The Company You Keep (28 page)

Mimi leaned to the side and watched, holding on to the counter top—Absolute Black granite in a honed, matte finish. “Very masculine,” had been his mother’s assessment.

“You know, beneath that gruff exterior lies a very tender being,” Mimi said.

“If you’re implying I’m a sucker for big brown eyes and a few strategic prods, you’ve got that right.”

“I noticed,” she said, pursing her lips.

Vic immediately abandoned the dog for Mimi. Leaning over like that, he couldn’t fail to notice how the shirt gaped open. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. Mimi’s lanky, coltish figure, with her narrow hips and small breasts, seemed more luscious—more real—than the surgically and cosmetically altered women who usually latched onto football players.

Vic always thought there was something desperate about the way they tried so hard to look sexy. Whereas Mimi wore no makeup, barely brushed her hair and clearly didn’t give one wit about her wardrobe. She wasn’t even self-conscious about the small chip on the side of her top tooth.

“Oh, that,” she’d replied some time last night. “I got that from one of our first matches when I was a freshman. After that,
I
learned how to play dirty, too.” She’d laughed and rolled over on top of him.

She was right, Vic thought, recalling their lovemaking. She had learned how to play dirty, all right.

Never mind whom he’d been involved with in the past—she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. But it was more than her look—or lack of caring how she looked—that made her so fantastic. It was her attitude—the mixture of fearlessness and vulnerability. And over the course of the past few days the fearlessness that she always displayed on camera was coming out more. Still, though, the vulnerability, the sensitivity was there—no matter how hard she tried to mask it with smartass comments or her take-no-prisoners attitude. And that was probably the part of her that Roxie responded to, Vic figured.

Just as Vic took a sip of coffee from his mug—the Best Uncle mug that Tommy had given to him for his birthday—he had a lightbulb moment. His dog? His dumb dog? And he wasn’t being cruel here—Roxie was not the brightest—but in this instance, she was a lot quicker than he.

Mimi Lodge was The One. Okay, so he didn’t know her in fine detail—well, he did, but not in that sense. But in his gut—a part of his body he rarely called upon for advice. Somehow, someway, she was his soul mate. Someone he could spend the rest of his life with. Because she made him realize that he didn’t need to always wear a blue Oxford shirt. Maybe there was even a world beyond blue? And maybe he could get close to someone and not always feel responsible—not that he didn’t want to share. But he knew that when push came to shove, if bad times surfaced amidst the good, she would be able—no, she’d jump at the opportunity—to do her share.

This realization had hit him in a flash. Just long enough—and radical enough—for the coffee to go down the wrong way. He pounded the mug to the table, sputtering and coughing.

Mimi immediately sprang from her stool and came over. “Raise your hands. Open your airway,” she ordered, then started slapping him on his back.

He did what he was told, and the spasms petered out. At last, he breathed in deeply.

“Are you okay?” she asked, clearly worried.

He coughed. “Better than you could possibly imagine.” The truth was, if he had to die right now, he’d die a very happy man—the happiest he’d ever been in his whole life.

On the other hand, he had no intention of dying. Not by a long shot.

Vic turned toward her and looked down at his shirt, buttoned with only a minimum of modesty. It was too inviting to pass up. He wiggled his fingers mischievously and snaked his hand inside the slit. “Care for some morning exercise?”

“I’m usually more a water person.” Mimi gulped when his hand found her breast. “Though I could be persuaded.”

“How would you react if I told you I have a very large bathtub, with all sorts of jets and whirlpools that I’ve hardly ever used?”

She pressed her body up against his. His hands rested between them. He could feel her heart racing through his palms. His own doing a rapid tattoo.

“It sounds very therapeutic,” she said, her voice smoky. She went up on tiptoes and kissed the underside of his chin.

Vic wasn’t sure he could make it to the second floor. “I can think of several other areas that could use that kind of kissing ministrations. Old football injuries.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as having healing lips.”

