Jarod is wearing long sleeves with markings of tattoos peeking out near his wrists. He also has gauges in his ears. He must be a damn good waiter, because Mitchell’s usually only hires clean-cut servers. I notice his short, manicured hair and wonder if maybe he conceded a different hairstyle to get the job.
“You and me both. Thanks.” I proceed to give him my order and then ask about getting some chicken tenders and apple slices for Hailey. “Do you want chocolate milk, sweet pea?”
She claps her hands and squeals, “Chocate!”
He finishes taking our order, but hesitates before walking away. He studies me for half a second and then turns his attention to Skylar. “So, how long is your sister in town?”
Skylar glances at me before answering. My face is stoic. “Until the wedding, so May 15th,” she replies.
“Oh.” He shifts his weight nervously. “So, do you think she’d want to go out with me sometime? Maybe you could put in a good word.”
Skylar tries hard not to smirk. “Sure, Jarod. She doesn’t date much, but I’d be happy to tell her what a nice guy you are.”
“Nice?” he says, as if it’s a bad word. “How about you tell her I’m your best waiter and that you’re probably going to promote me to assistant manager soon. And tell her I can get VIP tickets to some sick new bands since my uncle is a promoter.”
“Assistant manager, really?” she asks, her attention fully on this kid who can’t be more than twenty. “I’m glad you’re so ambitious, Jarod. And of course, I’ll tell her all those things.”
“Thanks. I’ll go put your order in now. You won’t forget, right?”
“No, Jarod, I won’t forget. Now, hurry to table three, the patron looks annoyed.”
He rushes off and I shake my head after him. “She’s here only one day, and already she’s got a guy after her. What is it about you Mitchell sisters?”
“Actually, two guys,” she says.
“Two? Really?” My brows shoot up in question, and maybe concern.
“Oh, come on, Mason.” She goes into full mom mode and pulls a bib out of the diaper bag I brought, placing it around Hailey’s neck. “Don’t play dumb with me. I saw the way you guys were with each other last night.”
“The way we were . . . uh, you mean the fight your sister picked with me?”
“Yes.” She smiles, her face lighting up and I can’t help but notice she shares the same brilliant green-colored eyes with Piper. “And the challenge you put on the table. And the heat between you.” She fans herself.
“Heat?” I say, incredulously, laced with a bit of denial. “You’re crazy. And she’s the one who threw down the gauntlet, I just picked it up. It’s purely selfish, because it’ll be good strength training to help me get ready for pre-season.”
“Right.” She helps Hailey with her straw when Jarod deposits the chocolate milk in front of her. “I just can’t believe how much she’s changed.”
“Hailey?”
“No, Piper. I mean, she got a nose piercing and then she did that thing with her hair. She was never like that before. We were the three musketeers—her, Baylor and me; well, four if you count Charlie, who was always around. And even though Piper was five years younger than Baylor and three years younger than me, we still always got along so well. We did everything together. I just don’t understand what happened to her.”
“Europe happened to her. And Asia. And Africa,” I say. “People are different there. I was overseas last summer for some exhibition games. It’s a whole different world, Skylar. I think the more eccentric you are, the better you fit in.” Hailey’s chicken tenders are placed on the table and I cut them up into bite-sized pieces. “You just need to give her a chance to acclimate. She’s been gone for so long.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she says, picking around at her salad. “Just don’t be too hard on her, Mason. Something isn’t right. Something hasn’t been right with her for a long time. I know she comes off bitchy and self-centered, but she’s not really like that. I think she puts up a front. So if you have even the least bit of interest in her, don’t give up. I think you may be exactly what she needs.”
“Me?” I gesture to the waiter boy walking by. “What about him? Doesn’t he seem a little more her type?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Jarod. And he’s right; he is the best waiter I have. But he’s not the guy for her. She needs someone strong. Someone discerning. Someone who can look past that rough exterior and break down her walls.”
