Fair Play (44 page)

Chapter Eight

River

My feet rhythmically pound the sidewalk on my late afternoon run, and the low sun almost blinds me. Off-season workouts are so light, I feel guilty if I don’t put in a few miles every day when they’re over.

Today, I’m not thinking about the distance of my run or my form like I usually do. I have much more interesting things occupying my thoughts. For example, I spent the first mile imagining how Angel’s skin would feel against mine. Then, for a quarter-mile or so, I thought about her hair sliding through my fingers.

I cleared my thoughts for a half-mile to calm the wood growing in my shorts by thinking about my sisters playing with their dolls when they were little and my mother praying the rosary at church on Sunday.

I got my shit together and tried to think about something else, anything, but it was useless. It wasn’t long before I was daydreaming about spreading her out on my bed and burying my face between her legs.

Pussy whipped before the first date. Unbelievable.

The Sparks Stadium is beautiful at this time of day, with the sun glinting off the glass panels that cover the front of the massive structure. I slow my pace to a walk and approach my car.

I should go in and grab my bag from the locker room, but I’m running short on time. I was already late for Angel’s class today. I will not be late for our date.

As soon as I left the dance studio, I called to make a reservation at Poppy’s, my sister, Olivia’s, restaurant in San Jose. It’s an hour-long drive, but the food and the laid back atmosphere are more than worth it. And there is nobody better at playing cupid than my big sister. If she ever quit the restaurant business, she would have to work for E-Harmony. She has never met a person she deemed incompatible. She uses her restaurant to network for her business, but I swear, sometimes, she just does it to meet new people to match.

I look up and see Kyle striding across the lot to his Hummer. When he’s within earshot, he calls out, “Hey, man, you forgot your phone in your locker. It’s been blowing up. Didn’t wanna be nosy or nothing, so I let it keep ringing.”

“Thanks, I’ll run in before I go. You headed home?”

“Yeah, the wifey got a sitter so we can have a date night.”

“You gonna show her some of your new dance skills?”

“Fuck naw. I’m gonna show her something else, though,” he says, waggling his eyebrows and wrinkling his big black head.

“All right, all right, no need to elaborate. Have fun.” We high-five when we pass between the cars, and I power walk to the stadium to see what the hell is going on with my phone.

I hope it’s not Angel calling to cancel. No, can’t be. I didn’t give her my number. She could have gotten it from the office in the studio, though. Shit.

I pass several teammates on my way through the building until I’m standing in front of my locker. I snatch my phone off the top shelf and see six text messages from an unknown number.

I press my thumb on the security pad, and it opens to a text from Misty.

You there?

Text number two is from my mom, asking me to come to a family dinner tomorrow night. I tuck that into my list of things to do on date number two and continue to the third text.

I heard you’re asking about us.

The only person who knows I’m looking for her is Millie. That old coot had her phone number all along.

I scroll on, and text number four is also from Misty.

Please don’t.

Please don’t? What the hell? My sister-in-law and niece and nephew disappear, and I’m not supposed to look into it? How do I even know the person on the other end of this thread is her?

Next on the list is an alert that my dry cleaning is ready to be picked up, and the last is, again, from Misty.

We are safe. Don’t look for us.

I blow out a short, quick breath and head back out into the heat to my car. Why would she be on the run with the kids? What the hell did my brother do to them? What kind of trouble is he in?

Every cell in my body wants to find him right now, beat him to a pulp, and leave him in the middle of a busy street.

Angel has no idea that when she agreed to go out with me tonight, she helped me avoid murder charges because if it weren’t for her, his blood would be on my hands.

In the car, I exit the lot, gripping the steering wheel with enough force to snap it in half if I had a mind to.

Focus on Angel, the date, and the time that I’m going to spend in the small confines of my car, smelling her, feeling that electric wave of magic that flows between us, and learning about her.

That’s always been my favorite part of starting a friendship, figuring out a woman’s favorite things. Not just the mundane things, either. I mean, it's good to know her favorite color and whether or not she’s into sports, but I want to ask the hard questions right up front, like
Do you believe in God
? Or maybe
What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to another person?
and
Do you speed when you drive?

I make a lengthy mental list of questions, trying to distract myself from my brother’s mystery situation, but’s no use. Misty and David are on my mind. I need to call Mom and ask her if she knows anything.

I tell the automated system to call my mother, and in seconds, her soothing, warm voice is filling the cold air-conditioned car.

“Mom?”

“The one and only. How is my favorite son?” she asks. We are all her favorite when we call. Nobody takes it personally, though. She’s done it all our lives.

“Fine, Mom. Do you know anything about Misty taking off with the kids?”

She’s quiet for a beat too long.

