“Hey.” Her voice comes from behind me, that gritty rasp sending another spark through me. Setting down the dumbbell, I glance over my shoulder.
She’s leaning against the doorframe, pink from exertion, hips cocked forward and arms crossed over her chest. She smiles when I catch her eye, and she holds up something tiny, wet, and covered in black shit.
“Found the culprit. Running socks, man. They’re as bad as baby socks for getting in your drain and clogging it up. This one’s been in there a while—it was really only a matter of time.”
Relief washes over me. A stuck sock. I don’t need a new washing machine.
“That’s it?”
She shrugs. “You might want to get a lingerie bag to wash little stuff like this in, but yeah, your machine is fine.”
“Thank God.” I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead and stand up. “Do you take a credit card? Or should I write you a check?”
“I’ve got an app that takes cards.” Her eyes focus over my shoulder. “Holy shit, are all those yours?”
I glance back to see what she’s looking at. Ugh. My trophy wall. Row upon row of mostly second-place trophies with my dead name on them.
“Yeah. I used to be a pro wakeboarder.” My face gets hot—not from embarrassment, but something else, something I have a hard time pinning down. “A long time ago.”
“That is so fucking cool.” She peeks around my home gym. “Why’d you stop? You’re not that old. I’m sorry, I’m being totally nosy. And unprofessional. Sorry for the f-bomb, but it’s not every day you meet a pro athlete.”
“Former. I had some growing up to do.” I tamp down on the sudden urge to tell her how wakeboarding was my own personal fairy godmother, but how the Disney-fied versions of the old stories get it wrong: getting your wish come true doesn’t happen just because you’re virtuous and sing to animals. Wish fulfillment comes at a price. The tournament that paid for huge parts of my transition was the last one I ever competed in.
No regrets, not exactly. Not like Ben, who misses it so bad you can see it on his face every time he looks at the lake. Sometimes, though, I miss the thrill of competition and the camaraderies and rivalries that sprang up between friends. The sport was a huge part of my life and now it isn’t, and won’t be. Sure, I’ve toyed with the idea of going back, but my days as a pro are long over.
“Oh.” She looks down at her feet, quiet like she’s picked up on my weird vibe. “Sorry.”
I shrug. “Let’s get you paid.”
Back in the kitchen, she takes my card and swipes it, then hands me a stylus to sign her phone.
“Okay, so now that you’re not my customer anymore, want to come grab some breakfast with me?” She bites her lip on a flirtatious half smile. The force of it hits me like I caught an edge on a double up. Heat runs up my spine. Yeah, I want breakfast with her. And maybe a coffee-flavored kiss and to run my hands through that floppy hair to feel if it’s soft.
Having sexual thoughts about someone other than my ex-wife is such a novelty that I stand there and stare at her for a moment like a deer in the headlights.
Her smile fades. “Nah, never mind. I just thought . . .”
“I would love to.” I wince. “But I can’t. I have . . . a thing. A prior commitment. My friend Ben—it doesn’t matter. I can’t today. But I want it. Want you. Shit. Want to see you.”
Elvis comes and stands between us when I curse, full-on protective mode engaged.
Joe laughs, reaching into her pocket for another dog biscuit, which she hands over, and he collapses to the floor, snorting delightedly as he devours it.
“How about a drink then? You free tonight?”
“Tomorrow would be better. I didn’t sleep much last night.” I gesture to the washing machine. “I’m going to turn into a pumpkin by eight.”
“All right. Tomorrow, Tina.” She bites her lip again, and I feel that lurch-tug of attraction. “I’ll put my number in your phone.”
Somehow, we manage that exchange with the bare minimum of awkwardness, and then I’m watching her drive away.
Holy shit, I have a date.
I’m dating.
