Wrong Number, Right Guy

  “I already did one more!” I huff and puff as the weights dangle from my limp arms. Everything burns. Everything. Even my butt muscles are on fire.

  “You aren’t tapped out. Come on—I see one more in your eyes. Lift.”

  “What you see in my eyes is a death threat.” I try to lift the weights anyway. Mainly because the door at the top of the stairs just opened, and Dev is coming down. I’m afraid if he sees any weakness in me, he’ll come after me twice as hard once he’s recuperated, which rumor says will be tomorrow. He has a decidedly springy step right now.

  “Come on, lift!” Ozzie shouts in my face.

  “Get away from me!” I shout-grunt as my arms start to go up. I’d kick him if I could, but I need to focus all my potential energy on my biceps. My body is slowly bending backward, trying to compensate for my lack of arm strength.

  “Bad form! Stand up straight!”

  More sweat droplets pop out on my face as I stop bending and try to use just my arms to get the twenty pounds up past my belly button.

  “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  He puts a single finger under each dumbbell. “Here, I’ll help.”

  I want to scream at his ridiculous offer of so-called help, but I can’t. I have no extra energy for anything. I’m so afraid I’m going to toot; I have my butt cheeks squeezed together as tight as they’ll go, and that leaves very little extra strength for lifting these twenty-pound weights up to my shoulders for the twelfth time.

  “Eeeerrrrrr!”

  “That’s it!” he yells. “You got this!”

  Dev stops when he’s next to Ozzie and nods. “You got this. You got it.”

  My muscles are crying, begging me to stop, but I keep forcing them to perform anyway, because if I don’t, I’ll leave here with my head hung in shame. I know everyone at BSB gives this training everything they’ve got, and I can’t be Bo Peep forever. My arms are trembling with my effort. Please don’t let me toot, please don’t let me toot.

  The weights finally obey my command and reach the apex of the upper swing. Ozzie grabs them from my hands and lifts them away from me like they’re made of feathers, releasing me from the prison that is his workout. My arms feel like they’re going to float right up into the atmosphere with all the heaviness gone. Then when I drop them to my sides they feel like they have fifty-pound weights tied to the wrists.

  “That’s good for your first day,” he says, placing the weights on a rack with several others of various poundage.

  Thank God, I can finally unclench my butt cheeks now that the threat of accidental tootage has passed. Bending over, I rest my hands on my knees. Sweat follows the law of gravity and drips up my face and goes into my eyes. Wow, that stings. I stand and try to blink the pain away. I’m sure it looks like I’m crying, but I’m too tired to wipe the sweat away.

  “Tough workout?” Dev asks. He looks like he’s barely holding in his laughter.

  “Pretty tough.” I shrug, noticing how much effort it takes to lift shoulders that no longer have any strength left in them. I eye my car, wondering if I’m going to be able to drive it now. That stick shift is going to be a problem. Maybe I can call a cab without anyone noticing. I wish I hadn’t bought such a brightly painted car. No way are they going to miss it being left overnight in the corner of their warehouse.

  Ozzie pats me on the shoulder. “We’ll give you one day off and then start again Wednesday.”

  I flick some sweat off my temple with a trembling finger. “No need to wait. I can go again tomorrow.” This whole badass thing is coming from deep down inside my most primitive self. I’m pretty sure there’s a bucketload of adrenaline coursing through my veins, released from the feelings I was just having a few minutes ago that I was going to die from weight lifting.

  “We’ll see how you feel tomorrow.” Dev claps me on the back and then pulls his hand away in disgust when he realizes how wet it is now.

  Ozzie’s all business again. “Tomorrow I need you to go in the van with Toni and Thibault and see what you can do about setting up over there.”

  “Operation Ugly Beard?” I ask.

  Dev laughs and then stops immediately when Ozzie glares at him.

  “Harley,” Ozzie says. “It’s Harley, not ugly beard.”

  I mumble under my breath as I pick up my sweaty towel. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Oh man.” Dev is smiling, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait for our next workout.”