“You do, don’t you?”

“Well, now, I didn’t know she’d left, but I suspected something like this was coming. David’s been a terrible husband, and now look at him, bringing trash like that to our family dinner. Who could blame her?”

“I think there’s more to the story. She texted me today saying not to look for her and that they are safe. What is she safe from?”

“I don’t know. I try not to interfere much in your lives, but I never suspected . . .”

“Abuse?” I ask. The question lingers on the line between us as she considers that possibility.

“David’s always been a little different, but I didn’t think he would hurt Misty or the kids. Oh Lord, River, you don’t think she’s gone forever, do you? I can’t even think about never seeing my grandbabies again. Did she say where they went?”

“I spoke to their neighbor this morning, and she told me a few things. I think she knows more than she’s letting on, though. I’ll go back tomorrow and talk to her. Is Dad home tonight, or is he on the road?”

“He’s on the road. Won’t be home until tomorrow night. Are you coming for dinner?”

“Of course, and I might be bringing someone.” I shouldn’t get her hopes up like this, but maybe if I speak it out loud, it will come true.

“A girlfriend? Oh, River, have you finally met someone?” I can just imagine her clasping her hands over her heart and her giant blue eyes sparkling with hope.

“Not a girlfriend. Tonight’s our first date. I’m taking her to Olivia’s place. She’s a dancer.”

“A dancer? Like one of those girls who takes off her clothes in a nightclub?” she asks. I think she’s in shock. First, one of her sons has a runaway wife and children and a prostitute for a girlfriend. And now, she thinks her other son is dating a stripper, the poor thing.

“No, Mother, you know me better than that, don’t you?”

“I thought I knew your brother, too, but it seems I don’t.”

“It’s going to be okay, Mom. We’ll find Misty and the kids. I promise.”

“Does Mark know they’ve gone missing? He could help. He knows all of the police officers.”

My brother, James’s, husband, Mark, is a paramedic, and that’s always come in handy, but I hadn’t even thought about him being friends with the cops.

“No, but we can talk about it tomorrow night at dinner.”

“No, we shouldn’t talk about our family problems if you’re bringing a date. I’ll call everyone tonight. Speaking of your date, what sort of dancer is she?”

“She’s a professional ballet dancer. She’s teaching the team how to be more graceful on the field. That’s how I met her.”

“That’s wonderful, ballet . . .” she sighs as if dancing were her long lost dream.

“She’s amazing. I can’t wait for you to meet her— if she comes, that is.”

“Don’t be silly. What woman wouldn’t want to come to family night with a handsome man like you?”

A skittish, beautiful, sassy dancer. That’s who.

“Aw, Mom, you’re an ego booster for sure. See you tomorrow at six?”

“I’ll see you both tomorrow at six.”

“Okay, bye, Mom.”

“Goodbye, honey.”

“Mom, wait.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Oh, I love you too, my baby boy. Now go and sweep that dancer off her pink-toed feet so she’ll come and meet me tomorrow.”

“I will.”

I press
End
and pull into the long drive that leads to my house nestled in the woods. I’m focused when I hit the door and stride through the house to shower and change. I need to hurry. I can’t be late to sweep my dancing Angel off her feet.

Chapter Nine

Angel

Cat is nowhere to be found. Figures. I stopped at
Java Jamaica
, and the girl working said she took the day off. I called. No answer. I texted, and still nothing, so I’m going to her apartment.

I know she told me to say yes to a date with River, and she probably won’t try and sway me from going, but I need a sounding board, even if it’s a biased one.

I pay my Uber driver and hop out onto the sidewalk in front of her posh apartment building. Cat can afford to dillydally her life away in a coffee shop because she comes from money. If she were poor, I’ll bet she would learn to control her temper and get a job doing something that challenges her, something she’s educated for like being a stock trader.

Personally, I think she’d be perfect for that job with her hot head, but so far, she hasn’t had any luck convincing anyone else of that.

The doorman holds the door for me when I’m at the top of the stairs.

“Evening, Miss,” he says.

“Hey, Arturo, have you seen Cat today?” I ask.

Arturo has worked in Cat’s building longer than she’s been alive. I’ve known him as long as I’ve known her.

“She’s home, and I believe she is ill.”

“Oh no, well that explains why she’s not at work. I’d better check on her. Nice to see you again, Arturo.”

“Thank you, Miss. Have a good evening.”

I ride the elevator up to the tenth floor and take a left when I get off. Outside her door, there is a delivery bag hanging on her doorknob. I slip it off and knock. No answer. I ring the bell, and still nothing. What the hell is up with her?

