Britches Get Stitches

by Elicia Hyder

  “I’ll bet. My mother would have died,” I said.

  “Mine too. What about you? Do you still play basketball?”

  “With my brother sometimes in the driveway at my parents’ house. But other than that, never.”

  “That’s a shame. You were really good. Have you ever thought about coaching?”

  I curled my hands around my coffee cup. “Not ever. I’m so rusty now, I cheat when I dribble the ball.”

  He chuckled. “That’s too bad. Coaching is one of the most rewarding things I do. I love kids.”

  Three simple words, and my heart fell about a thousand feet through the floor. I wondered if Clay had told him about our struggle to have children. After years of trying, it was hardly a secret. Still, I wondered if he knew.

  Time to change the subject.

  “I wouldn’t have time for basketball these days even if I wanted to play or coach. I barely have enough time for work with my derby schedule. It’s becoming a problem.”

  “So you practice on Monday and Wednesday and Saturday, and you skate with your friend every Sunday. Do you really enjoy it that much?”

  I smiled. “I really do. It’s fun and exciting. Not to mention, I get to feel like a total badass.”

  “Feel like? Grace, badassery isn’t a new thing for you.” He leaned on his forearms. “I’ll never forget that game you played against Montgomery State. The one where you nailed the three-point shot, then intercepted the inbound pass, backed up, and hit another three-pointer.”

  I blinked. “You remember that?”

  “Are you kidding? Everyone remembers that.”

  “It was a lucky play.”

  “Bullshit.”

  My cheeks felt warm. “Thanks.”

  Our waiter returned with a large round tray. “Georgia peach,” he said, putting my crepes down in front of me. “And a side of grits.”

  I smiled, thankful for the diversion. “Thank you.”

  “And the pecan pancakes and a side of bacon.” He put Jason’s plate down in front of him. “Can I get y’all anything else right now?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  Jason shook his head. “We’re good. Thanks, Alex.”

  “No problem. Flag me down if you need anything.”

  When he left, Jason leaned close to his plate and inhaled. “I could take up gluttony as a hobby.”

  “Right?” I asked, scooping up a mound of peaches and real whipped cream. I moaned with pleasure when the warm sauce hit my tongue. When I looked at him, he was staring at my mouth. “Want a bite?”

  He cleared his throat and laughed, his eyes darting to his own plate. “I wouldn’t dare come between you and those peaches.” He picked up his bacon and bit off a large piece.

  After a few heavenly bites, a phone rang at our table. It wasn’t mine. Jason looked down and unclipped his cell from his belt. His shoulders fell when he looked at the screen.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, my fork mid air to my mouth with another loaded bite of crepes.

  He put the phone face up on the table for me to see.

  Clay.

  I groaned.

  Instead of answering it, he pressed a button on the side that made the screen go black. Then, as he clipped it back in place on his waistband, I saw an unmistakable flash of guilt in his eyes.

  “You can take the call. I don’t mind.”

  “Nah. I’ll call him later.” He turned his eyes and attention to his plate and sliced through his pancakes with a little more force than necessary.

  I sat back in my seat and put my hands in my lap. “Jason, what are we doing here?”

  He swallowed, then looked at me. “What do you mean?”

  “You and I talking so much and now eating lunch together.”

  With a sigh, he laid his fork down. “I don’t know, Grace, but I like talking to you.” A small smile crept across his lips. “More than I like talking to your ex these days. I feel guilty as hell, though. Not gonna lie.”

  I put my hand on his. “That’s because you’re a good guy, and Clay’s decided that he’s not.”

  “That’s the truth.” He was staring at our hands on the table. Then he looked at me. “But maybe it’s best if we cool it and keep this in the friend zone, huh?”

  “Maybe. There’s no way this isn’t going to get messy, and I’ve had enough drama this year to last a lifetime.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. You certainly deserve a break.”

  I squeezed his hand and released it. “Better eat your pancakes before the syrup gets cold. I’d hate to send you off to battle the giant penis in court on an empty stomach.”