  His happiness is infectious. “Oh, yeah?” I wipe my face and neck off with the towel, trying not to cringe at how gross it is. It smells like metal. “How come?”

  “Because, you’ve got a lot of piss and vinegar. I think I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

  I snort. “Yeah, right. Whatever.” I’m talking tough, but I’m actually on the verge of crying. Why am I setting myself up as a challenge to the team’s personal trainer? I never saw myself as a glutton for punishment before, but now I’m starting to wonder how well I actually know myself. This place has either revealed my true self or turned me into someone else altogether. In one day. What the hell.

  My phone beeps and I pick it up off the weight bench to see who it is. Jenny. She’s left me a text that I can’t ignore.

  Sis: Please call asap. Sammy sick and I’m stuck.

  Stuck could mean anything with her; she could be without a babysitter or locked in the bathroom, knowing my sister.

  “Am I done here, or is there something else you want me to do?” I ask Ozzie.

  “Nah, you’re good. Just come back tomorrow by seven if you can. You need time to go through the equipment before you guys take off for the job.”

  I nod, hoping if I come in that early, it also means I can leave earlier. Not that I’ll complain if I can’t. This place isn’t like any job I’ve ever had before. It’s much too . . . different. Casual. Like hanging out with a crazy family in a way. Family who likes to work out and do hand-to-hand combat. Crazy people. I find I kind of like crazy.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Dev asks me as we all start walking toward the stairs.

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  He stops and waits for Ozzie to get farther ahead. Turning to face me, his volume level drops. “Listen, I know you gave it your all today, so if you’re not up to another workout for a few days, all you have to do is say the word. You won’t lose any cred with any of us. We can see how hard you’re trying.”

  I frown, wondering if this is a trick. “Okay.”

  “You’re going to be sore tomorrow. Make sure you do some stretches now, some more tonight, and some tomorrow morning too. You ever do yoga?”

  I shake my head. “That’s my sister’s domain, not mine.”

  “You should start. It’ll help with your flexibility. Maybe she can show you some of the poses.”

  “Okay, noted. Stretching and yoga.”

  Dev stops at the wood table and rearranges some of the weaponry resting on top of it. I’m not even worried he might decide to use one of them on me. If he does, I’ll just take a nice nap on the ground and be thankful for it. Just standing here is sapping the last bit of energy I have left.

  I was never much of a gym person before, so having someone force me into it is probably a good thing. I suppose I could stand to be a little more flexible. I’m going to be thirty soon, and my sister’s already told me about a hundred times that thirty was when her body started falling apart.

  Thoughts of her remind me of her text. I quickly tap out a response.

  Me: On my way.

  “See you tomorrow?” Dev asks, holding up a hand.

  I give him a solid high five. No two punches for missing this time. “Yep. Tomorrow.”

  “Welcome to the team,” he says, walking over to the stairs, grabbing the railing, and launching himself up the first three stairs.

  “Thanks. It’s good to be here.”

  As he’s entering the door upstairs, Ozzie comes out. I walk over to my car real slowly
in case he wants to say good-bye. I’m sitting inside it, pretending like I have to organize my glove box, when I hear his voice at my window.

  He leans in a little and smiles. “Good first day?”

  I smile too, suddenly nervous. Gone is the military butthead, and in his place is the charming Ozzie, just inches away from my sweaty body. The guy who saved my life and gave me a pretty cool job. My heart warms at the events that brought me here. Maybe getting shot at wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me.

  “You’re not going to quit, are you?” he asks.

  “Are you kidding? Just when things are getting interesting?” I didn’t mean for my words to have a double meaning, but the slight lift to his right eyebrow makes me fully aware that they do.

  “Got plans tonight?” he asks, his casual tone giving nothing away.

  “I think I do, actually.” I look at my phone, sad that my sister is having a crisis. Maybe Ozzie was going to ask me out.

  “Good for you. Stay safe.” He bangs his hand on my windowsill twice and backs away.

