by Sarah Gay
He struggled to slow his respirations as his eyes flew open. He wasn’t at his summer high school job at the wire plant in rural Georgia. He was home in Dallas. He grabbed his phone from off the nightstand; 3 a.m. He’d slept six hours.
Had the copper haired girl been real? Or was it all a dream he now woke from? She had to be real. He had battled his fatigue during that entire drive home from the airport just to talk with her. Their conversation was now scrambled in his mind, mingling and melding with his disturbing dream. He cursed how his brain had gotten messed-up from all those concussions.
Torin gave it as good as he took it on the football field, which didn’t give him much comfort, to think he had given guys on the other side of that line concussions, causing them to wake up in night sweats like he did. Night terrors were just another byproduct of pro-football, but would he have changed his course? If he could turn back time, would he still have played?
Heck yes he would. He loved the sport. He loved his buddies, and he hated to admit it—but he loved the money and the attention.
There was one way to know if the copper beauty was real. Torin stepped out of bed and down the hall to the front entry. He sifted through his carryon bag until he located the crisp business card. He brought it to his nose and breathed in the scent of lavender and sweet vanilla. It read: Scarlett Young, Doctor of Physical Therapy.
He glanced over at the grandfather clock in his living room. 3:20 a.m. He couldn’t call anyone right now. But it was almost 5:30 Atlanta time. He would have been up feeding little Anna if he were in Atlanta right now. A visceral, almost primitive longing to protect and shelter his niece from harm overtook him.
Torin had never thought about having any kids of his own before, until now. He had never been certain he even wanted any snotty-nosed creatures running around, making messes and upsetting his guests, but baby Anna woke something primal inside of him that he guessed women were born with.
When he walked out Kaitlyn’s door yesterday morning, he never thought he’d miss Anna’s constant squeals or how her spit up flowed down his bare chest. But he missed it all. And this big quiet house only magnified the void in his gut.
Ginny was beautiful. She could give him adorable babies. He walked to the kitchen sink and splashed water on his face. Tough NFL players weren’t supposed to think like that. He’d start at square one by figuring out how to impress Ginny.
He paced the length of his house and back, weaving through the living room attached to the kitchen, and stopped in front of his home gym. Dang, he needed an intense workout. He passed his office/man den that looked out into his back yard at the enclosed deck and Olympic-sized pool. He then paced the four thousand feet again as he mulled over what had worked for him in the past; flowers, chocolates, love notes, friend’s recommendations, taking flowers to a girl’s mother…a light flickered in his brain. It was that first idea coming back to him; Scarlett, the sister.
He could arrange for Scarlett to have a booth at the sportsman’s expo. That would impress Ginny. He rubbed his face and sighed, remembering that there were no longer spaces available. He’d heard that booth rentals had sold out over six months ago, and they were pricey. But they wouldn’t say no to him if he gave testimonial about his personal experience with the back supports and how the Titans and their sport’s drink sponsor would be willing to share a space with the amazing inventor.
He jogged to his office and turned on his home computer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had booted it up. When he traveled, he sometimes carried his laptop, but he did most of his correspondence with his phone.
It was too early to call, but he could email. He typed a letter to the convention liaison, an associate of his from MIT who now put on these sports’ expos around the nation and who had contacted Torin to get the Titans scheduled at the event. The Titans would be one of the main ticket items to bring in buyers to the expo. Torin had immediately contacted the Titan’s sport’s drink sponsor and told them he’d be willing to take the booth at the expo if they would release him from the late December event in Toronto. Who wanted to go to Toronto in December? The sponsors said yes and Torin committed two of his team buddies to go with him.
Torin opened his internet browser and brought up Scarlett’s website. He researched the back supports for a few minutes, then finished his email with a testimonial, raving about the products. He hit the send button and pumped his fist in the air. He was one step closer to beautiful offspring. Now, he simply needed to convince the copper-haired beauty.
He knew he should try and get more sleep to set his internal clock right, but he was too jazzed up with thoughts of Ginny’s copper hair and her electric personality. Copper, electricity? The surges running through him could knock out the greater Dallas power grid. He needed to expend some of that pent-up energy to prevent the remaining functional circuits in his brain from getting fried—and him ending up a vegetable.
He glanced out the office’s French doors at the pool. That could do it; a nice long swim. He stripped off his clothes. Was it still skinny dipping if you were the only one swimming in the privacy of your own pool? A smile split his lips as memories filled his mind of his high school days when he and his buddies jumped the fences of the upscale neighborhood pools and skinny dipped to the chatter of katydids. He didn’t think on that for too long. He bolted out the doors and dove into the pool, loving how the moonlight shimmered across the dark water before he upset the glow with a smooth dive.
* * *
Ginny’s thighs burned as she and Scarlett climbed the high school stadium bleachers. “Why do we do this to ourselves?” Ginny let out a huff. “Remind me again.”
“You’re the one who wakes me up at 5:30 a.m. every morning with those incessant emojis.”
Ginny shrugged. “Can I help it if I’m an early riser? You’re the drill sergeant here.”
