by R.S. Grey
I didn’t get the chance to ask who he was referring to before he smirked and nudged my shoulder as he walked past.
I glanced down at the small fortune now resting in my palm. Then, at the grocery receipt.
Wait. What?
“Did you mean to give me all this money?” I shouted over my shoulder at Roger. “And is this your receipt from the store?”
He stopped and turned back, annoyed at my slow uptake. “Check the back—there’s a note. I can’t believe you got Logan Matthews’ number.” He shook his head like he was utterly dumbfounded.
I couldn’t help it; my interest was piqued. I ignored the money and instead decided to shake down Roger for some valuable information.
“So you know him too then?”
He scoffed. “Who doesn’t know him? He’s the best quarterback in the NFL. Just won the Super Bowl a few weeks ago. Pretty sure he’s on every cereal box in the whole damn grocery store.”
My brows scrunched together. “Did you just say NFL?”
“Yeah, NFL. Football. You know, the most popular sport in America?”
“I thought he was a foosball player.”
He barked out a laugh. “Foosball? Are you kidding? No. The guy plays football. You could hawk that phone number for a cool thousand dollars at the very least. Bet you could get even more if you found the right buyer.”
I looked down at the receipt and slowly flipped it over. Sure enough, Logan had written me a note, and below it, there were ten aggressive black numbers. His mobile number.
“So then he’s pretty famous?” I asked, unable to look away from the slip of paper.
“Extremely.”
“How odd.”
It certainly made much more sense—the physique, the VIP status, the models at his table. What a bloke! This is too funny. I wanted to phone him straight away and tell him all about my blunder. You’ll never believe it. Wait until you hear the full story. It’s a riot!
But I didn’t call Logan because my attention slipped back to the wad of cash and I froze, absolutely stunned. He left me cash? Why in the world did he leave me cash?
Of course, I ask Kat and Yasmine about it, but not immediately. I give it a few days, trying to piece it all together myself. I scan back through my past conversations with Logan, searching for clues like a regular Sherlock Holmes, but I’ve got nothing and I’m growing antsy, so I enlist backup.
I should have known better.
“Does he think you’re a sex worker or something? You didn’t lead on or anything about maybe giving him a blowie?” Kat asks as she makes herself a cup of tea in our kitchenette.
“No! I absolutely, in no way made it seem like I was some kind of lady of the night.”
“That uniform is pretty sleazy,” Yasmine adds. “It wouldn’t be out of the question that he got confused. Oh! Look! I found an even better angle.”
She’s on her mobile, scrolling down a Google image search of Logan Matthews. I’ve already seen more pictures than I care to: him on the field about to throw the football, all suited up in his blue and silver jersey; him dressed to the nines for some fundraiser; him on a beach, gripping his girlfriend’s ass in a tight fist. It was after that one that I shot to my feet and said, No more!
My rear is practically on fire just thinking of him manhandling me like that. The obscene thoughts that flit through my mind are absolutely R-rated and perverse. It’s not fair, really. His sheer size makes me go all swoony; he’d really know how to toss me around in bed.
I feel hot.
I push open the tiny window we’ve got beside the sofa and duck my head outside. The sounds of the city practically spear into me, the street noise and music and laughter. I close my eyes and breathe deep, and then a bird caws overhead and I scream as I feel a bit of poo drop onto my forehead and run down between my brows.
“It shat on me!”
Neither of my flatmates react properly. Yasmine is all, “That’s why I never go in nature. It can be so unforgiving.” Kat, at least, yanks off a wad of paper towels and attempts to toss them to me. They barely make it three feet, and she sighs as if to say, Well, I tried.
“It’s an omen,” I suggest as I dunk my head under the running tap in the kitchenette and decide whether or not I should phone a doctor. Can I get rabies from bird poop? Is some of it in my eye now or is that just my tears? I’m having a proper freak-out.
“Just calm down and come round over here so we can give the bloke a call. I can’t believe you’ve sat on this number the last three days and done nothing with it. Look at him!”