Ben and Dave’s house is so pretty, all glass and stone and wood—it’s totally the outdoorsy dude version of Barbie’s Dream House. Dave’s an architect, and talented. Glancing around, I take in the massive fireplace and the furniture that probably cost more than my car—no matter how many times I visit, the room still takes my breath away. It looks like something out of a magazine, and I always feel weird having a key to a place this glamorous. My parents had a lake house when I was a little girl, but ours was more rustic weekend cabin than dream house. I hold tight to Elvis’s leash as I let myself in the front door, then lock it behind me. His toenails click cheerfully against the hardwoods as we cross the gorgeous living room to the glass door leading out to the backyard—this one is unlocked, and I leave it that way after passing through.
Elvis whimpers as we skirt the swimming pool and head down to the dock, though he doesn’t full-on balk until we get out over the water. Then he barks his betrayal at me in full voice. Poor pupstar. I wish I had some of Joe’s dog biscuits in my pocket to soothe him.
Dave’s Nautique idles at the end of the cove, and another boat is cruising along the side where Dave’s little brother—Ridley Romeo, reigning wakeboarding champion—and his friends built a rail. The top of Ridley’s blond head is just visible in the passenger seat.
“Sit,” I order—firmly, because Elvis hates water and might bolt at any moment—and wave at Dave’s boat.
When they pull up to the dock, I pick Elvis up by the handles on his life jacket, and as I hand him across to Ben—who hauls him into the boat and sets him on the floor to scurry under Eddie’s feet—I greet my buddy with a “Hey, baby” and a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey, T.” Always a gentleman, Ben’s boyfriend reaches out to help me into the boat.
“Hi, I’m Wish. I’m with Eddie.” A tall, muscular stranger waves at me from the sundeck.
I have to do a double take as I shake his hand. He can’t be more than twenty-five—not who I would have expected for Eddie’s date. His type generally seems to lean more toward burly, leather-wearing bears.
Eddie is sprawled behind the wheel. Dark red-and-purple bruises curl up from the back side of his thighs in angry stripes. I raise an eyebrow, and he gives me a smug little smile.
“We were chatting about the differences between snowboarding and riding wake.” Ben draws my attention back to Wish. “He’s a snowboarder.”
I sit down on the sundeck and look at Eddie’s date again, all scruffy and cute, eager as a puppy dog, and I try not to picture him putting those marks on Eddie.
“Ben was just telling me about how sliding on your edges helps you learn to jump. I figured out how to slide heelside, but maybe you can show me toeside?”
“Sure.” I start getting into my gear. “Hey, Eddie, I’m gonna demonstrate the backside slide for Wish. Give me a pull?”
I turn back to his date, “You know how you dig your toeside edge into the snow when you’re facing uphill on a snowboard?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Same deal when you’re facing away from the boat—dig that edge in to set the board into a slide. Don’t let your heelside edge catch or you’ll smack the back of your head on the water so hard your ears will ring.” I turn to Ben “Lube?” Of course, they all snicker as he hands it to me.
Once my feet are slicked with lube and shoved into the bindings, I grab the handle and jump into the water, gesturing for Eddie to pick up the slack.
In a moment, the rope starts dragging me forward, and I scrunch my body and ease to a standing position. I feel out the water—a little choppy from all the activity in the cove—and turn my board until my back is to the boat, digging my toeside edge into the water and sending a spray up behind me. I turn around, demonstrate moving into the slide a few more times, then face forward again as Eddie signals he’s going to tur
n the boat.
I love this part—flying. I swing wide to the outside as he prepares to cross his own wake. The double-up is huge, and I aim straight for it.
I’ve never been afraid of the big wakes. Not when I was a kid, not when Ben got injured—never. There is nothing in the world like the thrill of being launched into the air. I’ve missed this since I gave up riding professionally.
When I hit the wake, I throw my hips back and spin with the rope held over my head. I keep it simple, a single full rotation, then pull the handle down to my hips and bend my knees into the landing.
The guys on the boat erupt in cheers, and I can see Ben start to explain what I’ve done, all big gestures and grins. I wave to Dave and drop the rope. As I sink into the water, Dave motions to Eddie to turn, and they come back to pick me up. In the boat, Wish is already pulling on the vest and shoving his feet into the bindings of Ben’s board.