  He laughed. “Definitely can’t have that.”

  We finished our breakfast in loaded silence, speckled with small bits of polite small talk. Then he paid for our check, added a generous tip for Alex, and we left.

  When we turned the corner toward my store, Jason suddenly stopped walking.

  I stopped too. “What is it?”

  He pointed up ahead. “Isn’t that what’s-her-face’s car again?”

  “Shit.” Sylvie was back.

  The front bells chimed and her loud voice carried out onto the wind. “Don’t forget to tell Grace, Kiara…”

  I panicked. “She can’t see me, or she’ll be here all day telling me everything that’s wrong with my store.”

  He looked around, then grasped both of my arms and guided me backward into the covered kitchen entryway to the restaurant. My back flattened against the door, and Jason’s rock-solid chest pressed against me.

  Heat radiated between us as his body vibrated with soft laughter. He smelled delicious, like fresh cologne and sugar. Or maybe that was coming from the kitchen door behind me.

  Whatever it was made my insides tingle, an intoxicating feeling I really didn’t need right then with us having just decided to keep things friendly. Still, common sense didn’t stop me from gripping two fistfuls of his supple leather jacket to hold him close.

  “I’ll tell her, Sylvie,” Kiara was saying around the corner of the wall. “I know she’ll be very sad she didn’t get to see you again.”

  “Of course she will,” Sylvie said.

  Jason laughed harder, and I clamped my hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

  “Wave goodbye to Kiara, Miss Taylor.”

  I had no doubt Sylvie was waving the dog’s paw at her.

  “Goodbye, Miss Taylor,” Kiara said. “Goodbye, Sylvie.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

  I dropped my forehead against Jason’s shoulder.

  The bells on the door jingled again, presumably as Kiara closed it, but we stayed frozen for a moment longer. We waited for the rumble from Sylvia’s engine, and finally relaxed.

  Then someone knocked on the glass behind me. I jumped. And screamed. That time, Jason laughed out loud.

  I turned and saw a man in a white apron holding up his hands as if to ask, “What are you doing?”

  “Sorry,” I mouthed.

  Jason’s hand slid down to mine, and he took a step back to look down the street. “Looks like the coast is clear.” He pulled me toward him onto the open sidewalk. “You all right? I was afraid your heart might have stopped just now.”

  “That guy scared me to death.”

  “I know. I thought I might have to administer mouth-to-mouth.”

  Still holding his hand, I took a step toward him. “Keep it up, Officer Bradley, and no one is going to believe that ‘keep things in the friend zone’ line you spouted off earlier.”

  “Yeah, well…” He grinned as he held the door to my store open for me.

  “I’ll grab your uniform,” I said when we walked back inside. “And you can change upstairs in my apartment unless you want to use a dressing room that was designed for three-foot princesses.”

  He laughed. “I think I’ll use the apartment if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. I cleaned it last night and everything.” I’d cleaned my apartment
with the thought that we might wind up there together at some point. It looked like that wouldn’t happen after all. Not ever.

  With a forced smile to cover my disappointment, I walked to the back.

  Kiara was plugging in a hot-glue gun. She looked at the sparkly watch around her wrist. “Those were some speedy pancakes.”

  “Yeah,” I replied flatly and reached for the uniform hanging on the coat rack.

  “Sylvia came back to see you.”

  “Hold that thought,” I said and carried the uniform back to where Jason was waiting, checking something—probably Clay’s message—on his phone.

  I pulled my keys from my purse and handed them to him with the hanger. “Here you go. The code to the door downstairs is twenty-seven, twenty-seven.”

  He smiled as he accepted them. “Twenty-seven for your old basketball number?”

  My head snapped back. “Yeah. God, you have a good memory.”

  “Is that your derby number too?”

  “No. My derby number is six-foot-two.”

  He laughed. “That’s hilarious.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’d better get changed. Can’t be late.”

  I stood there as he walked outside and sighed heavily as the door jingled closed behind him. “Well, doesn’t this suck?” I asked out loud.

