“Just seeing how you’re doing,” I reply, unracking the bar and cranking out ten easy reps with one thirty-five. “Coach isn’t breaking you off too hard, is he?”
“Nope,” Troy replies, giving me another little smile. “Actually, the only area he's being a bit strict on is the books. He's been sitting up with me half the time, making sure my homework gets done.”
“Ouch. Slave driver.” I laugh as I unrack the bar for my next set. I'm nowhere near as strong as Troy, but for a guy who weighs one eighty, I can still handle my own pretty well. Still, I'm just lifting for fun. I don't need to earn a hernia today. “How's the muscle gain coming along?”
“Not bad.” Troy grunts as he lifts the bar again. “I'm up three pounds since the end of the season.”
I nod, and we go more or less silent as he goes back to his work and I do mine. I finish my benches and unload the bar. We've got a strict rule about that on the Foxes. Troy finishes his deadlifts and takes the bar down to two twenty-five to do some rows, and I ask my next question. “Actually, I wanted to ask you . . . you good after Friday night?”
Troy sets the bar down and brushes off his hands. “I'll make it. And I heard from Missy . . . sorry to piss on your parade. She tried to be nice about it, but she wasn't too happy. I think she had plans last night.”
“Don't sweat it, man . . . I mean, it would have been fun, but let's face it—she and I aren't exactly relationship material,” I reply, waving it off. Not that I wasn't hoping to get laid last night, but for some reason, it just doesn't seem as important now.
I stop and think about telling Troy about Patricia, but watching him work out, I decide against it. He's just not ready for it. It’ll just put his mind even more on Whitney. “So are you in here every day?”
“Pretty much,” Troy tells me as he clears his bar. “Coach usually has office work until six, so for me, it's an easy reason to be down here. He gives me a ride back to his place, we eat dinner, and then I get on to homework. Why, you wanna join in?”
“Maybe not every day, but I think I can get down here two or three times a week. Gotta keep my sexy up, you feel me?” I joke, popping a little muscle flex. The gun show's not just at the Rotary Hall twice a year.
Troy nods and laughs. “I feel you. Well, I wouldn't mind it. You care if I bring some tunes down here?”
“As long as you don't start playing Pitbull, I'm fine with it.”
“What about Katy Perry?” Troy asks, and I have to laugh. It was a good one.
“No Katy Perry either. Asshole.”
Chapter 2
Patricia
“Happy New Year, Cory. How was your holiday?”
It's only been a few weeks with having Cory around, but already, he and I have fallen into a comfortable routine. Today's Thursday, and he's going back to school next week, so I decided this morning that I'd trust him with something that I'll give to him later.
“Not too bad. Thanks for the little bonus in the pay, by the way. I'll let you know I used it right. I got Mom an extra-nice gift for Christmas. How about you?”
“Oh, it was okay,” I reply, wiping my hands on the dishtowel and tossing it into the dirty clothes basket behind me. “I'll admit it was a bit lonely. I mean it's my first Christmas without Whitney actually here, but she and I talked over Skype. She's doing well, and she said she's sending me some gifts. She's going to sit for her GED soon so that she can get that taken care of if she decides to come back to the States for college.”
“Well, Whit was always smart,” Cory says with a small chuckle. I haven't told Whitney about him coming over. I don't really know why. Maybe I'm just embarrassed to admit, even to my daughter, that I'm struggling with being alone. I do need help with a few things, but for the most part, I think I agreed to let him help me just so there’s someone else around.
“So, you ready to do laundry?”
Cory laughs, nodding. “I guess so. I mean, I do it from time to time.”
I give him a raised eyebrow, and he blushes. He's cute when he blushes. Wait, what?
I wave him over to the laundry basket on the table and start by pulling out the dish towel I'd just thrown in. “Okay, I’ll just run through it really quickly with you. Dish towels and rags—stuff like that, you can just chuck in as one big group, but keep 'em separated as you do. It sucks to try to detangle a giant ball of dish towels because you got lazy and chunked a bunch together. Don't throw in bath towels, though, because we'll use fabric softener there.”
