Iced Romance (19 page)

I laugh and turn to Jesica. “How was work today?”

She rolls her eyes and tells Carlos to run along inside and get started on his homework. Then she links her arm with mine. “Long, long day. I clean a toilet three times before my boss say it is clean enough.
Dios mio
, it’s just a toilet!”

I don’t know how to broach the subject, so I simply nod and then ask, “Random question for you, Jesica. Do you know how to sew?”

Jesica nods immediately. “I make most of my clothes, and Carlos’ too.”

Relief floods over me. I knew that Jesica would be the solution! “I need your help.”

“Are you okay?”

I run my hand through my messy hair. “Yes, I’m fine, but I screwed up. See, when I left my fiancé, I stole something that meant a lot to him. I cut it up and have been using it as my own personal revenge. But I’ve been feeling pretty bad lately and I need to make things right. Any chance you can teach me how to put it back together?”

Jesica glares at me. “Cheating
cabrones
deserve whatever they get! You should keep it! You should do more to hurt him!”

I laugh despite myself. Jesica is a girl after my own heart. However, I know that if I want to get over Todd, I’m definitely going to have to let go of all the hate I’ve been bottling up. And then there is the small fact that I really want David to be proud of me.

And if he knew that I’m living my own real-life Carrie Underwood song, I know he’d think less of me.

Jesica follows me into my apartment where we gather together all the pieces of the jersey, then carry them back to her place. She gets a bulky, ancient-looking sewing machine out of the closet by the door, and we kneel on the floor, doing our best to put the jersey back together. Every few minutes Jesica shoots me a sideways glance and mutters things like “Men who cheat should be shot,” “He’s lucky the jersey is the only thing you rip to shreds,” and “If I ever get my hands on him . . .”

I try to block her out and concentrate on putting the pieces in the right spots. It’s like a ridiculous jigsaw puzzle.

After twenty minutes, Jesica curses and rocks back onto her heels. “Kennedy, this is not possible. You did too good a job destroying it. I don’t think we’ll ever get this shirt back together, not without it looking like Frankenstein.”

I frown and massage my temples. I agree with her completely, but I hold to the hope that somehow we can fix it. Someway. Somehow.

“What if we make it into a quilt, almost?” The idea pops into my head, and I love it immediately. “Do you know what I mean? We don’t make it the jersey again, per se, but we patch it together as best we can and make it into a big quilt!”

I can already visualize Todd sleeping under it every night. Probably with different women. The thought springs unbidden to my mind and I push it away angrily.

Jesica nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I think we can do it.”

Four hours later, right before midnight, Jesica blinks her tired eyes and nudges me where I am curled up on the floor beside the kitchen table. “Kennedy, it is finish.”

She holds it up and my jaw drops. It looks awful. And yet amazing at the same time! The block pieces with Overchkin’s name have been sewn together at the top. His number, albeit missing a few pieces, covers the majority of the middle section. And then the rest is just a jumble of colors. But somehow it works.

“This is perfect!”

Tomorrow I’ll mail this to Todd on my lunch break along with a short note that says sorry. I will be free.

Which will leave me alone with David on Saturday.

I love it.

1 Unread Message!

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]

Kennedy—I miss U. OK? U happy now? U finally got me to admit that I miss U! I know U said in your email that U are done with me and our life together, but I know we’re not. U can’t throw away five years over a couple of minor indiscretions. I know UR in Florida . . . it’s not that big a state! I’m going to find U! We belong together. Later, T-dawg

PS I got something that looks suspiciously like my Ovechkin jersey in the mail. If this is from U, it’s OK. I can forgive U if U just come home to me. Deal?

PPS I have a game on Saturday. Will U come cheer me on? There’s a party with Emily and Jonny Poole after . . . should be fun!

I make my way down Donegan Avenue. I need to stop believing Leila. Fifteen minutes? Fifteen minutes has barely gotten me past Maxie’s. Eventually I find Paradise Drive and turn onto it. I’ve been hurrying as fast as my flip flops will let me, and I’m breathing fast, although whether it’s from nerves or exertion is difficult to tell.

When I arrive at David’s front lawn, I am impressed despite myself. The house is small but well maintained. It’s grey stucco and has shrubbery devoid of flowers that one would typically expect from a bachelor’s pad. The grass is neatly trimmed, unlike many of the homes I passed on my way over.

I walk up the steps and knock on the door, a quick one-two-three sequence. I brush my hair over my shoulder and paste a smile on my face. The door swings open.

“Good morning, beautiful,” David says and leans forward to place a light kiss on my cheek. Despite his casual tone, I believe him when he calls me that. I can see in his eyes my own beauty reflected there. That sounds prideful and I don’t mean it too. It’s a unique feeling though, feeling beautiful through another’s eyes.

David looks good. He wears a plaid blue shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair is rumpled from not bothering to apply gel, but his shoulders are back, his stance tall and oh so safe.

Safe.

Funny that that is always the feeling I get with him.

“So, apparently your house is farther than just fifteen minutes,” I remark and follow him into the house. I look around, not sure what I had expected.

Everything is neat and clean, but not in the ‘I have a maid’ way that Todd’s and my condo had been. The living room has stacks of DVDs piled on bookshelves and surrounding the DVDs are piles of books. A neglected cactus stands in the window, looking a little droopy. The couch is obviously well used, the cushions have seen better days, and the pictures hanging on the wall are not artistic at all. But the room has a cozy feel to it.

