The Boyfriend of the Month Club

by Maria Geraci

  Grace fidgeted with a loose thread on the chair arm. She wasn’t sure whether to get up and join the rest of the family outside or sit here and talk to Pop some more.

  “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Pop asked.

  “It was the roof thing,” she said.

  He pulled his reading glasses out of the case and put them back on. “I’m glad we’ve had a chance to get this out in the open. Tell your mother I’ll be done here in a few minutes, just as soon as I finish this row of figures.”

  “Sure, Pop.” She took a look at him, head already bent over his desk again, punching numbers into an old fashioned handheld calculator.

  She hadn’t been chastised by her father.

  She’d been brought down a notch or two by her boss.

  After supper Grace drove home to find Joe’s black Range Rover parked in her driveway. With Joe standing next to it. It occurred to Grace that Joe didn’t have a key to her town house. She didn’t have a key to his either. On the one hand, she was glad to see him. She’d hated the way they’d left things on Friday. But if he was in horny rugby player mode, then for the first time in their relationship he was going to be disappointed because they had some serious talking to do first.

  “Hey,” she said. “How was the tournament?”

  “Second place.” He kissed her on the cheek and wrapped her up in a hug, and any intention of refusing Joe anything went out the window. The truth was, if he pulled her inside, she’d probably follow, no questions asked. She’d never felt so powerless in a relationship before. It bothered her, no doubt about it. “I can’t stay. I promised my mother I’d have dinner with her tonight.”

  “She’s in town?”

  “Just for a week or so.”

  She waited for him to ask her to join them, even though she’d already eaten, but he didn’t. He had to know that she was expecting an invitation. Was this Joe’s way of punishing her for finding out Brandon had been at the hospital during Pop’s attack? Grace hoped not. It reeked of pettiness. And Joe wasn’t like that. At least, Grace didn’t think he was.

  He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve thought about Friday afternoon all weekend long. I’m sorry, Grace. I was a jerk. You can be friends with anyone you want. Even Farrell.”

  “Thanks. I was waiting for your permission on that.”

  He grinned. “Are you always going to be a smart-ass?”

  “I don’t know. How long do you think we’re going to be together?”

  The instant she said it she wished she could take it back. But maybe it was good to give their relationship a push. She needed to see where it would land, even if it was someplace she didn’t like.

  “I was hoping we could take it slow and see where this goes,” he said cautiously.

  “Am I your girlfriend, Joe?”

  He seemed taken aback by her question. “If you don’t know the answer to that, Grace, then we’re in trouble.”

  She sighed. “You have no reason to be jealous of Brandon Farrell.”

  He nodded like he already knew. “I don’t want to talk about Farrell anymore. Let’s talk about next weekend.”

  Valentine’s Day. Grace’s heart did a nervous flip.

  “I thought maybe we’d go up to St. Augustine. I think it would be good for us to get away from here.”

  “An overnighter?”

  “Sure. Can you leave after lunch on Friday?”

  Next week was Speed Week, the countdown to the Daytona 500. Thousands of tourists would descend upon the city and it was Florida Charlie’s busiest time of the year. It was an unwritten rule that everyone worked the weekend of the race. No exceptions.

  But Grace had been working so hard, these past few months especially, and the results had been less than stellar. Pop had even insinuated that she was behind the store’s recent decline in sales. Did it matter if she wasn’t at the store for a couple of days? She would work extra all week to make sure everything was in tip-top shape and she’d leave Penny in charge. Other than that, all Grace could be was an extra set of hands.

  “I’d love to go to St. Augustine with you,” she said, feeling herself grin ear to ear.

  The St. Valentine’s Day Curse was finally going to be lifted.

  26

  A Tangled Web

  Speed Week was crazy, as usual. Daytona Beach was overrun with tourists and Grace was thrilled for the extra business, but she was also exhausted. She’d spent the first half of the week working from opening until long after closing. Besides the regular managerial duties, she’d spent hours prepping the store in anticipation of her upcoming absence. At her insistence, they’d dropped the Cupid costume from Gator Claus’s wardrobe and Abuela had come up with a very sharp NASCAR outfit for him to wear, complete with a checkered cap. Even Pop had approved. He noticed the hours Grace had been putting in and commented on it.