“Got it.”
“The next part's a bit more embarrassing, and I can take care of it myself.”
Cory gulps as he reaches in and takes out one of my work bras, but he shakes his head. “I can do it. I mean, it's just clothing, right?”
“Right,” I tell him before adding, “and don't tell me it's the first time you've ever handled a woman's underwear before.” I don’t mean to torture him, but it is a little fun. A lot of men would wimp out on washing a woman’s dainties.
“Um, no, it’s not,” Cory admits, then laughs softly. “It’s just . . .”
“What, it’s just that I’m Whitney’s mom?” I ask, and Cory gapes. I can't help it. I laugh.
“Okay, you’ve endured enough. You’re brave, but I’ll handle this.” I give him a smile and take him over to the bathroom, where he gets out the sponge and spray that he uses to wipe down the shower before doing the toilet. I should be ashamed I’ve let things get so out of control, but I’m not.
“So what did you spend the rest of your pay on?” I ask as he works. “I mean, you couldn't have spent a whole two hundred and fifty bucks on Christmas gifts for your mother.”
“No . . . actually, it's a bit embarrassing,” he says, spraying. “I opened an account.”
“A savings account?” I ask, turning and arranging the sink. One thing that is mostly in order is my makeup, and I like it arranged a certain way. “What's embarrassing about that?”
“Not savings,” Cory replies, squirting around the shower head before attacking it with gusto. “Online trading. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do, but I haven’t had the money to risk losing to try it. Well, that, and I was under eighteen and I couldn't open an account in my own name. I still can't get into some of the mutual funds and stuff that require more money, but it's enough that I can do some low-value stock investments and do it for real.”
“I still don’t see what’s so embarrassing. But isn't it risky?” I ask, turning to look at him. Cory finishes the shower head and turns around, giving me a confident smile. I have to admit, seeing that confidence makes my pulse speed up a few beats, and it's my turn to suddenly become very interested in my cleaning instead of him.
“No more than giving it to the dudes running the office down on Falls Drive. I did the fantasy stocks for the past two years, the only difference being I was playing for points instead of using real money. It used the real market and everything. I've studied, and I know a little bit of what I'm doing. It's like all of us have a talent, or maybe a skill, that we're good at. Troy's born to be a football player. Dani Vaughn, she's got that insight into your head, like she's going to be a shrink or maybe one of those FBI profilers that you see on TV. Me . . . I like to think I know how to make money.”
“Careful . . . the love of money is the root of all evil,” I warn him, and Cory shakes his head.
“I said I'm good at it, not that I love it beyond all other things,” he tells me, getting out of the shower and setting his supplies aside to get to the toilet. “Actually, I want to make money for myself, sure, but I want to make it for others too. I think even your Pastor Moss wouldn't complain about that one too much.”
I chuckle and nod, turning back to the sink. “Point taken.”
“No offense, Patricia, but you don't look too happy today. What's going on? Did I screw something up?”
To say I'm not happy is an understatement. For eighteen years, I've hated Valentine's Day. “It's not a day I like very much, Cory. Nothing y
ou've done. Actually, I thought the spaghetti you made yesterday was delicious. Keep it up. You're going to make a lucky woman very happy someday.”
Cory's dressed in his letterman jacket. I think it's probably the heaviest coat he's got, although the gloves he has tucked in the pockets are new. I'm glad. Seeing those chapped hands last week when he shoveled out the front walk hurt me, and my work gloves are way too small for his hands. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hook behind my front door, and I'm impressed. He's wearing a button down shirt today. It looks nice, even if it doesn't do much to lift my mood.
“Well then, how about you tell me about it?” Cory asks, gesturing toward the living room. “I'll get you some of that Darjeeling you like, and you can tell me why Valentine's Day sucks.”
I'm not totally convinced, but he's being nice, and the tea does sound like it'd be helpful. Besides, it's Saturday. “I guess.”
