I’d explained the rotational gym program I belonged to. He stopped on the sidewalk before I could answer. “It’s not that Zumba crap, is it?”
“No, it’s not Zumba day. But Zumba isn’t crap. It’s actually hard work. I leave there soaked—that means it was a good workout.”
He returned to walking. “You were soaked this morning, and considering I had you pinned to the wall and did all the work, I don’t think you got such good exercise.”
“You’re a pig, you know that?”
Brody dropped my hand and grabbed a handful of my ass right there on the street. “What’s that say about you? You got it bad for a pig.”
I rolled my eyes. But he was totally right. I had it bad.
A block away from the gym, Brody pointed across the street. “That’s where Marlene lives. Broadhollow Manor.”
I’d walked past the building before. From the outside, it looked more like a ritzy apartment complex than the terrible visual that came to mind when the words nursing home were spoken. “That looks more like luxury condos than a nursing home.”
“It’s a nice place. They keep it clean, and everyone is well taken care of. You should see some of the dumps that I went to see before finding Broadhollow. The places that the state will pay for are one step up from a shelter. I could have bought a luxury condo for cheaper than what the last few years cost me. But it’s worth it. I’d never be able to sleep at night knowing she was in a hole in the wall, and I had bank just sitting around.”
Even though this morning he had cooked me breakfast naked after delivering a delicious orgasm up against the bedroom wall, that last statement made me fall a little harder for the man. My pig.
Arriving at the gym, he opened the door for me to enter first. Before passing through, I stopped, stretched up on my toes and kissed him on the cheek.
“What was that for?”
“For being you.”
He walked in behind me and swatted my ass as he whispered in my ear. “My girl likes dirty pigs.”
The woman at the reception desk was on her cell phone as I signed in. When she hung up, I asked her about a guest pass. She didn’t bother to look up from her phone.
“My membership has a few guest passes. I don’t have one with me today. I was hoping it would be okay, and you could just look up that I haven’t used any yet.”
She huffed in annoyance, her attention having to be refocused from her cell to the computer that was actually part of her job. “Name?”
“Delilah Maddox.”
Her nails clicked away. “Guest name?”
“Um. Brody.”
She halted her clacking. “Last name?”
“Easton.”
Well, that got her attention. Her head whipped up. “You’re . . . ”
“Delilah’s guest.” Brody filled in the blank when she trailed off.
“Oh my God. You’re really Brody Easton. I love you! I’m a huge Steel fan.”
“Thank you.”
She propped both elbows on the counter, cupping her smiling face in her hands. Forget whiplash, this woman had bitchlash; she’d gone from bitch to entranced so fast.
“So what brings you here to our little gym?”
“Exercise,” Brody responded flatly.
She giggled like he’d just said the funniest thing. “This class won’t be exercise to someone like you.”
My response was snippy because . . . well . . . because she was a bitch who had just insulted my exercise, the place she worked and . . . she was busy ogling my boyfriend. “That’s okay. He exercised at home this morning. Wall lunges.”
She nodded. “Interesting. Never tried those. Maybe you can show me how later?”
I plastered on a fake smile. “I don’t think so. But could we get that guest pass?”
“Oh. Okay. Sure. No problem.” She motioned to the entrance behind the desk. “Go right ahead. This one’s on me. He doesn’t need a pass.”
The class was nearly full when we got there, so we took a spot in the back, dropping our gym bags next to us to claim real estate.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“I wasn’t jealous.”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Were too.”
“I’m not the jealous type.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I am not.”
“Care to put your money where your mouth is?”
“You want to bet that you can make me jealous?”
“Yep.”
I extended my hand. “You’re on. Loser gives the other a massage.”
Brody shook my hand and winked. “Okay. But you won’t be massaging my back.”
“Whatever. But this contest goes both ways.”
Brody looked around the room. It was almost entirely filled with women. “You’re going to flirt with some of the women in here? I’m pretty sure this is the best contest I will ever win, and we haven’t even started to play yet.”
The bitchy woman from the front desk came in. “Alex is running five minutes late. So why don’t we get you warmed up? Anyone want to volunteer to help me stretch out the class up front?”
Brody’s hand shot up faster than a geek’s in science class. Bitch looked pleased.
“Mr. Easton. What a treat. Ladies, we have none other than Super Bowl MVP Brody Easton in the class today! And he’s going to come up here and show us how it’s done.” No one had really noticed us in the back of the room, but that changed instantly. Women turned around and gawked. Brody gloated and headed to the front of the class.
I had completely forgotten what an arrogant showman he could be. Shades of the first time I met him in the locker room were back as he stood next to the instructor, working his stretches. At one point, he smiled at me, then tugged his T-shirt over his head. His gym shorts were hanging low on his narrow waist, and every ripped muscle was on full display. Especially that V. The same one I’d recently discovered we both liked when I traced its path with my tongue.
I looked around the room. I definitely wasn’t the only one drooling. I swear I smelled the pheromone soup wafting through the air. I would never admit it, but I didn’t love the way these women were looking at Brody. Yet . . . it wasn’t an immature jealousy. There was a comforting feeling to realize that I knew he wasn’t really interested in them. The entire class might have been transfixed, but the man at the head of the class was only doing it to try to get a rise out of me.
