“Baby girl, no man or friend could get me to the ’burbs singlehandedly,” she said, “but a smokin’-hot man and a snarky good friend could.”
At least I was half the reason she was here.
“How long are you in town?” I asked, guessing she’d be on the red-eye back to Miami in the morning.
“A few weeks or so. Anton is managing a new call center branch here in town, and as the lowly second-born, my job is to stay out of the way and pretend to look busy.” She made a whoop-dee-doo twirl with her finger.
“If you’re going into the family biz, why are you majoring in music?” The teapot started whistling, so I turned off the burner and reached for a hot pad.
“I’m majoring in music because that’s what I love. I’m going into the family biz because I actually want to make money,” she said, huffing. “I figure if I do my time this summer and a year or two after I graduate, Mom and Dad will turn their heads while I live on music and my trust fund for a couple decades.”
I poured the hot water into the cups. “And your first task in this new job is to go party the night away with a cute Puerto Rican?” I said, trying to hide my smile.
“What can I say? I’m living the dream.” Her phone pinged again. It was a noise that went hand in hand with India. Someone was always texting her, at any and all hours of the day.
I grabbed the cups and carried them over to the table.
“Hey, you wanna come with us tonight?” she said, glancing up from her phone. “It will just be me, Anton, and Ricky. We’re going to the best club in town, apparently, which isn’t saying much. I’ll be surprised if they even have a bottle of Cristal for us to celebrate with.”
“The horror,” I deadpanned, setting her cup in front of her. “As madam requested. Dark, and strong enough to knock your panties right off.”
Winking, India lifted her cup to her lips. “In that case, I’ll have another.”
“Thanks for the invite, and a night on the town is exactly what I need, but I’m flying out at the crack of dawn to see Jude,” I said, taking a sip of my green tea.
“Where is the Jude man?”
“San Diego. He had to leave for preseason training a couple of weeks ago,” I said.
Her eyebrows rose. “So if Jude’s in San Diego, what in the hell are you doing here in this rat-infested hole?”
I stuck my tongue out at her, which earned another eye roll. “I’ve got a summer class I’m taking.”
“Summer class? Pul-lease,” she said, making a sound with her lips. “You’ve got so many extra credits you could graduate a semester early if you wanted.”
I made a mental note to not be so open with India when it came to any and all aspects of my life. She’d been born with a built-in BS detector.
“I’m looking for a job, too,” I added, focusing on my teacup.
“Double pul-lease,” she said, making that same sound with her mouth. “Why do you need some sucky minimum-wage job when your man’s the newest member of the millionaires club?”
I sighed. Well, it was more like a groan. “Not you, too, India.” I’d already had to put together a debate team–quality explanation for Jude; I wasn’t looking forward to giving a repeat performance.
Setting down her cup, she studied my face for a moment. “Ah,” she said at last, “I get it.”
“You get what?” I replied, not really caring so long as I didn’t have to explain what I didn’t fully understand myself.
Grinning, she threw her hands in the air. “‘All the women who are independent,’” she sang, swaying in time to the imaginary music.
I chuckled and joined in. “‘Throw your hands up at me,’” I sang back, remembering why I was majoring in dance and not music. I couldn’t carry a tune to save my soul.
“Is that what it has to do with?” she asked softly.
“Partly.”
“And what’s the other part?” she asked, grabbing hold of my hand.
“I’m still trying to figure that part out,” I admitted. Contrary to what I’d thought, it felt good telling someone that I didn’t have a clue why I needed to carve out my own way financially, that I just knew I had to.
“So, what sweet minimum-wage gig are you going to be slaving your summer away at?” she said before taking another drink.
I shrugged a shoulder. “I haven’t found one. Yet.” I was determined I would, though, and if I’d learned one thing in life, it was that Lucy Larson’s stubborn resolve often got what it wanted.
India’s face wrinkled before she put her phone up to her ear. “That’s about to change,” she said.
“Do I want to know?”
She held her cease-and-desist finger up as I heard someone answer on the other end. “I’m on my way,” she barked.
Nice greeting.
“Well, Ricky’s just going to have to wait a little longer,” she cut in before the voice on the other end got more than a few words in. “And you’re going to have to wait, too, big brother.”
“Hey, Anton,” I said, loud enough that he could hear me over India’s voice.
“Yes, that was Lucy,” she replied. “Yes, Lucy Larson, my old roommate.”
“The one and only,” I said, heading over to the stove to grab the teapot. India also drank her tea like she went through men: quickly and voraciously.
“Lucy lives here,” India continued to explain. “No, obviously not year-round, dumb ass. The apartment here is her and her fiancé’s little love shack they do naughty, naughty things in.”
“India,” I hissed, pouring more water into her cup, “control yourself.”
“No, he’s not here,” India said, swatting my butt as I headed back from the kitchen. “He’s got some sort of football training camp thingy.”
“Thingy?” I called out.
She dismissed me with a wave. “I already asked her. She’s got an early flight out in the morning, so she’s taking a pass tonight.”
“Next time,” I called out again so Anton could hear me.