  I watch him go, wondering if I should tell him what my plans are. Would that look too desperate? Ozzie, don’t worry! My plans aren’t with a guy! Oh my god, yes. Totally desperate. Maybe it’s better to let him think whatever he wants about it. It’s better to play hard-to-get, right? And since when does that matter? He’s my boss! I’m not going to sleep with him, dammit!

  I jam the key into the ignition with more force than I mean to, breaking my fingernail in the process. I suck on it for a couple seconds before shifting into first gear. I hate that I’m such a slave to my easy libido.

  Ozzie’s watching me like a hawk as I turn around inside the big warehouse and point my car toward the open door.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say as I glide by, cool as can be.

  “See you tomorrow.” He walks next to my car as it’s rolling and hands me my Taser. “Park your car in your garage tonight.”

  I put the Taser in my purse and salute as I drive out the doors. My car bucks and shimmies when I accidentally let too much clutch out. I quickly slam the pedal back in and grab the shifter, trying to get it to go into second. Things all come together a couple seconds later, but not until after I’ve made a complete fool of myself right in front of the one person I wanted to think of me as cool. Typical. I don’t know why I even bother trying.

  I let out a long sigh as I grind another gear going past the big door leading outside. Good-bye, Bourbon Street Boys and hello, New Orleans night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I hear the yelling before I even get into the house, which makes me wonder if I should have come straight here instead of stopping off to get Felix. I frown when my sister’s door opens without the use of the key I keep on my ring. She really should be more careful about her home security. I make a mental note to check how many entrances she has. Maybe I’ll be able to afford a security system for her one of these days. Maybe BSB gives a family discount of some sort.

  Felix takes off into the back of the house as my sister’s voice comes like a boom to my eardrums, a slightly unhinged quality coloring its timbre.

  “Get your butt back on that toilet seat, and do not get up until you’ve pooped! I’m not kidding! I have work to get done and dinner to make!”

  A wail follows. I can’t tell if it’s one of the girls or Sammy. My money’s on the boy. Being the youngest and the only male in the house has somehow given him license to whine pretty much all the time. I’ve mostly learned to tune it out, but it makes my sister get gray hairs.

  I lean into the downstairs bathroom, determining with a quick scan that it is indeed Sammy there on the potty and the two girls in the tub together. Mounds of bubbles go multicolored anywhere there’s a toy floating nearby.

  Jenny is standing with her hands in her back pockets and her hair going everywhere. Her blouse is buttoned up all askew, leaving one half hanging lower in the front. She has wet splotches on both legs and only one sock on. The other foot is sporting toenail polish that I’m pretty sure was applied at least six months ago.

  “Took you long enough,” she says, huffing her bangs from her eyes as she glares at me.

  The absolute wrongest thing to do in a situation like this is to meet her attitude with one of my own. I know this from prior experience, so I keep my reply breezy and simple. “I was at work. What’s going on?”

  “Work? What work? I called your studio, and you didn’t pick up.”

  “My new job.” I sidle in behind her, kneeling down so I can play with the toys in the tub with the girls. I sink my head down into my shoulders as I wait for the yelling to start.

  Sophie and Melody look at me with wide-open eyes. They know it’s coming too.

  “New job? What new job? What the hell, May? You have this whole other life you’re keeping secret from me now?”

  Aaaand now we know why I waited to say anything. I turn my head and look up at her, using my soothing-therapist voice. “You’ve had a bad day, Jenny-Boo. Go get a glass of wine and sit on the couch. I’m going to bathe the girls, convince Sammy to give it up to the potty gods, and then, after they’re settled down with dinner that I will cook them, I will join you. Consider this your night off.”

  She glowers at me for only about a half a second before her face crumbles. “Okay,” she says weakly, leaving the bathroom before anyone can see her cry.

  I hate to see how her feet shuffle, barely leaving the ground. She’s wasted already, and she hasn’t even had a drop of alcohol. I love my nieces and nephew more than anything in the world, but they are the most effective birth control I’ve ever encountered. High school girls should be required to babysit them before they can go out on their first dates.