After a few minutes of the Brody show, Alex walked in. He taught classes in the location I usually went to, so we were friendly. Perhaps even friendlier than my confident-to-win-the-bet boyfriend might like. I inwardly smirked, knowing it would only take a sentence or two after class to win our bet. I could practically feel my muscles relaxing under Brody’s massaging rub already.
After class was over, the women circled Brody asking for autographs. He gloated, thinking he was getting a rise out of me, but truly I found the entire thing amusing and was pretty damn proud that jealousy hadn’t reared its ugly head. When the crowd thinned, we headed to the door . . . but not before I stopped to talk to the instructor.
“Hey, Alex.”
“Pretzel. Nice surprise seeing you in this location today.” Alex’s typical flirtatious banter was muted. He glanced at Brody.
“This is Brody Easton. An old family friend.”
Brody squinted at me as he shook Alex’s hand. That little bit of information, indirect confirmation that the man standing next to me wasn’t my boyfriend, was all it took to relax Alex. “Nice to meet you, Brody. You two go way back, huh?”
“Apparently so.”
“Tell me, was our little Pretzel always this smokin’ hot?”
The air chilled instantly. Brody glared at Alex, who didn’t even seem to notice since he went right on adding gunpowder to the cannon.
“Your downward-facing dog still needs to open up a little. Why don’t you stick around a few mi
nutes and let me help you stretch into it?”
“That sounds like a good idea.” I turned to Brody and cheerily stoked the fire I smelled burning. “Why don’t you go on to the locker room and Alex can help me with my positioning? I’ll catch up with you out front.”
Brody tried so hard, but Alex’s dirty leer was too much to handle.
“Fuck this.” His hand possessively gripped my waist. “You win. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Alex looked confused as Brody quickly steered me toward the locker room. “Very cute,” he growled.
“I thought so.”
Leaving the gym, I taunted Brody about my win. “I would have thought you’d be stiff competition. Guess not.”
“I’ll give you stiff . . . ” He took my hand.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the jealous type.”
“Me either,” he grumbled.
“I have to grab a quick shower and head to the station. We have a late-morning planning meeting. They’re adding a few last-minute interviews with some of the Eagles players before this weekend’s game.”
“Meeting with the enemy. You trying to kill me? First Yogi-Asshole and now spending time with the division rivalry. I think I need a little extra attention tonight. I’m feeling neglected.”
“Oh, are you now?”
“Yep. I think I need you to show me how special I am.”
“And what exactly would that entail?”
“I’ll think of something. When I do, I’ll be sure to text you the details while you’re in the middle of your meeting.” The man’s wicked tongue translated well even in texting.
We turned the corner, heading down the block where Marlene lived. Brody was telling me about his schedule for the rest of the week when he suddenly went quiet. It took me a moment to catch up. “Brody?”
He was staring across the street.
“Everything okay?”
The streets of New York were bustling. At first, I didn’t notice anything. But then I saw her. A woman had stopped outside of Marlene’s building and was staring in our direction. People came and went, but she just stood there, fixated on us.
She was absolutely gorgeous. Model-waif thin with long blond hair and eyes so big, I noticed them across a busy street. My heart sank. I knew the answer but asked anyway. “Do you know that woman across the street?”
Brody turned his head face-forward and kept walking. “Yes. That’s Willow.”
And just like that, the confidence I’d felt earlier—the feeling of empowerment—turned into fear and vulnerability. And, yes, even a little jealousy.
Chapter 23
Willow
“That pretty face should never have an upside-down smile.” My grandmother was losing her memory, lived in a nursing home, and had addicts for her sole surviving kin, and yet here she was, trying to cheer me up.
I forced a smile. “Sorry.”
“You and Brody have a fight?”
Brody had apparently not filled Grams in on the last few years. I wasn’t sure why or what that meant, but I went along with it. “No. We’re good.” I took Grandma’s hand and squeezed.
“Good. That boy is a keeper. They don’t make ’em like him too often anymore. Reminds me of my Carl in some ways.”
“Really?” It was the first time Grams had spoken of Pop Pop. I had no idea if she remembered he was gone or not. Her memory was so random and selective.
“Yep. That boy is loyal. He fell hard for you and never got back up. Same way my Carl did for me.”
She was right about one thing—Brody was loyal. Probably the most loyal person I’d ever come across in my entire life. But even the most loyal person had their breaking point. Seeing him on the street today reminded me of that. I hadn’t expected him to be waiting around for me all these years. Not after everything I’d done to him. But what I saw today had been hard to see anyway. He’d looked happy. Holding a woman’s hand in public. I should have been happy for him. But what I should do and what I actually did had never been the same.
I spent another two hours with Grams. She enjoyed the company and, honestly, I loved being around her. She was my root, made me feel grounded when I otherwise would spin out of control.