I slip off my flip flops and step over to the closest pictures hanging on the wall. It’s a shot of David beside an older man and woman and a girl who looks a lot like him. The same smile, the same blue eyes.

“Your family?”

“Part of it. That’s my mom, step-dad, and little sister Rose. Rose is married now, lives in St. Mary’s. Mom and her husband still live in Fort Lauderdale.” He points to the picture beside it, this one of David and a man, holding fishing rods and beaming into the camera together, their arms around each other’s shoulders. “And this is my dad. Great guy, still loves to take me out to the mountains like I’m a twelve-year-old scout. He lives in California now. I guess it’s been, what, twelve years or so since he moved out there.”

“So not too long after your parents split.”

David nods and I glance at a few other pictures, more than relieved to see that there are no pictures of David and his potential ex-girlfriends. There are a few of him and a group of guys and girls but none alone, and the thought makes me feel better.

“So you had a rough walk here, you were saying?” David falls into the couch and spreads his arms out on either side of his body, complete relaxation written all over his face.

“Not rough, exactly.” I feel stupid saying that it was just too far. “It was a bit farther than I had been led to believe.”

“Your friend told you directions, I take it?” David’s mouth twitches. “You should never believe someone who drives everywhere.”

“Tell me about it. Although I may buy myself a car here one of these days. Walking gets a little old when it’s your only form of transportation. I don’t know how people did it in the olden days. I totally would have been one of the ones who splurged for a horse.”

David grins and moves over a bit on the couch. I sit down beside him. “Well, if you need me to come along when you pick out the car, I’d be happy to take a look with you. I’m no expert in mechanics, but I’ve done enough tinkering on my truck over the last few years that I know a bit about it. And it should be better than a horse at any rate.”

“Thanks, I’d like that.” I peer through the door leading out of the living room, curious about the rest of the house.

David notices me looking and jumps to his feet. “Let me give you a tour of the house. And, speaking of me being a horrible host, do you want some water or juice or anything?”

“No to the drink, at least not right now, but a tour would be nice.”

David takes my hand like a courtier in the old Jane Austen movies I watch. “My lady,” he says in a bad French accent, and escorts me up the three steps leading into the kitchen. The walls are yellow, the cupboards are a bit cramped, and it’s . . . it’s David. It’s exactly how it should be.

“I love it.”

David seems relieved. “Good, I’m glad. You have no idea how hard I had to scrub the kitchen floor last night to make it presentable for you.”

That makes me laugh out loud and I clap a hand to my mouth. “Sorry,” I manage between giggles. “The picture of you on your hands and knees, scrubbing and mopping, is not what I expected.”

David bows deeply and then takes my hand again. “That’s me, a closet Cinderella. I couldn’t have you come over and see my house in its true nature. You’d leave me and never come back.”

I clap a hand over my mouth again, this time in mock horror. I exaggerate my eyebrows going up and plaster an expression of shock on my face. “What? You’re not a clean freak normally?”

David puts a finger to his mouth and winks conspiratorially. “I’m clean, I’m a bit of a freak, but no, my house is normally not this neat. I can go a few days without doing dishes, I have to admit. The only thing that keeps me from being even more of a pack rat is a fear of cockroaches.”

“Oh my gosh, cockroaches! Ever since Carlos went through my apartment doing his bug catching, I’ve been paranoid. At night I have visions of them climbing around on my bed and across my face.” I shudder involuntarily. “It’s terrifying.”

The rest of the grand tour is similar. The house is a home, definitely lacking in the finer things, but comfortable. We talk about everything from favorite foods to life ambitions. David tells me more about his dream to one day get into politics and help change the world. I admit that I’m still trying to figure out my dreams, and to my surprise, David doesn’t shout and tell me I’m pathetic.

An hour passes quickly and then, sitting cross legged on his couch in his living room, facing one another, David asks if I want to go swimming.

“It’s amazing how many people own swimming pools here,” I comment as we walk outside into his fenced back yard. The swimming pool is tiny, only slightly larger than a hot tub, but clean and inviting in the stuffy air. “Even the apartment complexes and the government funded housing projects that I see on my way to work have pools. It’s crazy!” This is definitely different than Colorado. And Boston and Oregon and Edmonton.

“I know. I took it for granted growing up, but after I travelled around a bit, I realized that it is quite a blessing.” David peels off his t-shirt, displaying tanned, toned abs.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I can just imagine being held by him right now, all buff and attractive. He’s like a Ken doll. Sure, I’m not really into Barbies, but still, he looks amazing. His arms ripple as he tosses the shirt casually onto a deck chair and sits on the pool edge, his feet dangling in the water.

I blush and look away before he catches me staring. Pull it together, Kennedy. It’s not like he’s the first shirtless man you’ve ever seen!

To hide my awkwardness, I pull off my shorts and shirt, displaying a green and black Victoria’s Secret bikini, last season. I haven’t worn it since Todd and I went on vacation to Cancun, and I was quite proud this morning when I tried it on and it still fit. I sit down beside David and let the cool water wash over my feet.

I determinedly avoid looking at him as we sit there. A few lizards in nearby bushes jump around, shaking the leaves. A dog barks somewhere down the block. My mind is blank and I wish I could think of something to say to him, but all I can think about is how hot he looks without a shirt.

Pull it together. Come on now.

“So, uh, other than your dream of getting into politics, what else do you want to do in your life?” The question sounds a bit stilted, but at least it cuts through the ever thickening silence. David puts his arms along the side of the pool, leaning back.