“It'll be a good way to start the day,” he reassures me, disappearing into the kitchen. Instead of going into the living room, I follow him and watch as he takes out my tea kettle and starts the water, comfortable in the kitchen. He's not fussy about it, just relaxed and at home. Starting the water, he sees that I'm still there. “Okay, so no living room. Sugar and lemon, right? And why does today suck so much?”
“Right. I just have some bad memories about Valentine's Day, that's all. It was . . .” I start, pausing. So few people have wanted to listen to my story that it's hard to know where to start. “Well, as you can guess, I got pregnant with Whitney when I was in high school. In fact, I was a senior like you are when I found out.”
“I figured. I mean, you had to have been like eighteen when you had her?” Cory asks, getting out the teacups. He sets everything up on the counter and gets out the tea, cutting off the heat on the water to let it cool a little before he puts in the bag. “That had to have been tough.”
“I had Whitney two weeks before I turned nineteen. Whitney's father and I had been dating for over a year. He was one of the big men on campus. He was a lot like how Troy Wood is—team quarterback, starting shooting guard on the basketball team, and all-around school hero.”
“Holy shit. No wonder you didn't like Troy,” Cory says, then grimaces. “Sorry.”
“I don't mind.” I chuckle, watching as Cory finishes making the tea. He pours us a cup each and places them on a tray before he picks it up like a butler, carrying it all into the living room, where I take a seat before he hands my cup to me. “I had a few curse words for Brad White myself.”
“Never knew his name,” Cory says, sitting down. “Actually, I don't think anyone at school knew. So what happened on Valentine's Day?”
I sip my tea, savoring the flavor for a moment. “I told Brad on February tenth, because it was a Friday date night. I wasn't sure how to handle it, but I was scared, and I thought that he would man up and take care of us. I mean, we'd been together for over a year, and everyone said that he was a stand-up guy.”
“He wasn't,” Cory says in understanding, and I shake my head.
“Oh, he was stand-up all right. In fact, he stood me up on Valentine's Day, leaving me teary-eyed, scared, and at that point, about two months pregnant in my living room while my parents just looked at me with pity. Next day at school, he very publicly broke it off with me, accusing me of screwing around on him. I was too scared and hurt to let everyone know about my pregnancy, and he took off out of town so fast after graduation that I think the roads were smoking from his tire marks. But ever since then, let's just say Valentine's isn’t the best day.”
Cory sits for a minute, thinking, then sets his cup down. “Then go get changed.”
“What?” I ask, surprised. “Why?”
“Because Valentine's Day shouldn't be bad for anyone,” he says, giving me a goofy grin. “So go get changed. I'll run home, change myself, and then I'm taking you out. I'll bring you some chocolate and everything. I'll even borrow the car.”
I'm stunned. Did I really just get asked out on a date by a high school kid? I know what I should do. I should tell him that he's being sweet, but no thanks. Instead, I feel a smile come to my lips and I nod. “Okay. I guess we can let go of the housework for a day?”
“Exactly. Okay, so what time should I pick you up?”
I think about it, then smile. “How about three? We can catch the last of the matinées, then get some dinner?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Cory says, gathering the teacups and going into the kitchen. I hear him wash everything up, and he comes back a minute later, wiping his hands on his jeans. “This is going to be fun.”
The movie isn't really all that good, typical Valentine's Day fluff, but sitting in the darkened theater, I feel good. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“This is great,” I admit, grabbing a kernel of popcorn out of the tub he's holding and munching while we finish watching Jennifer Garner get her man in the end. We sit through the credits, and as the lights come up, I see that Cory's looking at me, his blue eyes filled with . . . desire? Is he seriously thinking about that?
I give him a smile and pat his knee, setting the now empty popcorn aside and getting up. “That was fun. How about some dinner?”