I’m thinking about heading home to hide under the covers in my bed, where I can ignore the fact that I have a date with the hottest NFA player in the league. I slip the bag back onto the doorknob and turn to leave when I hear a click and a faint, “Come in.”

Grabbing the bag again, I push the door open and find a swollen, puffy version of my best friend. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her nose is red and runny, and her hair’s a mess of wild pink and blue stripes tangled in a ponytail that has long since been pretty.

“What the hell happened to you? I just saw you twenty-four hours ago, and you were fine,” I say, reaching out to feel her forehead. She’s hot, really hot.

“I caught the flu, I guess.” She shrugs, turning around to crawl back into her cocoon of blankets on the couch. She’s been nesting here for a while. Kleenex litter the coffee table, and several glasses of water sit half-filled.

“You’re really hot. Have you called your doctor?”

She pulls her fluffy, white down comforter—that she has dragged off her bed to the couch—up to her chin.

“Thanks, and no.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, turd. Have you taken some Ibuprofen, at least?”

“Nope, gonna ride it out.”

“Why are you so stubborn? There are things you can do to make yourself feel better while you recuperate, you know.”

“It’s better to let it run its course. So what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on a date with blue eyes?”

“How did you know we had a date?”

“You had a class with him today, right? I knew he would ask you. I did worry about what you’d say, though.”

She’s snuggled on her side, shivering under her covers, but she lifts her head to glare at me with suspicion.

“I accepted.”

Her glassy eyes light up. Even with a fever and a head full of snot, she’s excited that I’ve got a date.

“But, I want to cancel. I don’t know how to get ahold of him, though. We didn’t exchange numbers.”

“And why do you want to cancel?” She may be sick as hell, but she can still make me feel like the dumbest woman alive with her tone.

“Because . . . because I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

“Angel, how long did it take you to track me down today?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Couldn’t you have been practicing during those couple of hours?”

“Yeah, what’s your point?”

“My point is you have time for what you make time for. You were dying to talk to me, so you put your practice aside and found me. Go and do the same for your love life.”

“I wouldn’t have had to waste time hunting you down if I hadn’t said yes to going on a date with him, which you encouraged, I might add.”

She sighs and props herself up on her elbow.

“You know damn good and well that you would have said yes with or without my encouragement, so don’t go blaming me for that. I’ll bet you couldn’t even answer him verbally. What’d you do, nod your head?”

I frown. “How did you know that?”

She shakes her head back and forth and drops it back onto her pillow.

“I know you, Angel, and I’ve seen him.”

“So you’re not going to help me out of this, are you?”

“No. How would I do that anyway?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe your brother would know how to look up somebody’s personal information on a secret NFA player list or something.”

“Wow, you’re really reaching, aren’t you? I’m not calling Jesse, and you’re going on your date, end of discussion. Go and get something sexy from my closet. You probably don’t have anything but jeans and tutus in yours. And for God's sake, take a shower. You smell, and your hair is atrocious.”

“I’ve been working all day, unlike some of us.”

“I’m sick. Go clean up,” she says, waving a finger toward the hall that leads to her bedroom. Shopping in Cat’s closet is a little like shopping on Rodeo Drive. There isn’t a scrap of material in there that isn’t high-fashion and expensive as hell. She’s also much more daring than I am when it comes to clothes, so I’m a little worried about what I’ll find that’s appropriate for . . . for what? I have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing.

Why didn’t I ask more questions? At the very least, getting his phone number would have been smart. I didn’t say anything at all. I just nodded. How pathetic.

I shower in Cat’s enormous bathroom, where it smells like a field of lavender. I’ve never smelled this girly in my life. When I pad into her bedroom from the en-suite bathroom, the closet door is open and the light is on.

Inside the closet, hanging on a freestanding garment hook, is a gorgeous burgundy colored dress. It’s knee-length and has a row of tiny buttons from the hem all the way up to the point of its V-neck. There’s a smidgen of space between every button and its corresponding hole on the opposite side. It’s beautiful, and not me.

“Don’t stand there all day and stare at it. Put it on,” she says. I flinch and turn to find her standing on the threshold of the bedroom wrapped in her comforter.

“You should be in bed.”

“Yeah, I know, but this is a once in a millennium kind of event. I had to make sure you wore it.”

“Gosh, Cat, don’t overdramatize this or anything. It’s just a date, one little date that isn’t going to lead anywhere.”

“Shush. It will if I have anything to do with it. Now let me see you in that dress.”

“You’re bossy when you’re sick. I need a bra and panties.”

“I’m bossy when I’m not sick. You just haven’t been subjected to it. And you don’t need a bra with that dress. Panties are in the top drawer on your left, but I’m pretty sure you can’t wear those either. I’m going to lie down. I feel like shit.”