“Skylar, I don’t need any distractions in my life. Dealing with Cassidy, having Hailey every other weekend, and playing football—that’s pretty much all I can handle right now. I don’t think I could take on a project as big as your sister.”
“Project?” She gives me a biting stare. “Isn’t that precisely what you’ve done, agreeing to train with my little sister for the marathon?”
“Who said I was going to train with her? I said I would let her work with my trainer. Anyway, I think she hates me.”
Skylar laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing. Except that’s exactly what I thought about Griffin when we first met.”
chapter five
piper
There’s still a winter chill in the air when I walk the ten blocks to the gym. I walk fast, trying to forget the dream I had last night. The dream I’ve had two nights in a row. I thought they were going away. I haven’t had one in a while. Maybe it’s because I’m home. It’s never the same dream. Never the same faces.
I wrap my coat around myself and quicken my steps even more as I think about brunch yesterday at Mitchell’s Long Island—my parents’ newest restaurant. It was interesting to see how everyone has gotten along without me these past years. They’ve moved on. Made something of their lives. Continued living. All while I seem to be stuck like a broken record on constant repeat.
I observed the things I’d missed when I flew in for a whirlwind weekend last year for Baylor’s wedding. Things like how my mom looks older and stressed out, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth more prominent than I’d ever seen them. I know she’s approaching fifty, but she’s always had such a youthful look about her. I guess four years make a big difference.
My dad has taken on Gavin and Griffin as his own flesh and blood. Like the sons he never had. Did he want me to be a boy? His third child—his last chance to sire a son? To have someone carry on the name of his empire? He doesn’t talk to me much. Not since I left junior year. I’m a disappointment to him. A failure. I think about how different all of our lives would be if I’d just been a boy. He seemed more interested in the fact that Mason didn’t show up for brunch than the fact that his youngest daughter had.
It made me wonder why Mason didn’t show. Was it because I was going to be there? He clearly has a problem with me. I couldn’t care less about him one way or the other and my only problem with him is that he possesses a penis.
My phone vibrates and I smile as I swipe to answer the call. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear your voice,” I say.
“So, how’s day three going?” Charlie asks. “Please tell me you are going to see that gorgeous hunk of a football player today.”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes at the phone. I never should have mentioned his name to her yesterday. “No, thankfully, I’m not going to see him, but I am going to see his trainer. I’m on my way there right now.”
“Is his trainer gorgeous?” she asks.
“I don’t know, I haven’t met her yet.”
“Ooooooh, maybe you could have a threesome.” She giggles. “I mean, you already know the guy is hot—like super-sports-hero hot. I’ve Googled him and Pipes, I know you don’t date and all; I’m just saying, if you were ever going to—now would be a good time to start.”
I blow out an exasperated breath into the phone. The only reason I don’t hang up on her is that I know she’s kidding. She also knows just how far she can push before I br
eak.
“Okay, okay,” she says. “Enough talk of the freakishly-hot quarterback. Tell me about all the other shit you’ve done since we talked yesterday.”
I tell her about brunch, leaving out the details of my mom’s appearance. That would make Charlie sad. My mom was like a second mother to her. Hell, she was like an only mother to her. Her own mother was too wrapped up in a bottle to give a rat’s ass about the comings and goings of her only daughter. She was a washed-up runway model; a has-been. An over-the-hill actress who only got bit parts as someone’s forty-something mother. But still, she had to keep up appearances. She would often be invited to charity functions and red-carpet premiers and because of that, she had to look impeccable.
But her daughter didn’t. Her beautiful daughter that had, in her mother’s words, ‘stolen her looks’ from the minute she got knocked up with her.
Nobody cared what her daughter looked like. She wasn’t in the spotlight. No one would notice if she had bruises on her face or burns on her arms. Charlie was good at hiding it. So good that my mother, even as close as they had become, was oblivious to it until Charlie told her senior year, weeks before we packed up and left. But by that time, she was eighteen and practically living with us. She begged my mom not to do anything about it.