I envy him—it’s been a long time since I tried something new—but his excitement is contagious, and I can’t stay jealous. Instead, I bask in the sunshine with the company of my best friends in the world, and wonder what Joe is up to.
Later, we move the party into the backyard. I pull a chair up next to the grill, watching Ben cook while Eddie and his date dance in a corner of the yard. Elvis collapses at my feet, side-eying the swimming pool.
“Hey, buddy.” Ben glances over. “How’s the washing machine?”
“Fixed.” I take a sip from my soda. “By the cutest little butch ever.”
“Awwww, hell.” He grins at me. “Tell me more.”
I shrug. “She gave me her number, invited me out for a drink. We’ll see.”
“Good for you.” He studies the meat on the grill for a minute, then looks at me again. “You do okay with the anxiety? I thought about offering to come over when you texted, but you didn’t ask, and . . . Well. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t think you could handle it.”
“It was good. I was good. And of course, not to be sexist or anything, but once I saw Joe was a woman—it’s Joanne, by the way—I felt totally safe.”
“I don’t blame you there. Glad she fixed up your machine. What happened to it?”
“Running sock got caught in the drain and clogged it up.”
“Son of a—” He shakes his head. “I should check ours and make sure nothing’s stuck in there.”
“Yeah, you should.”
“So you’re going on a date.” He glances over at Eddie and Wish, who are grinding together and whispering in each other’s ears like they’re alone in the world. “Seems to be a bunch of that going around.”
“I like him.” I gesture at Wish with my chin. “He can hold his own with Eddie, not let him get his way all the time.”
“He’s a kid.” Ben grunts.
“Like Dave isn’t ten years younger than you? Oh wait—are you jealous?” I tease. I’ve known Ben and Eddie for a long time, but this is a side of their friendship I haven’t seen before—Ben getting all territorial?
“Naw. It ain’t like that. I just don’t want to see him get hurt. You neither.”
“I’m only going out for a drink with a pretty girl.”
“You always did like the pretty girls.” He swats a mosquito away from his face. “Have fun, okay? But be careful.”
I stand up and wrap my arms around him in an awkward sideways hug. “Of course, baby.”
He lets me hug on him for a minute—Ben’s one of those guys who seems to have a hard time believing he deserves affection—before he squirms away with a blush and a smile.
“I mean it though. You haven’t dated anyone since Lisa. And I don’t want to get all lecture-y or anything, but more’s changed than your plumbing, you know? Dating isn’t like it was when we were kids.”
My cheeks flush. “Ben, if you give me a dental dam speech, I sweartagod I won’t speak to you for a month.”
“Dental-what? Oh, hell, that’s not what I— Oh man. No. No. No. No.” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans. “I mean yes, by all means, use whatever protection—can we go back to what I was saying?”
“For the love of everything holy, please do.”
“I just meant that you don’t know this girl, her friends, family, anything about her. People are weird about gender stuff—if you’re ever scared for your safety, call me, okay? And if you don’t get me, call Dave. No questions asked, we’re here for you.”
A lump forms in my throat and I hug him again. “Thank you.” This time, he puts his arms around me and squeezes me back.
The bar Joe chooses, Blue’s, is one of those run-down dives in a strip mall, dark and sort of sleazy. My heart sinks a little. I’m not a snob about these things, but it’s not exactly the kind of place you choose if you’re trying to impress a date. Inside it’s full of neon and country music. The scent of years of indoor smoking still clings to the wood and carpets. A handful of men play darts by the back wall, and a cute bartender with a red afro smiles to herself as she types into her phone. She glances up when I walk through the door, lifts her chin at me, and waves to a booth in the back.
And there she is.
Joe’s ditched the men’s undershirt and cutoff camo cargoes and replaced them with skinny jeans and a button-down. Small hoop earrings glint in her ears, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s put on a little makeup. The softer style is sexy on her, and it does something warm and twisty to my insides to realize she dressed up for me. She stands as I approach and gestures for me to sit at the booth.
“Wow.” I grin at her as I slide into the seat. “You look really nice. I mean, you looked cute in your beater and cutoffs too, but this—you’re so pretty.”