She disappears from the door, and I look down at the drawer full of perfectly placed underwear. At home, mine are tossed in a drawer all willy-nilly. Cat’s look like a sale table at Victoria’s Secret.

I check the time on my phone—it’s six o’clock. Crap. I need to speed things up. I shrug my shoulders and step into the dress. It feels so weird to be so naked under the slinky material. I’ve never gone commando and braless at the same time. I stop to examine myself in the mirror and wonder if it’s obvious I’m not wearing any panties.

The dress is gorgeous. I smooth my hands over my hips and take a second to admire myself. I look good. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should go out more, have some fun, and live a little. An image of Miss Valentina with her nose wrinkled up and her mouth set in a disapproving straight line flashes through my mind, followed by one of my father shaking his head and saying,
you should have been a doctor like your sister
.

No, dance first, and everything else comes after that. I need to make it through tonight, guard my heart, and turn my hormone switch to
off
so I can get back to practicing my toes off tomorrow.

Back in the bathroom, I run a flat iron over my damp hair and use Cat’s makeup to freshen up my eyes and lips. A pair of strappy black heels, and I’m on my way back into the living room to grab my bag.

I’m met with a long whistle and a catcall from the ultimate Cat.

“Wow, you shine up like a new penny! I had no idea you could look so hot.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve seen me dressed for a show plenty of times.”

“That’s different. You’re always wearing stage makeup, sequins, and tutus. You look like a million sexy ass bucks in that dress.”

“How much did this dress cost? Am I going to go broke if I spill red sauce all over it and have to replace it?”

“It’s nothing. Go ahead, let him tear it off you. If it helps you get laid, I don’t care if I never see it again.”

“Shut up, I’m not sleeping with him. It’s just one date.”

The side of her mouth lifts in a doubtful pucker.

“Call me tomorrow and tell me how it went.”

“I can call you in a couple of hours and tell you how it went. I have to work on my audition tomorrow morning. I can’t stay out late.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can call me from his bed tomorrow. I won’t be up later. I’m sick.”

“Whatever. I’ll take a selfie of myself in my bed and send it to you later. Thanks for the dress.”

“Don’t mention it. See ya.”

“Bye.”

I carefully make my way out and down the elevator in her shoes. All I need is to break my damn leg walking in these heels tonight. When I’m in the foyer of her building, a short man with perfect baby bottom skin and a round, pudgy face approaches me.

“Miss Williams?”

“Um, yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m to drive you to the dance studio on Fifth Avenue.”

“Cat sent you?”

He nods, and I follow him to a shiny black Mercedes parked on the curb outside. He opens the back door, and I slide across the soft leather seat. Good old Cat. She sure does everything with style.

We pull away from the curb, and the damn butterflies start to flutter ever so lightly, preparing for a full-on flit fest when I see River again. It’s the feeling you get when a rollercoaster drops down the first big hill, nauseating and exhilarating at the same time.

I don’t know if I can handle an entire evening of this. I should cancel when he shows up, but I can’t very well do that dressed like this. I could say my mom is sick, or my toilet overflowed and my apartment flooded. But then again, I don’t want to jinx my mom’s health, and he seems like the kind of nice guy who would offer to come and bail me out of my flooded apartment.

Ten minutes later, we are approaching the studio when the pudgy driver asks, “Is it okay if I pull up in front?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”

When we stop, he exits the car and rounds the rear to open my door curbside. Being chauffeured around is nice. A girl could get used to this. Why the hell does Cat work in a coffee shop when she can afford luxury clothes and a driver?

Standing on the sidewalk and pondering Cat’s strange life choices, I don’t notice River approaching me from behind until he slips his arm around my waist.

“Oh, shit, you scared me!”

Butterfly blitz.

I’m positively vibrating from the inside when his playful eyes come into view.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t want you to get all the way inside. I’ve been waiting out here for you, and I saw you pull up.”

“Crap, am I late? I thought I had time to spare.” I fumble in my bag for my phone to check the time. When I pull it out, he covers it with his hand.

“No, no, you’re fine—well, much more than fine. You look exquisite,” he says, holding my hands and spreading my arms wide to have a better look at me.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure where we were going. I hope I’m not too dressed up.”

“You’re perfect. My sister owns a restaurant, and we have reservations for the best table in the house.”

“Really? What’s it called? Maybe I’ve been there.” I don’t know why I said that. I haven’t been out to eat, other than the occasional Chinese take-out or pizza, in a year.

“It’s not exactly local,” he says, turning me in the direction of his car.

“Where exactly is it?”

“San Jose. It’s called Poppy’s. She serves the best seafood you’ll ever eat, and her wine selection is impressive. I think you’ll like it.”