  “What sucks?” Kiara asked behind me.

  “It’s over even before anything began, and I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “OK,” she said, stepping out of my way as I walked back to the workroom.

  I sank down at my desk. “What did Sylvia want?”

  “She wants a sash around the dress. Preferably somehow incorporating roses.”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t she want roses?” I said with a heavy sigh.

  Kiara looked like she wanted to ask if I was OK, but she didn’t. And for that, I was grateful.

  While Jason was gone, I sewed together a few of the pieces of the periwinkle dress…and fantasized about different ways I could kill my ex-husband.

  I could sneak into the house and put cyanide in the Keurig.

  Or put amoeba-infested water in his neti pot.

  Or force feed him shards of glass and make him wash them down with laxatives.

  Whoa.

  Maybe it’s time to follow up with the therapist, Grace.

  The front door bells saved me my from own horrific thoughts.

  “Want me to get that?” Kiara asked from the floor.

  Shaking my head, I stood and walked back out to the store room. Jason was in his black uniform, all drool-worthy and distracting.

  Clay who?

  He gestured toward the door. “I’d better get going.”

  “Yeah. Thanks again for breakfast,” I said, walking over to say a proper goodbye.

  “Thanks again for joining me.” His eyes fell to the floor. “I’m sorry that—”

  I waved my hand to stop him. “Jason, don’t. It’s OK.”

  He smiled gently. “I really like you, Grace.” He sighed. “I’ve always really liked you.”

  My breath caught in my throat. I swallowed hard all the emotions trying to erupt out of me. This conversation needed to be diverted. Fast. “Have fun with the giant penis in court today.”

  He burst out laughing. “Ha. Thanks. I’ll try.” Then he put his arms around me, kissed the top of my head, and lingered for a second. “I’ll see you around, Grace.”

  I waved as he stepped away. “Goodbye, Jason.”

  Seven

  The upside to the missing male distraction in my life was that I’d been incredibly productive for the week and a half following my non-breakup with Jason. I completed three new holiday dresses for the Black Friday inventory, made a custom-order party dress for one of my regulars, and had just finished Sylvia’s periwinkle gown that morning before practice.

  The gown turned out pretty spectacular, if I do say so myself. The Sinclair Satin had been used to make the bodice, and over a hundred pieces of wired, iridescent periwinkle tulle had been rippled and curled to fill out the skirt. I’d added a pleated chiffon waistband and a hand-tied, rose-shaped bow for the back.

  All of that had been done in the middle of the whirlwind Kiara had created in my workroom. As I walked into my final Saturday practice before the holidays, she sent me a text.

  Let me know when you’re on your way back.

  “Please be done with the front window. Please be done with the front window,” I prayed aloud as I texted her.

  Will do.

  I dropped my stuff on the floor beside Lucy and Monica. “Good morning, girls,” I said, looking around the room.

  “Morning. Who are you looking for?” Monica asked.

  I sat down. “I need to talk to someone about having to miss practice. Know who that is?”

  “Why? Where are you going to be?” Monica asked. We’d never blown off practice before.

  “I’m going to skip Monday so I can get ready for Black Friday. It would be better than missing the scrimmage on Wednesday.”

  Monica nodded. “That makes sense. You need to talk to Shamrocker, I think.”

  “I need to talk to her too,” Lucy said.

  “Is everything OK with you, Lucy?”

  “Yeah. West and I took the week off to go spend with my dad in Riverbend, so I won’t be here.”

  My head snapped back. “This sounds pretty serious with you two.”

  “It’s going really well,” she said, unable to hide a smile.

  “Good for you. I’m happy for you, Lucy.” And I was. Even if my own love life was in the toilet, she deserved to be happy.

  “I have other news too. Guess who’s going to be with us at the parade,” Lucy said.

  We both looked at her. “Who?” I asked.

  “Jake Barrett is supposed to be performing. They announced it Thursday in my team meeting at work,” she said.