“No,” Scarlett objected. “You’re the one who decides what exercises we’re doing that day and where we go. I just modify the workout to be as joint friendly as possible.” Scarlett stopped at the top of the bleachers and rested a hand on her hip. “Why do we go somewhere different every day?”
“I’m protecting us from getting dementia, keeping it fresh, discovering new places, living life to its fullest.” Ginny lifted a defiant eyebrow. “Want more?”
“More reasons why we end up somewhere different every morning?” Scarlett challenged her with a look. “Or more reasons why you never let a guy take you out on more than one date?”
“Where did that come from?” Ginny laughed. “And look whose talkin’?” Dating wasn’t on the agenda for Ginny. It was an occupational hazard waiting to happen, but she did want Scarlett to find a nice guy.
Scarlett slumped into a red bleacher seat. “Are we destined to be like the Austen sisters?”
“Austen sisters?” Ginny questioned, pulling Scarlett back up onto her feet to continue their jog down the stairs.
“You know…how Jane Austen and her sister ended up,” she said, making quotation marks with her fingers, “as ‘old maids’? But at least they lived together. Why won’t you move into my house with me. I don’t understand why you want to live in that small apartment downtown by yourself.”
In reality, Ginny had two separate apartments in two very distinct areas of Dallas, one of which Scarlett had never visited—and never would. “You know how I feel about Jane Austen.”
“I know.” Scarlett rolled her eyes. “You don’t do romance.”
“I can handle a little heat,” Ginny said defensively. “It’s that sitting around crocheting all day and brooding. And who could write that stuff? Seriously, why don’t those romance authors go out and do something useful.” She smiled brightly at Scarlett. “Like my brilliant sister who developed the next big thing in physical therapy and pain maintenance.”
“Ahh, shucks,” Scarlett said, bowing her head and shuffling her feet like the timid scarecrow in the classic Wizard of Oz.
Ginny let out a howling la
ugh and hugged her sister. “What would I do without you, sis?”
“Be crippled and injured,” Scarlett answered with a grin. “Because you start your exercises with the incorrect form every time.”
They shook off their legs as they walked to their cars. “I do,” Ginny admitted gingerly. “Don’t I?”
Scarlett’s phone chimed. “I need to turn off my email notifications.” She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her phone. “It’s driving me nuts. My phone makes a noise every time I get a new email.” Her brows knit together as she stared down at the screen.
“What’s wrong?” Ginny questioned, opening her car doors to release the scorching air before she dared sit inside the mobile oven. She should have left the top down.
“I don’t get it,” Scarlett said with confusion. “I never signed up to have a booth at the sportsman’s expo tomorrow. It says here that Torin Godfrey from the Texas Titans has offered to share a booth with me because he loves my stuff.” Scarlett shook her head. “I need to tell this guy he’s got the wrong person.”
“Let me see it,” Ginny said, reaching for Scarlett’s phone. She read the message. “It looks like it’s all set.” She shrugged. “There’s even an attachment here with detailed instructions on how to pass through security and the requirements for setting up your table.” Ginny pointed to Scarlett’s phone. “I’d do it, if I were you.”
Scarlett crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Explain yourself.”
Ginny hadn’t gotten away with this one. “Okay.” She paused, tilting her chin down as she extended her hands out to explain herself. “So, I happened to give Torin a ride home from the airport last night and may or may not have slipped him your business card.”
“You’re the best!” Scarlett screamed, waving her hands in the air before lifting Ginny off the ground and squeezing her center. She placed her back onto the ground. “But how did you get him to say he’d tried my back supports,” she said, typing something into her browser.
“I’m shocked,” Ginny admitted honestly, but then she winked wickedly. “That’s how you know if a man’s a keeper. Any man will defend your honor, but only a man truly under your hex will lie for you.”
Scarlett held up her phone with a Paparazzi photo of Torin on the beach, looking all buff and gorgeous. “So, is he under my hex or yours? Cause this guy is super hot and rich.”
“Yours,” Ginny tried to keep straight face.
“Not buying it. If you don’t date this guy…” Scarlett shook her head. “But seriously, I don’t feel right about Torin recommending my stuff if he’s never tried it.” She pointed a finger at Ginny. “I’ll make you a deal, if you take him a few of my back supports to try, maybe smooch a little bit while you’re there,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “then I’ll go to the expo.”
“Hard ball, huh?” Ginny tapped her chin dramatically. “Tell you what, I’ll write a note to go into the package and we’ll send it same day delivery.”
Scarlett held up her hand with her pinkie finger extended. Ginny wrapped her pinkie finger around her sister’s and they pressed their foreheads together; something they’d done since childhood to enact a promise.
3
Torin placed the package with no return address onto his kitchen counter and examined it. His address wasn’t listed. He couldn’t hide what neighborhood he lived in from the press, but only a few close friends and family knew his house number.
The package looked normal. But was it safe? One of his ex-teammates who lived in the same neighborhood had a stalker a few years back. The stalker had planted a bomb in his buddy’s house and detonated it, destroying a bedroom or two. Thankfully, no one was hurt.