I shut off the water and grab a vibrant pink tea towel to wrap around my sopping wet hair, leaving me looking like a turbaned palm reader when I walk back toward the sofa.
“You look lovely,” Yasmine says with a dead-honest tone. “Pink is a good color on you.”
“Oh shut it, will you? And pass me your mobile.”
“Mine? Why mine?!” She immediately holds it up on the other side of her, out of my reach.
“Because I’m not going to call him from mine. That’s embarrassing!”
Kat volunteers. “Whatever, use mine. But if he calls back and insists on chatting with me, well I’ll probably have to give it a go because honestly he’s the hunkiest man I’ve ever seen and I don’t think you’re adequately appreciating all he has to off—”
I yank away her mobile before she can finish her rant and phone him using the number I’ve now memorized by heart.
It rings for ages. I think I grow fifteen chin hairs by the time his voicemail finally kicks in. There’s no deep voice there to greet me with an invitation to leave a message, just a stale robot insisting I wait until after the beep.
I don’t, of course. I chicken out and hang up immediately.
“Well then, there you have it.”
I pass Kat her mobile back, prepared to let the dilemma rest. I’ve tried now, haven’t I? But then her mobile starts vibrating and the three of us shriek bloody murder so loudly our upstairs neighbor bangs on his floor, politely telling us to shut the fuck up.
“IT’S HIM!” Kat shouts, frantically waving her arms. She tries to pass me her mobile, but I don’t want it. What am I supposed to do? Answer it?!
Yasmine groans and stands up to retrieve it, answering the call with a cool, clipped “Hello?”
I motion for her to put it on speakerphone, but she doesn’t.
“Yes, hi. No, this isn’t Candace. This is her friend, Yasmine.”
I’m melting into a puddle of embarrassment. I can’t believe I’ve let it drag on this far. He’ll think I’m mad, and I am, actually, but I was hoping he wouldn’t find out about that until well into our friendship, after he’d grown fond enough of me to appreciate my quirks.
“What’s she doing?” Yasmine repeats. She eyes me up and down, clearly uninspired by my lackluster attire. Then her eyes land on the tea towel. “Oh, she’s just…stepped out of the shower. Yes. That’s why I’m the one answering.”
Oh good thinking. Now he’ll imagine me all wet and in my knickers. In real life, I’ve got on yellow cotton panties and a pale blue tank top I’ve had for so long it used to be navy.
“You want to speak with her? Sure, let me just make sure she’s not still nude.”
“YAZ!” I mouth, waving at her to cut it out.
“Oh good, she’s got on this silky little robe. Barely decent, really—”
I yank the mobile out of her hand so hard I scratch her cheek. She winces in pain and I am sorry, but well, what choice did I have?!
“H-hello?” I say, immediately running toward my bedroom so I can barricade myself inside for some privacy. I get the door halfway closed before my two flatmates weasel their way in. Privacy is obviously not happening.
“Candace?” Logan asks, sounding a little amused.
“Yes, hi.” I’m breathing heavily now, trying hard to get them to ease up on the door so I can force it closed, but it’s two against one, and I’m the runt of the litter; there�
�s no way I’ll overpower them.
I sigh and let it swing open. They stand in the doorway, arms crossed while they listen, mighty proud of themselves.
“You sound like you’re working out or something,” he notes.
“No, just…showered, like Yasmine said.”
“Huh.” He sounds less than believing. “It’s just that you called a second before I did. So did you call while you were in the shower?”
Oh bloody hell! So he’s got brains and brawn?
“Oh…I don’t…not sure. Maybe it was a butt dial?” My voice goes all high-pitched and squeaky. I’m making no sense.
“Right. Is this your number?”
“No. It’s my friend Kat’s. My mobile is…dead.”
“You’re acting odd.”
I am odd. That’s what I want to say, really. Just lay all my cards out there so there’s no preconceived notions of me being fit for proper human contact. Best to just lock me up with some food and water and leave me be.