“Honey, you don’t know how therapeutic you are.” Vic rubbed his body against hers, letting his jutting arousal inside his shorts tease her stomach.

“Uncle Vic, Uncle Vic. It’s raining. It’s raining,” a high-pitched voice shouted. A door slammed shut. “No Parade. No Parade.”

Vic and Mimi jumped apart.

“What?” she squeaked.

Vic barely kept from swearing.

“Uncle Vic. Uncle Vic.” The shouting and the stamping of rubber-soled feet grew as their owner approached the kitchen in the back of the house.

Tommy, all three feet of him, stopped at the threshold with his eyes wide and his yellow rain slicker dripping in a circular puddle around his green rubber boots. He raised his arm and pointed. “Who are you?”

Vic rubbed a hand across his bare chest. “Tommy, it’s not polite to point. This is Mimi.” He nodded toward Mimi who was rapidly buttoning up her shirt and pressing the shirttails flat against her long legs. “Mimi, this is my nephew, my sister Basia’s son, Tommy.”

Mimi stepped from the safety of the island and held out her hand. “Hi, Tommy. I’m a friend of your uncle’s.”

Tommy shook hands solemnly, his head bobbing up and down in rhythm. “How come you’re Uncle Vic’s friend? You don’t look like a boy.”

Mimi blinked. “I’m not. Boys can be friends with girls, too.”

Tommy nodded as he took in the information. “There are girls at nursery school.” In Tommy’s version, “nursery” came out “nussry.” “One has a cubby next to me.”

That seemed to be the end of the discussion because the next moment, Tommy went running to Vic and gave him a bear hug around his knees. Then abruptly, he pounced on Roxie who was lying on the tiled kitchen floor in front of the humming refrigerator. The dog heaved a large sigh but otherwise tolerated being smothered by thirty pounds of boy.

“Mommy says no Parade,” Tommy announced without letting go of Roxie’s neck.

Vic decided to take pity on Roxie and opened a lower cupboard. He pulled out a box of dog biscuits. “Hey, bud, I bet Roxie would like some treats. How about you come over here and get some? And then you can tell me how you got in here.” He looked skeptically at Mimi, who shrugged.

Tommy reluctantly let go of his death grip and ran to Vic. He held his hands out. “I took Mommy’s key ring from the key basket. I know your key ’cause it’s blue.” He looked at Mimi. “I know my colors.”

“That’s fantastic,” Mimi answered. She crossed her hands across her chest.

Vic placed three biscuits in Tommy’s hand. Usually, he only gave Roxie one, but he figured that the dog deserved hardship pay. “Where are the keys now?”

“In the door,” Tommy answered with a slow shake of his head.

“Okay, you give Roxie these and then you better run back home and return your mom’s keys. I’m sure she’ll be looking for them—and you.”

Tommy gazed at the biscuits. “One, two, three. See, I can count, too,” he said proudly.

“That’s great. See if you can give all three to Roxie. But then you better go home.”

Tommy turned and looked up at Mimi. “You can give her one, if you want?”

“Oh, thank you,” Mimi said and knelt next to Roxie.

Tommy handed her one. “You’ve got boobies. Not big like Mom’s,” Tommy told her in a very serious voice.

“Tommy.” Vic raised his voice.

“That’s all right,” Mimi said in a normal tone. “Girls have breasts, especially when they get older.”

“Then you must be old,” Tommy said, intently staring at her.

“Not that old, but old enough.” Mimi held out the biscuit for Roxie and let her lick it greedily off her hand.

“You gotta make her sit first,” Tommy instructed. He held his arm up stiffly. “Sit,” he commanded loudly.

Roxie lumbered up, then sat. Her lips sagged on the side.

Tommy rewarded her with one biscuit, and the dog crunched loudly.

“High five,” Tommy commanded when Roxie sniffed out the remaining treat.

The dog lifted a front paw and shook hands with Tommy.