I had yet to meet India’s older brother, but I’d been part of enough of these three-way conversations that I felt like I knew him. In a lot of ways, he reminded me of my brother. He was protective of India, checking in on her almost daily, had a killer sense of humor, and never seemed to run out of things to say. In a word, Anton was charismatic.
“Will you shut your mouth for two seconds so I can get to the reason I’m calling you?” India interrupted after a few moments.
Taking my seat again, I heard Anton reply, “Shutting mouth.”
“Thank you,” India said, settling into her chair. “Are you still looking for an administrative assistant?”
India waited for his answer.
“And how much were you planning on paying per hour?”
India’s face squished when Anton answered. “Tell you what. You make that eighteen dollars an hour and I’ve got you the best damn administrative assistant you could ever dream to find.
“You’d want to interview her first?” she said, lifting her shoulders. “Okay. Interview her.” Lifting the phone toward me, she pressed the speaker button.
“Hey again, Anton,” I said, glaring at India for putting me on the spot. “Sorry my friend’s such a lunatic.”
“Lucy?” he replied, sounding as caught off guard as I was. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry my sister’s such a pushy maniac.”
“No biggie. I’m used to it after three years,” I replied, as I smiled innocently at her. She gave me the finger.
Anton laughed. His voice was so deep that when he laughed, it sounded like more of a rumble than a laugh. “So are you really looking for a job, or has India been eating too many ‘special’ brownies again?”
India glared at the phone.
“I’m really looking for a job,” I said, feeling like I should let him off the hook by saying I wasn’t interested in being an assistant, so he wouldn’t feel obligated to give me the job, but I needed a job, and working for Indie’s brother
for the summer was better than about 99 percent of any other jobs I could find.
“Do you have any administrative experience?”
“No,” I said, “but I’m a fast learner.”
India shot me a thumbs-up.
“How many words per minute can you type?” Anton asked next, sounding every bit the professional businessman he’d become since graduating college a few years back.
I motioned to India, looking for help. She mouthed, “I don’t know.”
“Uh . . . some,” I said, grimacing.
Anton was silent for a moment. Probably trying to figure out a way to let me down gently. “What’s your proficiency with Microsoft Office Suite?”
“Well,” I said, trying to keep a level voice. Might as well have a little fun with this impromptu interview. “I’ve danced lead in The Nutcracker three times.”
India slapped her leg, rocking in her silent laughter. I swatted her, ready to burst into my own not-so-silent laughter when the sound of Anton choking on his own chuckles broke through the phone.
“Okay, Mr. Hotshot,” I said, “I’ve never worked in an office setting before, and I don’t know how many words I can type per minute or what my proficiency in Microsoft Office Suite is”—I made air quotes—“but I’m a hard worker. I’ll be there on time, and won’t leave until I’ve typed however many words you need me to. Okay?”
“Anything else?” Anton asked, partially composed.
“Yeah, one more thing. If you’re looking for one of those smiling, coffee-fetching, vacant-eyed bimbo types for an assistant, I’m not your girl.” This was positively the worst job interview in the history of interviews. Crash and burn, Lucy. Back to the want ads.
“Since I’m not big into bimbos,” Anton said after a few seconds, “and I really hate coffee and smiling, I’d say you just landed yourself a job.”
Say what?
I gawked at the phone, certain I hadn’t heard what I thought I had.
India did a fist pump into the air as I remained silent.
“Can you start first thing tomorrow?” Anton was all business again.
I gave my head a swift shake. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, but can be in at the crack of dawn Monday morning.”
“Not even one day on the job and you’re already requesting vacation days?” Anton teased. “What kind of employee did I just hire?”
Reality was finally starting to set in. I had a job. A sweet-paying job working for one of my best friend’s brothers. “The kind of employee you thank your lucky stars for,” I threw back, ready to hop out of my chair and bust a move.
“Lucy Larson, administrative assistant,” Anton said. “I like the sound of that. See you Monday morning.”
“First thing,” I said. “Thank you, Anton. You won’t regret it.”
“No, Lucy,” he replied, “I’m sure I won’t.”
You know that person who’s the first out of her seat the instant the airplane comes to “a complete stop”? Yeah, that would be me.
I was the first person up and the first person off the plane that Thursday in San Diego. As I powered toward the baggage claim area, I had to remind myself to walk, not run. More than once I forgot.
I saw Jude before he saw me. He was spinning circles in place, and his eyes fell on me after a final revolution. His shoulders relaxed when he smiled. “Yo, Lu-cy!” he shouted—Rocky-style—above the noise in the airport, breaking into a run my way.
I didn’t care that we were catching the attention of everyone within hearing and seeing distance; nor did I care about the show we’d be giving them soon. The only thing I cared about was the guy running at breakneck speed and getting his arms around me.
I wasn’t walking anymore. My bags were bouncing against me as I dodged around people, and the corners of my eyes stung with the tears forming. You would have thought he’d been deployed to the Middle East for the past year from the way we were charging at each other.
When Jude reached me, he grabbed me up and spun me around. I held on for the ride, wondering how another person could make me feel whole again. When Jude finally set me back down, I let my purse and carry-on fall to the floor. Folding me back into his arms, he pressed into me as tightly as two people could fit together. God, it felt so good.