  “What’s wrong with Mommy?” Melody, the middle child, asks when she’s gone. We call her Melody-in-the-middle sometimes. She’s still young enough at six not to hate it.

  “Shhhhh,” Sophie, the eight-year-old, breaks in before I can respond. “She’s stressed out. Just be good until she feels better. Then you can be bad again.”

  Melody splashes her sister. “I’m not bad!”

  “Hey!” I hold up the time-out signal, not able to keep it there for longer than two seconds on account of my spaghetti-arm muscles that no longer want to work. “Chillax, you two. Can’t you see Sammy is in crisis?”

  We all look over at him and his sad expression.

  “Constipated again?” I ask.

  He nods. “Conthapated again. My bummy and my tummy hurt-th.”

  “Don’t strain. Just relax.”

  “Yeah, just relax,” Melody says, giggling.

  “Hey,”—I point at her face—“no mocking your brother. Being constipated sucks.”

  “Yeah, being conthapated thuckth.” Sammy grabs a toothbrush off the counter and launches it at his sister.

  I stand up as fast and I can in an effort to distract Melody from certain retaliation. “Okay, smallish people, listen up!”

  All the kids tilt their heads to look up at me. The bathroom goes quiet enough that we all hear the cork popping out of a wine bottle around the corner in the kitchen.

  I make a sweeping gesture with my very sore arms. “Auntie May is here!” I lower my arms so I can count on my fingers. It’s much easier on my muscles this way. “And that means there will be no throwing things, no spitting, no potty talking, no farting, no barfing, no calling each other names, and no complaining about what I cook—you got it?” I stare each of them down in turn, lowering myself back into a seated position because the muscles in my legs aren’t very happy right now.

  They exchange silent looks among themselves.

  A squeak comes from the toilet. Sammy tries not to grin when I glower at him.

  “Oopth. I fahted. Thowwy.”

  They all giggle.

  Melody points at her brother. “He broke the farting rule!” She grips her elbows against her ribs, strains, and forces three little bubbles to come up out of the water.

  S
ophie looks at her aghast. “You just farted too! Ew! Not in the tub!” She jumps up and tries to scramble out of the bathtub, but she’s too covered in bubbles to make it happen. She slides back in with a tumble of arms, legs, elbows, and knees. Bubbly water flies up everywhere.

  By the time I can see again, all three kids are laughing hysterically.

  “Auntie May, you have bubbles all over your head!” Melody yells.

  “Ow! I have a bruise on my knee now,” Sophie whines.

  “Hey! Geth what, evewybody?!” Sammy screams.

  We all look at him, waiting for the big news.

  “I pooped!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The kids are eating their spaghetti at the kitchen table, with Felix underneath, ready for things to drop. They’re being extra quiet in exchange for an ice-cream dessert, and I’m pouring myself a glass of wine from the bottle my sister has already half-finished.

  When I drop into the armchair next to her couch, she stares at me over her glass.

  I stare back as I take a sip.

  “So? Are you going to tell me about this new job or what?”

  I consider folding my legs up under me, but when I try, it hurts too much, so I just let them drop to the floor instead.

  “It’s no big deal, really. I’m just taking some pictures for these people.”

  “Why do I get the impression that it’s a lot more than just taking some pictures? Is this some kind of porn thing?” She glances over her shoulder at the kitchen and then lowers her voice. “You know you can’t get involved in the porn industry. They’ll recruit you into the acting part!”

  I laugh. It’s so nice to be sitting here in her family room with her. I love my sister and her nutty mind. “You’re crazy. And you can relax, because it has nothing at all to do with the porn industry. It’s a security company.” It sounds so much safer when I say it that way. No risk. It’s better for my sister to hear it this way; otherwise, she’ll go all mother hen on me and make me start doubting myself.

  She blinks a few times as she mulls it over in her head.

  “Remember that guy who helped me out when I accidentally ended up in Frankie’s bar?”