After The Price Is Right ended, I stopped in the ladies’ room in the hallway and cleaned up, knowing I’d have to head straight to work or risk being late. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and brushed on a little mascara and lip gloss. When I returned to Grams’ room to say goodbye, a man was sitting in the chair next to her. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place why at first. “Hello.”
The man stood and nodded. “I was just doing my daily visit with Marlene. I didn’t realize she had company.”
My jacket was draped over another chair, so I lifted it and began to pull it on. “Stay. Please. I was just about to leave. I have to get to work anyway.” I smiled. “I’m Willow. Marlene’s granddaughter.”
“I didn’t realize Marlene had a granddaughter. It’s nice to meet you, Willow. I’m Grouper. Your grandmother likes to whip me at checkers a few times a week.”
“Ah. Yes, game shark. She looks innocent, but she’s a closet swindler.”
Grouper looked to Marlene and shook his head. “You sound just like Brody.”
“You know Brody?”
“Of course. Comes here every week like clockwork. Good man. Just don’t ever let him know I said that.” He winked.
“Does he ever bring his girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend? Oh, you mean the reporter. No. He comes alone. Tuesdays. Usually about ten.”
I walked over to Grams and gave her a hug. Her shoulders were so much thinner than I remembered. My larger-than-life grandmother felt tiny, almost fragile. “I have to get going to work, or I’ll be late.”
“Okay, dear. Will you come back with Brody?”
“You know what? I will. I’ll be back on Tuesday. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Grouper.”
“Nope, no mister. Just Grouper. Like the fish.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, it was nice to meet you, Grouper. And thank you for visiting with Grams.”
“My pleasure. Let’s hope the Steel win this Sunday, so we get a happy Brody here on Tuesday.”
I smiled, refraining from saying what I was thinking. I wouldn’t count on Brody being happy on Tuesday, even if he wins.
***
Monday was my only day off. Restaurant hours were hard on keeping up with any TV programs, so I had stopped bothering recording most things a long time ago. On the rare occasion that I remembered to set up something to record, it was even rarer that I actually watched whatever it was that I’d recorded. Except today. I sat on the edge of the couch during the last two minutes of the Steel versus Eagles game as Brody and the offensive line moved down the field. They were down by six and sitting on the thirty-yard line on fourth down.
Mindlessly, I tapped my foot on the floor as Brody drew back, and the ball went sailing in the air. Come on, Brody. Come on. I held my breath until the spiraling ball fell into the wide receiver’s hands. Being on edge, anxious for the win as Brody stood on the field, reminded me of sitting on the old metal bleachers in high school, so many years ago. My best friend, Anna, used to steady my leg. Quit playing the snare drum with your foot, you’re shaking the whole bleacher. God, those days really were a lifetime ago.
After the game, I decided to make cupcakes. I used to love to bake, although it had been a really long time since I’d had anyone to bake for. My apartment was small, with a galley kitchen that was tinier than most closets and a crappy stove, so baking wasn’t something I’d thought to do since I moved in. But today I made Gram and Brody’s favorite. The same red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting that I used to bake after Brody won a game back in high school.
On my way to my afternoon appointment with Dr. Kaplan, I knocked on my neighbor’s door across the hall, two cupcakes in hand. Waiting as I listened for the triple set of locks to clank open, I looked around the dim third floor of my buil
ding. This place was really seedy, and that was saying something coming from the places I’d spent time in over the years. But New York City was expensive, and it was the only place I was able to afford at the moment.
Eventually, the door cracked open a tiny bit, the flimsy top lock chain still securely attached. I kneeled down to the little girl’s eye level. “Hi, Abby. I made cupcakes. I thought maybe you and your mom would like some.”
She nodded quickly with wide eyes. The door shut and then reopened without the chain. Abby reached for the plate. Shit. I know that look.
“Is your mom home?” The poor little thing was starving. She didn’t even bother to lick the icing off the top or taste it before shoveling half the cupcake into her mouth with one bite.
Abby nodded her head while chewing. She was probably five or six, but she was tiny for even that. I’d gotten to know her and her mom over the last few months. Her mother was in recovery, like me. But I had a bad feeling that something might have changed over the weekend. The two guys I’d seen coming out of their place definitely screamed that the wagon had tipped, and Mom had fallen off.
I didn’t want to scare Abby by prying too hard. “How about Mom? Can I give her the other cupcake?”
“She’s sleeping.”
It was four in the afternoon. “Is anyone else home?”
Abby shook her head.
“Can I come inside for a second, Abby?”
She nodded.
Who else would this sweet little thing let in?
I walked through their apartment and found Lena sprawled across her bed. I checked that she was breathing. A few beer cans were littered around the sparse room, but there were no signs of drug paraphernalia, at least.
“Lena?”
She groaned in response and rolled over.
By the time I returned to the kitchen, Abby was already halfway through cupcake number two. Curiosity had me opening the refrigerator. Damn. It was emptier than mine. Way emptier. An expired carton of milk, some ketchup, a jar of pickles—with only the juice left—and a Tupperware with something moldy inside. The kitchen cabinets didn’t fare much better.
“I’ll be right back, okay? Lock the door . . . wait for me to knock.”