Maybe that’s why my mom looks so old. She’s been burdened with too many secrets.
We end the call as I walk through the front doors of the massive four-story gym. Wow. This place is like the freaking Waldorf, except people are wearing spandex instead of tailored suits. They own this? Gavin, Griffin and Mason own this place? I look around the expansive space, seeing it almost completely from one end to the other through the glass walls that partition the different sections. I know immediately I will love it here. I see dozens of treadmills I can get lost on. Weight machines that beckon me, challenging me to push myself to the breaking point. Boxing rings that I know will absorb some of my aggression.
I walk up to the front desk and drop my duffle bag. “Um, I’m supposed to meet with a trainer.” I fumble with my phone, pulling up the text Mason sent me. I’m sure he misspelled her name. “Uh . . . Trick?”
“I’m Trick,” a soft yet masculine voice bellows behind me.
I whip around, surprised to see a woman in the place where the voice originated. She holds out her hand. “Mason sent you. Piper, right? I adore him. And your brothers-in-law. Well, I suppose Griffin isn’t exactly that yet, but it won’t be long. Are you excited about the wedding?”
As she rambles on about anything and everything, I take in her appearance. Just as Mason said, she’s got piercings; one through her lip and one in her eyebrow. She has short, purple hair that matches her outfit—a tight-fitting sports bra that flattens her barely-there chest, and three-quarter length spandex leggings that hug her boyish figure. She’s petite but very fit. Defined biceps lead down to the thick veins lining her forearms. I know instantly that I will like her.
“… and so I decided on Trick, you know, because it’s gender-neutral and all.”
I realize in my perusal of her wild-yet-somehow-fabulous persona, I’ve missed most of what she said. “Uh, sorry.” I finally accept her outstretched hand hoping she doesn’t think I’m a rude ditz. “Yes, I’m Piper. Mason said I can work with you while I’m here?”
She laughs, looking me up and down. “You must have really gotten to him.”
“Gotten to him?” I cross my arms in front of my body, slightly uncomfortable at her perusal.
“Yes.” She reaches down to pick up my bag and motions for me to follow her. “He doesn’t share me with just anyone, you know. He must like you.” She turns back and looks at me again, shaking her head as if she’s confused about something.
“Like me? No. I think he’s taking pity on me because I said I could beat him in the Boston Marathon.” I still can’t believe I said it. What was I thinking? He’s a professionally trained athlete and all I do is run, well and box occasionally.
Trick suddenly stops walking, causing me to nearly run into her. “Wait. Hold the fucking phone,” she says, doubling over in laughter. She straightens up and wipes her eyes. “You mean to tell me Mason Lawrence is running in the Boston Marathon? With you?”
I don’t know why she finds this so funny. “Well, not with me,” I say. “But he’s the one who got me in. He said he’s been training for a while now, as part of his football conditioning.”
A huge smile sweeps across her face. It can’t be comfortable. It looks like her lip ring is pulled so taut it might rip right through her flesh. “Is that so?” She starts walking again, and I follow, watching her shoulders shake up and down as if she’s laughing, but without making a sound this time.
We end up in a locker room where she issues me a lock and I stash my bag for later. “I take it you’ve run before? What are your times?”
She seems mildly impressed when I rattle off my times to her.
“And where else have you trained?” she asks.
“Nowhere else. I just like to run.”
She puts a gentle hand on me. “You mean to tell me you haven’t had any formal training? You got those times by just running?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Well, I like to box, too.”
“Box,” she repeats as if I told her the sky wasn’t blue. “You run and you box.” She once again looks me up and down, then she walks around my body and puts her hands on my calves, then on my thighs, plying them with her fingers. She comes around and faces me. We are almost exactly eye-to-eye, with hers falling ever so slightly below mine. “If you give me five days a week, three hours a day, I’m gonna shave ten minutes off your time.”