He blinks, and then he nods, getting up slowly. “Sure,” Cory says once he's got his jacket on. He's wearing some chinos and a button down shirt again, and he looks handsome as we walk out of the theater, not at all like a high schooler but more like a mature young man. He stops when I reach over and take his hand, looking down before giving me a smile. “Thanks. I'm having my best Valentine's Day ever.”
We drive to the restaurant, which is not the best seafood restaurant in town, but nearly so, and it's better than the chain place I was expecting. Instead, we get seated at a real table and served by the daughter of the owner, who gives Cory a little smile after taking our drink order. As she leaves, I lean over and give him a little nudge, teasing him.
“She and I dated for a while,” Cory admits sheepishly. “Sorry, I forgot about that when I booked the reservation.”
“Don't sweat it,” I tell him. “This town's small enough that just about everyone knows everyone. You aren't worried that being seen with me will get around?”
Cory shakes his head and picks up a breadstick out of the basket, setting it on his plate. “I mean, I haven't exactly run around saying that I'm working for you, but I haven't lied about it either. Dani knows, so most of the school knows. I'm sure even Troy knows, although he and I don't talk about it.”
“How's he doing, by the way?” I ask, surprised. I'm still angry at Troy for getting Whitney pregnant, but that anger is fading as the time goes on and my missing Whitney becomes more painful. “Training still?”
“He's getting swollen,” Cory says admiringly. “He's up to two twenty now. I figure he'll hit two thirty before the end of school. I lift with him twice a week, but it's more like he and I lift in the same room. There's no way I'm keeping up with him nowadays. He's gonna tear it up down at Clement next year.”
“And you? Where are you going to go?” I ask. I'm having a fun date, and here I am talking about Cory most likely leaving town.
“Well . . . I haven't decided yet,” Cory answers, and the tension is cut when our appetizers arrive. “Oh good. Well, to Valentine's Day, Patricia. I hope this is a good one for you.”
I toast glasses with him and give him a smile. “Cory, this has been the best Valentine's Day I've ever had.”
“No way.”
I can't believe it. He and I are actually arguing over his going to the prom. “I'm serious, Cory. You need to find yourself a date for the prom. It's your senior prom, after all!”
The snows have stopped, but it's still a little chilly. Spring hasn't quite woken up here in the Northwest, although it's not too bad since the sun's shining today. We're sitting at the kitchen table, and for the first time in the four months that he's been coming over, he's being stubborn and mulish, his face dead-set against what I'm saying.
�
�I've thought a lot about this, and I decided. I'm not going to the prom. I've been to proms twice already, and the winter formals, and everything else. Only difference between the prom and the formal is that I have to fork over money for a tux instead of just wearing my suit.”
“Come on, Cory. I know what you're saying, but it's going to be the last big event for you in high school. You don't want to say you missed it.”
“There's nobody I want to take to the prom,” Cory protests. “I mean, if this is supposed to be some sort of special event, shouldn't I take someone special too? All the girls who might even be interesting already have boyfriends, or I'm just not interested in them. There's just nobody at school that I would want to go with.”
“Think about it. I didn't get to go to mine. I was so ashamed about being the pregnant girl who got dumped that I stayed home and missed the whole thing. There has to be someone.”
Cory looks down at the table, then nods. “Who?”
“If I had a choice . . .” Cory says, then looks up at me. “I know this sounds stupid, but if I had a choice, I'd ask you. You're the most interesting woman I know, and if I were to do a special dance with someone, well, I can’t think of anyone else. I know it's stupid, but it's how I feel.”
I'm knocked on my heels by the burning intensity in his eyes, and I wonder how I let it get this far. He works for me, and my daughter is his classmate! The thing is, though, I don't want to stop either. Instead, I nod and give him a sad smile. “I don't think the school would look on that too well.”
“Then I'm not going,” Cory insists, taking my hand. I shake my head, but I don’t let go of his hand.
“You still need to go, even if it's going stag,” I say softly, standing up. “If anything . . . I think Whitney would appreciate it if you and Troy were there together. He's going, right?”
Fourth Down Baby: A May-December Romance Page 2