She closes her eyes when she smiles, an unconscious, girlish gesture. How old is she? I’d guess early thirties, but I’ve never been good at guessing women’s ages.
“Thanks for coming.” She sits across from me and takes a sip of her beer. “I don’t usually ask girls out who I meet on the job, so this is a little weird for me.”
“You gotta admit, hooking up with the plumber is definitely a porno meet-cute.”
She snorts and spills her beer. “Wow, um. Yeah. You just said that, didn’t you?”
“I can’t help it; most of my friends are dudes. I’ve gotten used to talking like we’re in a locker room all the time.”
The bartender appears at my shoulder, dropping a coaster on the table in front of me. “So, Joe’s friend. What’ll you have?”
I glance up at her, and her smile isn’t a fake “I work in the service industry” smile, but a genuine smile like she’s happy to see me. It’s contagious; I grin back.
“Something hoppy, draft if you got it, please.”
“We’ve got a local IPA—brewed right down the road.”
Lake Lovelace Brewing Company is the only brewpub locally—Eddie’s family used to be part owners, but he sold out about ten years ago. “That would be perfect, thanks.”
“You got it.” She sashays away.
“You like hoppy beer and say please and thank you to the wait staff. Marry me.”
I glance at Joe. “So, you’re friendly enough with the bartender that she knows your first name. You come here a lot? I have to admit it’s not exactly what I expected.”
She covers her blush with her hand and shakes her head. “Oh God, it wouldn’t be, would it? This place is . . . Stella’s a good friend. If I’m going out, I might as well come here, you know? Plus, the fried pickles are amazing.”
Stella reappears with two beers in hand, sets one in front of Joe and the other in front of me. “Yeah, the fried pickles.” She smiles at Joe. “Anything else from the bar menu?”
“Get the pimiento cheese fries—they’re my second favorite,” Joe stage-whispers.
“I guess I’ll have those,” I tell Stella.
“Good choice.”
I raise my glass to Joe. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” She clinks her glass against mine and we each take a deep drink. My
beer is bitter and cold and absolutely perfect.
“Fried pickles and pimiento cheese fries. I’m going to have to do an extra couple miles on the treadmill after work tomorrow.”
“What do you do?” Joe asks, her blue eyes dancing over the rim of her beer. “Now that you’re not a pro wakeboarder.”
“I’m a personal trainer. I mostly work with people getting in shape after years of not being active, help them set appropriate goals so they don’t get injured. I’ve got a few bodybuilding clients too, which is fun in a different way—hence the extra treadmill time. I have to look the part to sell my services.”
“I bet that’s a rewarding line of work.” She fidgets with her coaster, not meeting my eyes, but I’m captivated by the way her eyelashes lie soft and dark along the top of her cheekbones. So pretty. Then she looks up and I’m caught staring. A flush warms my cheeks as she continues, “I mean, I help people, and that’s cool, but you change their lives.”
“Some of them. Did you always want to be a plumber?”
Shaking her head, she laughs. “Hell no. I wanted to be an equestrian.” She says it with a childish lisp and makes air quotes around the word. “Does anyone want to snake out drains for a living? Like I said, Dad taught me. It’s good money, and I don’t have to work for anyone else. It’s what it is, you know?”
“You get along well with him? Your dad?”
“Oh totally. It’s like . . . you wouldn’t expect this big redneck dude to be okay with the gay, but he’s cool. And I was always a bit of a daddy’s girl, following him around, wearing my pink glittery toy tool belt and pretending I could fix anything. And he never told me I couldn’t. He did have to break it to me gently that we couldn’t afford a horse though.” She says it without bitterness, smiling like even that is a happy memory.
“He sounds great.”
“He is. How about your family—you said you’re divorced? How long has that been?”
Butterflies in my stomach. How much to tell?
“Um, yeah, my family’s okay. We’ve been through some rough patches, and I—” My face grows hot, and I grip my beer in both hands like it’s a lifeline. “I’m sorry, the divorce is hard to talk about.”
Roller Girl Page 2