I smile. I knew I was going to like her. “Deal.”
I follow her over to the weight machines, noticing how her toned calf muscles flex whenever she takes a step. I think back to what Mason said about people like me not being athletes. Trick is obviously an athlete, and she’s way more outrageous than I am. Why did he even say what he did? Was it just to get a rise out of me?
I forget about anything and everything as she pushes my body to limits I didn’t even know existed before. I’m certain my muscles will be excruciatingly sore tomorrow, but I’ve got to suck it up, I’ve already agreed to come back for more.
I start to question my sanity when Trick says we’re done with weights for the day. She points in the direction of the treadmills lining the back wall with scores of televisions hanging just beyond them. “I’ve already programmed number nine for you. Just push the ‘start’ button when you hop on. No more than five miles today. I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”
I raise my eyebrows at her and she laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a great massage staff here. The bosses said whatever you want, you get. Perks of knowing the owners, I guess.” She winks at me and then nudges me off towards the treadmills.
I curse myself for leaving my iPod in my bag, but at this point, I don’t feel I can walk the extra steps to retrieve it. I question my capability to do even five miles, which would be a piece of cake on any other day.
I’m glad they have televisions, but it looks like each bank of four machines shares one of them. I just hope some wanker doesn’t already have it on The Weather Channel or something.
As I walk down the aisle in search of number nine, I realize almost all of the few dozen treadmills are taken. I wonder what these people do that allows them to ditch work well before noon. Most patrons are men, executives probably, or maybe salesmen, based on the fact that they’re all chatting away on their Bluetooth devices. I’m relieved they all seem too busy to gawk at me.
I arrive at my designated station, a large, sleek, industrial-sized treadmill that looks more complicated than most cars. I step on and press the big green ‘start’ button. The belt starts whirling around, slowly working its way up to a good walking pace of 4 mph. This allows me time to take in my surroundings.
To my left is an older woman struggling to run at a mere 5 mph, sweat pouring off
her brow and her middle bouncing up and down with each labored breath. I have to hand it to her for being here. I’ll bet if she keeps it up, she’ll lose the spare tire in no time.
In front of me is the large television that serves my pod of treadmills. I roll my eyes at the programming. Typical for a gym, I guess. It’s on ESPN Sports Center. My hand wanders to the keypad on my machine that controls the television. I switch channels until I find something worth watching. It appears to be a program about medieval castles in the Scottish countryside, but I don’t have my earbuds to plug in, so all I can do is admire the beauty and long to return to my gypsy lifestyle with Charlie.
“Do you mind?” a low, winded, inherently masculine voice speaks from my right, startling me. “I was watching ESPN. First come, first served, you know.”
My eyes close ever-so-briefly at the voice. Then I almost trip over my own feet as the speed of my treadmill rapidly increases to a steady running pace. I don’t have to look. Even as winded as he sounds, I’d know his voice anywhere.
I will myself not to turn and look at him. I can tell by looking in the mirror that he is shirtless. And sweaty. And very, very muscular.
I berate myself. Why do I even care about that?
I concede his point and use the keypad to return to the previous channel, hoping it will mollify him and keep his attention so that he won’t feel the need to talk to me.
“Thanks, Piper.” His fingers touch the controls of his treadmill, slowing his breakneck pace to match mine.
I nod and try to feign interest in his show, willing time to go faster so I can hit the showers and run hot water over my screaming muscles.
Minutes go by in silence. He’s no longer watching ESPN. He’s watching me. I can feel his stare burning into my flesh until I can’t stand it anymore. “What?” I bite, giving him a brief glance.
“Nothing . . . geez.” He holds his hands out, palms up and gives me a shrug with his broad shoulders, one of which his earbuds are now draped over. “I guess I thought you might be a little grateful, that’s all. I mean, Trick is kind of awesome, right?”
Black Roses (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) Page 4
