be dreaming about tonight.
Her body stiffens, and her expression becomes guarded. “That’s none of your business.” She takes a step away from me.
I follow her and grasp her arm, gently pulling her back to me. “You’re right. It’s not my business. But I saw the way it affected you.” And I need to know why.
Her body is still stiff, only it’s pressed against mine now.
I bend down and whisper in her ear, “I didn’t like seeing your tears.”
She yanks on her arm, but I don’t loosen my grip. Rolling her eyes, she hisses, “Give me a break,” before looking away.
Using the hand that isn’t holding her against me, I grasp her chin and tilt her head up so that she’s looking me in the eyes. “I mean it, Rebecca. I didn’t like seeing you sad. Tell me what he was talking about.”
After letting out a sigh, she says, “He came in a few months ago on a field trip. Showed a lot of promise with the few moves he tried out and was eager to sign up for lessons.” She hesitates and looks over at Max.
He’s busy laughing with another boy, and she smiles.
“Anyway, he came back in the next day with his dad and Tripp talked to them about the different classes we offered. When it came time to talk about money, his father put on a brave face but quietly told him that they didn’t have the money for it.”
My heart lurches as her voice grows thick with emotion.
“Max walked out the door crying and it broke my heart.” Her eyes well up with tears again.
When one escapes, I use the pad of my thumb to wipe it away.
She jerks back with surprise before awkwardly finishing with, “So that’s it.”
I shake my head and smile. “No, it’s not.”
She lets out a huff and mutters, “You’re such an asshole.”
I bark a laugh. “You’ve got no idea.”
I’m worried she’s done opening up to me, but she surprises me and says, “I paid for his lessons myself and told his dad we gave him a scholarship because of his talent. Obviously, he didn’t buy it, but I don’t care. Max is a natural in here and deserves the chance to see where his talent can take him. His dad’s a good guy, struggling to make ends meet after his wife passed away.” She shrugs at me and blows the hair out of her face. “So, that’s what that was about. Feel better now that you know?” Her voice is laced with attitude, but her eyes are downcast, and she’s nervously toying with the end of her hair.
“Immensely,” I whisper as the bell chimes behind me.
“Right,” she breathes. Then she pushes past me and walks toward her desk to greet the couple who just came in.
Despite the burning desire to yank her back to me and lay one on her, I make no move to stop her. Instead, I stay frozen in place, staring at this perplexing woman. With her loud and over-the-top exterior, I would have never guessed that inside was a heart with a soft spot for children.
Beauty? Check.
Sass? Check.
Heart of gold? Check.
After I hear their teacher tell them it’s time to go back to school, the kids run up to me to tell me goodbye. I push the memory of her body pressed against mine to the back of my mind and head over to the office to talk to Breccan.
I spend the rest of the day avoiding Ryker at all costs. After I spilled my secret about paying for Max’s lessons, something not even Breccan knew about, I couldn’t look in his direction without feeling embarrassed. It isn’t that I told him what I had done. It’s the fa
ct that he saw me cry.
I am not a crier. I do not let people see me down or upset. It isn’t a matter of pride. I am just generally a happy person. It takes a lot to upset me, so when I do find myself wallowing in sadness or self-pity, I make sure to do it alone. Preferably with a couple bottles of wine and an entire chocolate cake.
It proves to be too difficult to avoid Ryker the following day, seeing as how he shows up before anyone else did and I am forced to speak to him as we walk in together. Knowing I am not going to get around talking to him when we are both at the gym, I take the second half of the week off. Breccan has no choice but to give me the time, seeing as how I haven’t had a day off in months.
I spend Wednesday deep-cleaning my condo, a chore I hate, in preparation for the upcoming showings over the weekend. My condo has been on the market for what seems like an eternity, but that is okay with me. I’m not really in any hurry to sell it, just ready for something new. I settled on my current condo when I moved out of my parents’ house, eager to be on my own and prove I was finally an adult. I haven’t even found a new house, instead enjoying the experience of house-hunting.
Thursday, I keep busy by running errands I usually can’t do during working hours. But, when I wake up on Friday, I realize I have run out of things to occupy my time. After binging on cheesy ’90s sitcoms on Netflix, I pull myself out of bed at noon and finally look at my phone. I have a couple of texts from Sidney, who’s concerned about my wellbeing, and a text from a number I don’t recognize. After typing out a quick response to let her know that I am alive and to stop worrying all the damn time, I open the message from the unknown number.
Unknown: Rebecca, are you coming into work today?
Confused, I type back.
Me: Who is this?
After watching the typing bubble pop up for what seems like an eternity, I finally get a response.
Unknown: Ouch.
I wait to see if anything else comes through, and when it appears that’s all I’m going to get, I text again.
Me: No, really. Who is this?
Almost immediately, I get a response.
Unknown: Should I be offended that you didn’t already have my number programmed into your phone? I know we’ve only started working together, but after Monday, I thought you’d have rushed to save it.
Fucking Ryker.
Me: Ryker! Where did you get my number?
Ryker: Oh, thank God, you do know who it is.
Me: What do you want?????
Exasperated at whatever game he’s playing, I toss my phone onto my bed and push out of it. While padding into the bathroom, I hear my phone ding several times in a row and tell myself that I don’t care what they say. After grabbing my toothbrush and putting a thick layer of toothpaste on it, I grumble to Prince around a mouthful of foam about how rude Ryker is. The phone alerts me to yet another text, and I give up fighting the urge to know what he’s saying and rush back to the bed, not even bothering to rinse my mouth.
After opening the thread of messages, I see that he’s sent not only several texts, but also a picture. I scroll back to the top and read his responses.