“Damn,” he breathed into my hair. “I can’t go that long again.” His hand cupped the base of my neck and his other arm pressed into the small of my back.
My own arms were cinched in a death-hold around his waist. “Me, neither.”
While people grabbed their luggage from baggage claim or waited in line for a cup of coffee, Jude and I stood there, frozen in time. Five minutes, ten minutes, no minutes? I didn’t know. And I didn’t care.
He smelled the same, all soap and man, and his skin had darkened another shade in the California sun.
“Promise me right now we’ll never go that long again without seeing each other,” he said, nuzzling into my neck.
His breath against my skin gave me goose bumps.
“Promise,” he repeated, looking hard into my eyes.
“I will only make you a promise that I can guarantee I can keep,” I said, remembering why honesty was a double-edged sword when his face fell a bit.
His thumb brushed under the collar of my shirt. “Promise me you’ll marry me.”
I exhaled. That was an easy one. “I promise.”
His face went from dark to light in the span of two words. “Promise you’ll marry me in the next six months.”
Back in the danger zone.
I replied with a lift of my eyebrow.
He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. You’re so difficult, Luce,” he said, keeping me tucked under his arm as he turned toward the baggage carousel. There was only one suitcase left spinning around on it.
Grabbing my bag, Jude pretended to be overwhelmed by its size. Or weight. Or both.
“God, Luce,” he said, looking from me to the bag. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were planning on staying awhile.”
Jude’s continued theatrics with my bag caught the attention of a few people waiting at the next carousel over. One little boy in particular.
“Two nights is a while for a girl,” I said, not able to take my eyes off the little boy gaping at Jude. No matter where we went, Jude got a lot of gaping. The little boys who stared were amusing; I only tolerated the batting-eyed females because I couldn’t take out the world’s female population singlehandedly. “Besides, I’ve got a present in there for you that took up at least half the space.”
“Present?” His eyes sparkled. “A ‘just because’ one?”
“Aren’t those the best kind?” I said, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the airport store. I had an idea.
“I got you a present, too,” he said proudly as I scanned the store.
“A ‘just because’ present?” I asked as I found what I was looking for. Tugging on his hand, I beelined for it.
“Aren’t those the best kind?” he said.
“Yes, they are,” I said, grabbing the turquoise-and-yellow football before heading to the cashier.
“Luce, I can get you one of those for free,” he said, sounding confused. “An official one with the whole team’s autographs if you want.”
The cashier rang me up, and, before I could hand her the cash, Jude slipped a shiny black card into her hand. “I got it,” he said.
It’s all right. No biggie, I had to tell myself. He’s just paying for a football.
I thanked the cashier, then sifted through my purse until I found a pen. Handing him the pen, I held the football in place. “I just want one autograph.”
He did that half smile, half smirk of his that was by far the sexiest expression in the whole damn world, before signing his name just to the right of the laces.
“I feel like my number-one fan should get something better than an airport football,” he said, following after me as I headed back to the baggage carousel.
“Oh, believe me,”
I called back, “your number-one fan will be demanding you give her something better later tonight.”
He chuckled, that low-timbered one of his. “I live to serve.”
Pushing the thoughts aside that were making my whole body tingle, I walked toward the little boy who was still gawking at Jude. The kid wasn’t even blinking.
I knelt beside him, holding the ball out for him. “You look like a fan of Jude Ryder’s,” I said, grinning as the boy’s eyes widened another notch when he saw the signature.
“His biggest fan,” the boy said, his voice high and excited.
“You and me both, kiddo,” I said, motioning at the ball when he stayed frozen.
When he finally grabbed the ball, his face lit up like only a child’s could. It was amazing how a signature of the guy I loved could make a person’s day. It was heavy stuff, and something I wasn’t sure I was ready to process yet. Jude had been a big deal back at Syracuse, of course, but now playing for the NFL would mean a whole new level of fame.
I winked at the boy before standing up.
“Thank you,” he called out as I headed back to where Jude stood a way back with my bags.
I waved at the boy as he rushed off to his parents and stuck the ball in their faces.
“I know you don’t want it going public, but you’re quite possibly the sweetest person out there,” Jude said, his voice and eyes soft.
I grimaced with exaggeration over sweet.
“I think you just made that little guy’s year,” he said, wrangling my duffel over one arm and grabbing my hand with his other. “A beautiful stranger picking him out in a crowd. That’s one he’s going to be telling his buddies ten years from now.”
“That boy had eyes for nothing but you and that football,” I teased as we headed for the parking garage.
“I would have come over and said hi, but the little guy looked close to hyperventilating as it was.”
“Yeah, I think it’s a good thing you stayed back.” I laughed. “I’m certain his heart couldn’t have taken it if you’d said something to him.”
Fishing keys from his pocket, Jude came to an abrupt stop in front of a lifted black truck. “And I’m certain my heart can’t take it if I don’t kiss you,” he said, resting a hand on my hip. “Right here. Right now.” He stepped closer, until I could feel his body against mine. “And, Luce? I want you to kiss me until I’m weak in the knees.”
Crush Page 6