  Grace hadn’t planned to tell him about her weekend getaway with Joe, but she couldn’t lie to Pop. Especially not about something that could affect the store.

  “I’m going away for the weekend,” Grace said. “I know Sunday is the big race and Saturday is going to be huge for the store, but I think everything is under control here.”

  Pop seemed a little taken aback at first. “All right,” he said slowly. “If you say everything’s under control at the store, then I have no problem with you taking off the weekend. But is there something I should know, Tomato? Or rather, someone I should know?” There wasn’t so much disapproval in Pop’s tone as disappointment. Why hadn’t she told the family about Joe yet? Despite Abuela’s dream and any niggling reservations in Grace’s mind, it was past time she officially introduced Joe as her boyfriend to the O’Bryan clan.

  “Actually, you’ve already met him. He’s Dr. Fred’s replacement at Sunshine Smiles.”

  Pop nodded like he remembered Joe. “The guy at the store.”

  “How about I bring him to supper on Sunday?”

  “Good idea,” Pop said.

  It was now Friday, and as far as reputations went, Friday the thirteenth, Grace decided, had gotten the shaft. Who had proclaimed it an unlucky day? The weather was heavenly—a tart, crisp sixty degrees. Cool enough to wear jeans and boots and a light sweater, and comfortable enough to walk around all day and never feel anything other than absolutely perfect. But then, maybe she would have felt the same euphoria if it had been hot and muggy or raining or even snowing (although that would have been something). It was hard to tell, because the root cause of Grace’s current happiness wasn’t the weather.

  She took one last look around the store. The aisles were neat, the inventory was full, and the cashiers were ready. Penny promised to call if there were any disasters, so at noon, feeling confident there was nothing left for her to do, Grace slipped off to her town house and packed her weekender. By two p.m, she and Joe were headed north on I-95 to St. Augustine.

  Grace flipped on the radio, then leaned back in her seat to relax. Maybe she’d take a nap.

  “Welcome to The Track, speedsters! It’s Speedway Gonzalez taking you round and round Day-to-na Beach,” said the voice on the radio. “We’ll be live all day bringing you the latest in race events. Right now, we’re at the bikini Jell-O wrestling match, and I don’t know what’s jiggling more: the girls or the Jell-O!” This was followed by a roar of obnoxious male laughter in the studio background. Speedster’s minions were in top form.

  Grace reached over to turn the dial.

  “Leave it on,” said Joe. “The guy’s funny as hell.”

  “True,” Grace said, “although not very politically correct.”

  Joe glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “If you really find it offensive we can listen to something else.”

  It would be hypocritical to turn the dial, not when Grace listened to the show herself when she was alone in the car. And although she occasionally did laugh out loud, she wasn’t proud of it. Listening to Speedway was like . . . catching a glimpse inside the en
emy camp. Most times she listened more out of a sick curiosity than anything.

  “Do men really think like this?” Grace asked. She could practically see the inside of Joe’s brain churn, trying to figure out the best way to answer. “Be honest.”

  Joe shrugged. “No. And yes. It’s like any parody or sarcasm, it’s exaggerated, but there’s always a kernel of truth hidden somewhere.”

  Grace couldn’t argue with that. So they listened as Speedway went into detail on the contestants and gave a play-by-play account of the match. The show picked up momentum when he began taking callers.

  “Can I just say that this whole Jell-O wrestling thing is a disgrace?” said a female voice.

  “Who am I talking to?” Speedway asked.

  “This is Loretta,” said the caller.

  “Loretta, aren’t you the chick we turned away because you couldn’t fit into the bikini the sponsor provided?”

  “Absolutely not! I would never degrade myself in that way.”

  “So how would you degrade yourself?”