I sigh and rub my forehead—it’s still raw from where I scrubbed away the bird poop.
“Truthfully, I think I’m a bit nervous.” I tack on a laugh at the end that sounds absolutely mental.
Yasmine and Kat are both cutting their hands across their necks, trying to tell me to ease up on the weirdo, but they should know better than anyone that’s a futile ask.
“Why’s that?”
God, his voice. It’s better like this, without his appearance distracting me. Like this, I can concentrate on how gorgeous he sounds…how easily he unravels me…
“I just…I found out who you are.”
“Oh yeah? I wasn’t hiding it or anything.”
I rush to agree. “Of course. No. It’s just—it’s kind of a funny story. I thought…when you first introduced yourself as a professional football player at The Day School, I thought you said foosball.”
His laugh sets me on a cloud. I’m floating.
“That explains so much,” he replies, sounding a little relieved.
“Yeah, I really got confused. I looked into foosball and everything.”
“Why would you do that?”
Oh right. Bugger.
“Just…I was curious about you. Is that embarrassing to say?” Judging by Kat and Yasmine’s reactions, it absolutely is. “Oh well, it’s true. I wanted to know more about you after you came to pick up Briggs from school, so I looked into the league and even watched a few matches on YouTube. Honestly, I thought it was the most ridiculous sport I’d ever seen, but I was going to make myself really like it if you and I became friends.”
He’s really laughing now, and I can almost picture him pinching his eyes closed and wiping a hand down his cheek like, This girl. What a kook.
“That’s hilarious. I’ll have to tell Darius about that. I’ve been complaining to him about the fact that you haven’t called me since I gave you my number.”
BLISS. My whole body lights up like a Times Square marquee. He’s been waiting for me to call! This man with his hordes of models actually wanted to hear from me!
“Truthfully, it was the money bit that threw me for a loop,” I reply, speaking truthfully.
“The money?”
“Yes, well, you left that nice note saying I should give you a call, but then you also gave Roger all that cash, and I don’t quite know what to make of it. You don’t…that is to say…you don’t think I’m some kind of sex worker, do you?”
“Christ,” he hisses. “No, Candace. No. Absolutely not. I’m an idiot.”
I laugh, more than a little relieved. “Oh okay, good. It’s just…I obviously can’t accept that money, whatever it was intended as.”
“I guess it was supposed to be a tip? Though now I see that it was pretty stupid. I just saw you on your feet all night working your ass off and knew you’d already been teaching all day. I felt bad.”
Oh crap. Oh bollocks.
That’s what this is.
He feels bad for me!
I’m Briggs’ teacher and he sees me as this poor soul who’s working hard and trying to make her way, and he gave me that money and his number because he felt bad. Oh my god, I wonder if he told his friends about the poor cocktail waitress and CRAP! Yasmine went on about the bloody shower and he must be so confused now.
“Right, anyway, I’ll have Briggs take home the cash to return it to you. Or maybe that’d look odd, me sending a toddler off with half a thousand stuffed in his trouser pockets. Tell you what, I’ll just—I’ll put it in an envelope and maybe pass it off to the nanny who usually comes to collect him.”
“Candace—”
“No, that’ll work well. She’s real polite. She won’t steal your money. I actually…I’ve got to go now, but it was nice talking to you! No need to worry about me in the future. I’m doing quite all right. Bye now!”
I hang up before he can get another word in, and when Kat’s mobile rings again, I shake my head and forbid them from answering.
“It’s obvious now what’s happened.”
“You’re not some charity case,” Yasmine agrees. “You don’t need his bloody money.”
“Right. God, I’m glad I didn’t get too carried away fancying him. Can you imagine how I’d feel then?”
Like an utter fool, crushed and embarrassed beyond belief.
I turn away from them and make some lame excuse about needing to get a bit of air. I throw on some joggers and shorts and yank off the tea towel, then I make my way down the stairs of our building, more than a little happy to get back out into the city. It’s so blissfully noisy and chaotic out here, and my mopey thoughts nearly disappear altogether. Nearly.