  Jake Barrett was one of country music’s hottest superstars. Lucy worked in the office that managed him, and he’d shown up to watch her skate in her very first public bout, our Halloween Monster’s Brawl. He’d come in costume, dressed as Jason from Friday the 13th.

  “I’m going to try to introduce him to the team.”

  “That’s exciting,” Monica said.

  I nodded. “It would be really cool to meet him.”

  “Don’t say anything in case I can’t pull it off. Jake can be a little flaky.”

  I pretended to zip my mouth closed. “My lips are sealed.”

  “How was your week, Grace?” Monica asked. “I haven’t heard from you much.”

  “I’ve been crazy busy at work. There hasn’t been much time for anything else. Which reminds me, have you guys joined a committee yet?”

  “I met with the marketing team this week. It was pretty cool,” Lucy said.

  “I won’t even be able to think about it until after the holidays. I can’t take on anything else right now,” Monica said.

  “Me either. Shopping madness is upon us, and I don’t know how I’m going to keep juggling practice and work as it is.”

  “I hear ya. I am thinking about letting Maisie play on the juniors’ team if she wants to. If she does, I’ll probably help out there,” Monica said.

  “Is Maisie old enough?” I asked. Monica’s daughter had just turned nine.

  “The website says they take girls from eight to eighteen,” Monica said.

  “Whoa. That’s young. But it’s not full contact, right?” Lucy asked.

  “No. It’s full contact,” Monica said.

  Lucy’s mouth fell open. “Shut up.”

  I tied my sneaker. “I’m trying to talk my brother into letting my nieces play. They’re obsessed with derby now.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Lucy said. “Their hero is their Aunt Grace.”

  I pointed across the room to where Medusa was chatting with Maven and Styx. “Their hero is Medusa.”

  Monica chuckled. “Can you blame them?”

  “No,” Lucy
and I said together.

  We all stood and pushed our bags to the side. Monica nudged my arm. “Have you heard anymore from Officer Eye Candy?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

  “Who?” Lucy asked, perking up.

  I sighed and shook my head. “No one. I told you, Monica. It’s over.”

  I hadn’t talked to Jason again since our fateful pancake lunch. I wished I hadn’t thought about him either, but my brain simply wouldn’t cooperate. And now, thanks to Monica, he was front and center in my mind for our off-skates warm-up.

  Maven took over practice when we’d finished warming up with Medusa, and I was pretty sure if anyone on the team could cure me of daydreams, it was Maven.

  “Everybody spread out for fast feet!” she called, draping a whistle around her neck.

  “What are we doing?” Monica asked no one in particular.

  Shamrocker was a few feet in front of us. “We’re about to die. That’s what’s going to happen.”

  “Why?” Monica’s voice sounded a little panicked.

  Beside Shamrocker, Princess Die looked back at us. “Have you done her burpees?”

  I groaned. Monica nodded.

  Princess Die smiled. “They’re a vacation by comparison.”

  Monica seemed like she might break down and cry.

  “When I say go, you’ll sprint in place as fast as you can for ten seconds.” Maven sprinted in place, her feet pounding the floor a thousand times per nanosecond. “On the whistle, you’ll drop to the floor, all the way flat on your belly, then pop back up and sprint in place again.” She dropped to the floor, then jumped back up on her feet and kept running.

  “What the actual hell?” Monica asked.

  “Get ready!” Maven yelled. “Go!”

  The sound of all our feet slamming the ground was deafening. Then Maven blew the whistle, and we all dropped down onto the cold painted concrete. I jumped back up and ran as hard as I could.

  After three rounds, I could no longer feel my feet. Four rounds in, I left a sweaty body print on the floor. I’d slowed to a jog by round six, and I couldn’t get off the floor by the time most everyone else finished round ten.

  Frog jumps came next. We literally jumped like a frog—touching the floor between each hop—all the way across the room. Then we did the same thing backward all the way to the starting line. Lucy fell once. Monica walked backward most of the room. And my legs were knotted like sailors’ ropes by the time the jumps were over.