  “I wouldn’t do anything to degrade myself!” Loretta sputtered.

  “Loretta, sweetheart, that’s not what you said. You said you wouldn’t degrade yourself in that way. Which implies . . .”

  Joe turned down the volume. “Don’t tell me that Loretta, or whatever her real name is, isn’t getting her rocks off going one-on-one with Speedway.”

  “You think she’s a fake?”

  “More like a groupie.”

  Joe sounded so sure of himself that Grace couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate. “Maybe she’s exactly what she claims to be. Maybe she’s tired of hearing Speedway degrade women on the radio. Maybe, just maybe she wants to empower herself.”

  Joe threw her a look she couldn’t interpret.

  “What?”

  “Don’t be so naïve, Grace.”

  Something about this conversation didn’t sit well with her. “Enlighten me, Joe.”

  “I’m just saying there are some women who like this kind of attention, and there are plenty of guys who are willing to give it to them.”

  “Like the kind of woman who walks into a rugby bar wearing a short dress?”

  He sighed. “I thought we already hashed that out.”

  “So are you the kind of guy willing to give them this attention?”

  Joe pulled his SUV into a rest stop and killed the engine. “I never claimed to be a saint.” He turned in his seat to look at her. “Where is all this coming from?”

  Good question. Grace could kick herself. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned starting off her romantic weekend with Joe. She shouldn’t let Speedway get under her skin. But she was tired, and her head was suddenly buzzing with visions of Melanie and her claim that Joe wanted to bring their relationship up to the “next level.” Grace was certain Melanie’s claim was bogus. Plus, there was the fact that Joe had made a point to tell Grace that he didn’t mess around with his office staff. But Melanie was beautiful and she wanted Joe. What man wouldn’t be tempted under the circumstances? Joe himself just admitted he was no saint. He was also no Felix Barberi, either. Grace didn’t want to punish Joe for Felix’s sins, but she also didn’t want to be stupid.

  “Joe, I think there’s something important you should know. About Melanie. She’s seriously obsessed with you.”

  “What is it with you and Melanie? Are you jealous of her?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “I already told you, she’s not a problem.” Joe was pensive a few seconds. “You say she’s obsessed with me. Is there something you know that I don’t?”

  And here lay the crux of Grace’s problem. Once you started lying, it led to more lies. If Ellen were here, she’d probably start quoting Shakespeare or Sir Walter Scott or somebody else equally irritating on the evils of deception. And she’d be right. Grace had to tell Joe about the club. But not this weekend . . .

  “No, there’s . . . nothing specific. I’m just speaking in general. Look, I’m sorry I brought up Melanie. I shouldn’t have let Speedway’s show ruin our drive up.”

  Joe took a minute to let it all sink in. “They’re probably actors, anyway,” he said.

  Grace tried for a smile. “That’s what I’ve always thought.”

  The tension caused by their little spat evaporated by the time they arrived in St. Augustine. They checked into a bed-and-breakfast on Sevilla Street, a restored late-nineteenth-century Victorian that Grace had always admired whenever she’d walked through the area surrounding the historic district. They spent the next two hours sightseeing, mulling their way through the crowds of tourists, many of them couples. St. Augustine, located between Daytona Beach and Jacksonville, was the nation’s oldest European city. It was founded in the early sixteenth century by Spanish conquistadors and was the home of the Castillo de San Marcos—an old stone military fortress overlooking the water—as well as countless tourist offerings such as the Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum and Ponce de León’s Fountain of Youth.

  “How on earth did you get a room on Valentine’s Day weekend on such short notice?” Grace remembered Joe had told her that his father owned a condo in St. Augustine and she had wondered why they weren’t staying there. Not that she was complaining. The room at the bed-and-breakfast was charming, complete with a queen-sized poster bed, fireplace, and its own private patio.

  “Who says it was on short notice?” They went into a side shop where Joe bought them a cotton candy to share. He stuffed his mouth with the pink sugary stuff, making him look like a big kid. “I made the reservation the day after New Year’s Eve.”