I do just what I’ve promised and tuck Logan’s money into an envelope for Briggs’ nanny. The next day, at the end of school, I try to pass it off to her.
I’ve always liked her. Like the others, she’s never late. She smiles and thanks me profusely whenever I hand Briggs off, though we never chat much beyond that. I always took it to mean she was busy and didn’t want to dally, but now I realize there might be a language barrier. She’s got a heavy Eastern European accent and is mighty confused when I try to explain to her who the money is for.
“Briggs has got an uncle, Logan. Have you met him?”
“No no.” Then she smiles, trying to make up for her lack of English with politeness.
“Right. Er, well…maybe Briggs can help you get this envelope to him?” I try to shove it toward her, and she looks down at it like it’s coated in radioactive green goop.
“Not good idea. You keep.”
“I can’t. You see, it’s money—a lot of money.”
I open it and flash her the bills, and she steps away quickly. Then she does the sign of the cross, gathers Briggs close to her side, and takes off down the hall.
Right, well, bloody good that did me.
That money burns a hole in my pocket the entire way from work to the market. Kat and Yasmine are already in the flat by the time I make it back home. I’ve got loads of healthy veggies and pasta to make for dinner, though I know we’ll only ruin it with dessert afterward, but at least we’ll have tried to give our bodies something nutritious, right?
“Get off your lazy arses and help me!” I groan under the weight of all the heaping sacks.
“Right right, we’re coming,” Yasmine says, getting up rather slowly, as if she’s got ninety-year-old bones in her trim twenty-something body.
I threaten to aim a tomato at her head, and that puts a bit of pep in her step. We unload the groceries together then clear the bags. My purse is on the counter, and sticking out of it is the envelope I was meant to hand off today.
“Briggs’ nanny wouldn’t take it,” I explain when they look at me questioningly. “I tried, though in the end I think she thought I was the devil or something.”
Yasmine and Kat exchange a private glance. Yasmine’s eyebrows waggle in my direction, and Kat shakes her head forcefully. Yasmine’s eyebrows get a bit more aggressive, and then she add
s in a pointed hand gesture as well. Kat’s jaw locks as she intently shakes her head once again.
“Will someone just tell me what’s going on?” I huff, rather annoyed.
“Yes, Kat, why don’t you tell Candace about all the phone calls you’ve fielded today?”
My heart leaps into my throat, but then I chide myself and play it off as a bit of reflux instead of excitement. I did have a rather big cup of tea after lunch.
“Logan’s phoned twice.”
My heart does this silly little happy dance before I convince myself it’s no big deal.
“And?” I ask, unloading some apples. “Did you answer?”
“Not the first time.”
My breath hitches. “What do you mean, not the first time?”
“Well he was being quite persistent, you know. As I said, he phoned again, and I didn’t want my mobile just ringing off the hook all day. He seemed rather eager to get in touch with you, so I answered the second time and he was awfully nice. Sounded so bloody hot, too, so I thought it’d be no big deal to give him your number.”
And then, as if on cue, my mobile rings.
Chapter Five
Candace
I don’t answer it. I know that makes me the most cowardly coward on the face of the earth, but I felt like real crap yesterday and I hate that feeling. I’ve got a pretty good life going with my friends and my jobs; I don’t need Logan Matthews coming in here and making me feel less than.
But maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to ignore his call. I sort of thought he’d try again at least—up until now, he’s seemed to be a pretty persistent bloke—but after that ignored call, he falls off the face of the earth completely.
No calls to Kat. No calls to my mobile either. Nothing.
A week passes in which I don’t hear from him at all.
I do suffer through talk of him at school, though. Briggs goes on and on about a fun outing they had over the weekend. We got pizza and ice cream and he took me to this arcade and he won me this huge stuffed panda and pandas are my favorite animal now and Logan is my favorite uncle but he’s also my only uncle and—at this point I was massaging my temples, praying my headache would dissipate on its own.