Leaning on his electrical engineering background, Torin shook the box, then tore it open with gusto. Everyone needed a little excitement in their lives, and, without the adrenaline rush on the football field, his life was downright boring. He recognized that his actions were most likely more stupid than brave, but it gave him a slight thrill to take that chance.
The box held what appeared to be sewn black webbing. Was it a mountain climbing harness? He didn’t know; he’d never scaled a mountain before.
Torin pulled the strapped contraption out of its box and scrutinized it in the air in front of his face. A pocket-sized piece of yellow paper dislodged from the tangle and floated gently to the hardwood floor.
The note read: Torin, Thank you for your lies. They were most kind, but I will make an honest man of you. Ginny.
“She’ll make an honest man out of me!” He pumped his fist in the air. That meant she wanted to go out with him, right? At least that’s what he deciphered from the hand-written note. She had written I will. That was the future tense, but why didn’t she give him her phone number?
He opened the Uber app and ordered a lift to an expensive restaurant downtown for a late lunch. When the options of drivers popped up, Ginny wasn’t one of them. He cancelled the ride. He’d try again later.
* * *
Later that day, an hour before sunset, Ginny pulled at her black wig in the mirror of her car visor. It was secure. She counted down from ten in Russian, priming her mind to cue into the language. She grabbed her violin case from the passenger seat, stepped out into the balmy evening, and made her way through the full parking lot to the old mansion utilized as a popular venue for contracted events.
This wasn’t the first time she had posed as entertainment at the mansion. She entered in through the caterers’ entrance unnoticed and walked with confidence and purpose into the main hall. The room was dark and heavy, adorned in hunter green and gold. The green of the carpet and drapes matched her evening gown by design. She preferred to blend in to her environment. She only wanted to gain the attention of one man at the political gathering.
The party guests stood in small groups and spoke with fervor above the flawless piano performance. No one gave much heed to the background music or musicians unless the piece spoke to their souls, and her piece would hopefully speak to that one dangerous man. She swallowed back her fear as she approached the piano.
“You ready for a break?” Ginny questioned the pianist as he lifted his fingers from the piano keys and shook out his fluffy brown hair.
His dark eyes told her he didn’t like the disruption. “I thought they wanted me to play all evening?”
“I was hired to relieve you for thirty minutes,” she said with a bright, innocent smile. “I absolutely love these hosts. Don’t you? I played an event for them a few weeks back and they had a pianist come relieve me.” She cocked her head to the side when he produced a scowl. This wouldn’t be as fluid as she thought. Some artists lived to entertain. “But if you don’t want to take a break,” she raised her eyebrows, “no skin off my back. I’ve already been paid, so I’ll just grab a drink and mingle until my time is up.”
He closed the lid over the piano keys. “We can drink?” he questioned, his eyes widening with his every word.
Ginny nodded. “The daiquiris are divine.”
“Be back in thirty,” he said, rushing off toward the open bar.
She spent a few minutes tuning her violin, then started into a rendition she had compiled of soft classical melodies; the typical stuff heard on elevators that no one seemed to mind or pay attention to.
She slowly walked the perimeter of the room as she played. On her second circle around the room, her ear caught Russian. She finished her piece, then started into a Russian classic, the one played at his inauguration into office. Bingo. One middle-aged man with a beer gut and thinning gray hair broke from his social circle and strode toward her.
Ginny ignored him at first, playing the part of a true musician immersed in her art. She closed her eyes and swayed to the somber arrangement. Now for the hook. She widened her stance slightly, allowing the hem of her dress to rise above her knees. She gave him sufficient time to study her bare legs before she smiled up at him with doe eyes.
By the hunger in his eyes, she had him. This guy
was known for his promiscuous, and often dangerous, behaviors. But he was good at what he did. He knew how to sway state government officials to vote in favor of his party’s agenda. Blackmail or payoffs would be more accurate than sway. Perhaps that’s why he was kept in his position. After tonight, hopefully his employers would cut the cord.
“You must be parched after that beautiful playing,” he said in a heavy accent. “Can I get you a drink?” By the malty vapors escaping his mouth, he had already had a few.
“Yes, thank you, but my roommates are all out for the evening,” she said shyly as she looked to the floor, then fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Possibly for the night, and I have to drive myself home. I’d better only have a tonic with lime.”
“It’s a shame you’ll be all alone this evening.” He rubbed a palm of his hand against his suit pant leg. “If I could arrange a room for you upstairs, would you like something stronger?”
She waited a moment and pouted her lips as if contemplating his offer, then leaned into his ear and whispered, “I’ve found that this helps when I have trouble sleeping.” She uncorked a miniature glass vial with two blue pills and held it out for him to investigate. They looked identical to a drug used to enhance intimacy. “If you can find me a place to sleep, and you’d like to share this with me, bring us two drinks.”
She winced internally as his hand slid down her back.
“It will be a night to remember,” he said, stepping away.
“Not that you’ll remember,” she said quietly as she raised the violin and settled her chin in place to play another piece.
He returned just as she finished.
She placed her violin in its case and pulled out the glass vial. She giggled childishly. “This stuff really helps me let go of my inhibitions.” She discreetly placed a pill in each of their glasses, assuring that the placement of the pills was only visible to him.