  “Right,” Grace said with a laugh. He had to be joking. Grace was almost certain Joe had never meant for them to last beyond that one night, let alone all the way to Valentine’s Day.

  He pretended to look hurt, but then he grinned and those dimples popped out and Grace decided she would believe anything he said when he smiled like that. Since they still had all of tomorrow, Joe said they would save the best for last. A morning visit to Ripley’s, followed by the Spanish fort.

  They ate dinner at a small restaurant near their bed-and-breakfast. The food was delicious and the atmosphere unhurried. Grace wore a long-sleeved red silk sheath, her black heels, and the Mikimoto pearls Mami and Pop had given her when she graduated from FSU. Joe wore dark linen slacks with a blue silk shirt open at the collar, a black blazer, and no tie. Grace was cognizant of the looks they received from the other patrons. It was similar to the ones they’d gotten that Sunday evening a few months earlier when they’d shopped together for Joe’s Thanksgiving feast. Only then, Grace had been amused by the stares. Tonight, she couldn’t help but feel proud. Excited even. And maybe just a tad bit nervous. Although what she was nervous about, she had no idea. They didn’t mention the Speedway show or Melanie again, and Grace was grateful for that, but they didn’t talk about anything overly serious either.

  After dinner, they took a horse-drawn carriage ride through town. The temperature had dipped into the forties but Joe had his arm around her the whole time so she stayed warm. By the time they got back to their room it was after eleven.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, kicked off her heels and watched as Joe built up a fire. It was such a manly occupation, conjuring up images of caves and loincloths, that it made Grace giggle.

  Joe turned and faced her. “Are you laughing at my fire?”

  “Never,” she said in a deep guttural voice. “Fire good.”

  Joe quickly caught on. “Fire better than good. Man make great fire.” He joined her on the bed and gave her a slow, heated look. “Why woman still have dress on?”

  Grace had no logical answer to that, so they dropped the caveman shtick along with their clothes and made love on the queen-sized bed in front of the blazing fire. Joe was sweet and slow and thoughtful, and Grace felt she’d never been happier. Afterward, they lay there for a few minutes not saying anything, both of them catching their breath. Then Joe pointed to the bedside
clock. “Hey, it’s official. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  It was ten minutes after midnight. The St. Valentine’s Day Curse was broken!

  “I have something for you.” He slipped out of bed and padded his way to the closet.

  “I thought I just got my present,” Grace joked.

  “This is one you can hold in your hand.”

  “I have something for you too.” She grabbed his discarded dress shirt and donned it, because she just couldn’t prance around the room naked like he could. She pulled a box from her suitcase. “Here.” She handed it to him. “You go first.”

  Joe ripped the paper off in one sweep. He stared down at the plastic shrink-wrapped bucket with the assorted paraphernalia inside. It was a child’s toy, and now that he held it in his hands, she was struck with how ridiculous it looked.

  “It’s the last known mermaid-watching kit in existence,” Grace said. Sure, Joe had liked it as a kid, but what would he do it with now?

  “I love it,” he said quietly.

  “Really? I know it’s kind of hokey, but it’s actually a collector’s item.” She gave him a mock hard stare. “If I ever see it on eBay, I’m coming after you.”

  “I’d never do that,” he said so solemnly that any anxiety she’d had over the present was instantly gone.

  “Okay, my turn.” She peeled off the paper to expose a plain white box. Inside was a pink wax mermaid. None of the Mold-A-Rama machines at Florida Charlie’s made mermaids. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

  “In Tampa, last weekend when I was there for the rugby match.”

  An image of Joe dressed in his rugby gear, most likely all muddy and sweaty, scouring through amusement parks to scope out Mold-A-Rama machines made her throat tighten. “It’s the most romantic gift anyone’s ever given me.”

  “Most girls would want jewelry or flowers. But I thought . . . Do you not see the irony here? You give me a mermaid watching kit and I give you this. It’s like we’re—”