Mimi clapped. “Good girl. You’re a clever dog. And you’re a very good dog trainer,” she complimented Tommy. Then she looked at the refrigerator doors and studied the snapshots stuck to the stainless steel with various magnets. “Hey, is that you in the picture?” She pointed upward toward a photo of Tommy blowing candles on a cake. A young woman hugged him from behind and helped with the candle blowing.

“It’s not po-po—”

“Polite?” Mimi suggested.

“Yeah, that. You shouldn’t point.”

Vic came over. “That kind of pointing’s okay. It’s just at people that’s not good.”

Tommy accepted Vic’s explanation and looked up at the photos. “Yeah, that’s me with Mom at my birthday party this year. I’m three.” He held up three fingers.

“Yes, I can see you can count.” She studied the photo. “Your mom’s very pretty.”

Tommy didn’t seem to listen because he’d already moved to other pictures. “And that’s my Grandma and Grandpop at Christmas in their house. Santa comes to their house ’cause that’s where I live with my mom.”

Mimi squinted. “That makes sense. And who’s that with your Uncle Vic?” She pointed to the photo next to it.

“Oh, that’s Uncle Joe. That’s at the office, right, Uncle Vic?” He looked up for confirmation.

“Yes, that’s right. That’s when we opened the new company headquarters in Edison.”

Mimi peered closely. “He’s very handsome, your Uncle Joe.” She glanced up slyly at Vic.

“He’s too young for you,” he said back, not completely joking.

“Maybe I like ’em young?”

“Yeah, he’s not old like you,” Tommy rattled on, oblivious to the adult interchange, let alone the undercurrents. “He acts like a kid. That’s what everybody says, ’specially Uncle Vic.”

Mimi raised her eyebrows. “Oh, does he?”

“Joe has maturity issues,” Vic said with the tone of an older brother.

Mimi processed that information before looking back at the photos. “And who’s that?” Mimi asked Tommy, pointing to an old snapshot. It showed an adolescent boy all suited up in a football uniform, holding his helmet against his hip. His thick chestnut-brown hair hung around his ears, a large smile spread across his face. Dimples marked each cheek. She raised her chin. “Don’t tell me that’s you, Vic, from high school or even earlier? You look so young.”

“No, silly, that’s my uncle,” Tommy corrected her impatiently.

Vic reached over and picked up Tommy. “Okay, buddy, it’s time you headed home before your mother starts to worry.” He carried him to the front door, gave him the blue keys and opened the door. He set him down and patted him lightly on the rump to send him on his way.

“Boo-bies, boo-bies,” Tommy sang loudly, laughing in between syllables as he skipped down the path.

Vic waited until he saw his nephew run next door before walking back to the kitchen. Mimi was standing now, studying the photos. “Sorry about Tommy barging in and the whole ‘boob’ thing,” Vic apologized. “He’s three. Three year-old boys’ favorite words are boobies, poopie and pee pee.”

Mimi turned to face him. “Well, I’m not sure that boobie fascination stops at three years old.” Then she pointed over her shoulder. “Speaking of getting older. That photo from high school? The football one? It’s strange, but I would have sworn it was you. I mean, your brother, Joe, must have changed a lot as he got older.”

She moved her hand to a newer picture taken of Vic and Joe standing side-by-side at a ribbon cutting ceremony. Joe a cocky smile. Vic a serious expression. Vic’s hair dark, Joe’s a golden blond. She looked from one picture to the other and back again. “Of course, he could have highlights. You’d be surprised the number of men who highlight their hair these days. Did I ever tell you about the rebel leader in Kosovo?”

Vic shook his head and reached for her hand. “That’s not Joe. That’s my twin, Tom.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?” Mimi looked at him curiously.

“Had. Tom was my twin. He died in a boating accident when he was in middle school.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” She thought she’d felt embarrassed after Tommy barged in. Now she really felt like she had put her foot in her mouth. “Here I rattled on and on the other night, a real pity party about my own childhood. Why didn’t you stop me? Say something? I feel foolish.” She held her hands up in the air.