Ryker: Jeez, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Fine, I’ll get to the point. I had a new client come in today while Breccan and Tripp were both tied up. I needed to give them the paperwork. So I opened your desk drawer, thinking, you know, that I would find the paperwork there. Logical, right?
I groan at the thought of Ryker rummaging through my desk. It does house all the paperwork for the office, but it still feels like an invasion of privacy. I wipe my mouth with the hand towel I grabbed on my way out of the bathroom and keep reading.
Ryker: I have no idea what Breccan pays you, but if it’s based on your organization skills, it’s too much. I couldn’t find shit in that drawer except for various travel brochures and a manicure set.
Ryker: Oh and this….
He sent a picture of two paper clamps. I’m confused until I read the last message.
Ryker: Nipple clamps at work? Really, Rebecca!! You should hide those better. Anyone could have stumbled upon them! Think of the kids!
I’m not sure whether to laugh or be concerned that he thinks binder clips belong on nipples. I stare at the phone, debating how to respond, when another message comes through.
Ryker: Jokes aside, are you coming back to work? You aren’t sick, are you? I heard the bubonic plague was making a comeback. You haven’t been stricken, have you?
Laughing, I finally type a response.
Me: First of all, stay out of my desk. You may find worse things in there than nipple clamps. Secondly, I don’t have the bubonic plague. I’ll be back Monday. And thirdly, who the hell says stricken?
Ryker: What’s wrong with the word stricken?
Me: Sounds like something my grandma would say.
Ryker: Well, it is something my gram says, so…
Me: Is there anything else you need, Ryker? I’m busy.
I look around my pristine room for something to do so that I won’t be lying, but there’s nothing left to be cleaned or organized. Prince sighs and rolls over on the bed, asking for a pat, so I oblige him and rub his belly.
I’m still gripping the phone in my other hand when another message comes through.
Ryker: Busy? Whatcha doin?
Rolling my eyes, I mutter to myself about Tripp’s poor hiring skills.
Me: Shouldn’t you be working?
After I hit send, I toss the phone on the nightstand and get up for more coffee. Telling myself I don’t want to talk to him anymore, I ignore the chime of my phone and make a cappuccino.
Sidney bought me the machine for my last birthday, and while I was ecstatic over it, I have no idea how to use the damn thing, so it’s sat unused on my counter, just taking up space, for the last three months.
I have my hip propped on the counter, rubbing Prince with my toes and reading the instruction manual, when my phone goes off again.
“What does he want, Prince?” I ask aloud.
He lifts his head and blinks at me once before sighing and lying back down.
“You’re right. It is annoying. I’m going to tell him to leave me alone.” I drop the manual on the counter and give up on ever being able to use the thing before stomping back to my bedroom.
After snatching my phone, I open the thread of messages.
Ryker: My head is pounding.
Ryker: It’s lunchtime.
Ryker: I’m having a protein bar. Thank you for asking.
Ryker: You’re right. There were worse things in your desk drawer than nipple clamps.
Me: Why are you going through my desk?!?! Do you need Advil? I think there’s some in the locker room. But none in my desk. So stay out of there!
I stare at my phone in my hand for a full two minutes, waiting for a response, and when nothing pops up, I huff.
I don’t know why I’m even entertaining this conversation with him.
Yeah, he’s sexy.
And good with the kids.
And funny-ish.
And sexy.
But he’s definitely not my type. I’ve never actually had a type before now, but if I did, he would not be it.
Not to mention that shit with Breccan still makes my blood boil whenever I stop to think about it.
Which is exactly why you haven’t thought about it.
He still hasn’t responded, so I send him another message.
Me: What did you find, Ryker?
The response button pops up, and my stomach flips. I tell myself I’m just nervous about what he’s found and not excited that he’s actually responding to me.
Ryker: You know, I like hearing you say my name.
Me: OMG. You can’t even hear me. Stop avoiding the question. What. Did. You. Find?
A minute later, a stock photo of the largest pair of granny panties comes through.
Ryker: Funny, I figured you for a boy-shorts kinda girl.
Giggling, I
reply.
Me: I’ve been looking for those! I had a date the other night I wanted to wear them to.
Ryker: A date, huh? How’d that go?
Me: Wouldn’t you like to know???
Ryker: Yes, actually, I would.
Me: It was amazing. Best date of my life. Now, if there’s nothing else you need to bug me about, I’ve got to get back to the Tanners.
It’s a lie. It was a terrible date. The guy spent the entire night staring at my breasts and talking about how much money he’d made last month. I appreciated the fact that he wasn’t a bum like the last guy I’d gone out with, but I was pretty sure it was all a ploy to get me in bed. After that, I decided to take a break from men—or, at least, online dating. I’d stick with my B.O.B., the only guy who never lets me down. Especially since I was recently introduced to the plug-in version. Dead batteries have officially become a thing of the past.
Ryker: The Tanners? You know, skin cancer is not sexy, contrary to popular belief.
Looking down at my pale legs, I laugh out loud. After my dad had a bout with skin cancer when I was a teenager, I vowed never to tan again. It helped that I’ve never been able to do anything more than burn anyway. I found that I actually looked much better with sunless tanners anyway.
Me: Not the tanning bed. I’d demand a refund if this is what I looked like after tanning. The Tanners. You know, Full House?
Ryker: You have a full house? Are you going to quit the gym and join the professional poker circuit?
Me: My God, NO! You can’t not know what I’m talking about. Full House? ’90s family sitcom? Candace Cameron? Bob Sagat? “How rude”? Please tell me this is ringing a bell?
