Body Check

by Lisa B. Kamps

And there was the question Alyssa had been dreading. How could she answer it out loud, when she couldn't bear to admit it to herself? To have to tell her best friend—Randy's sister? It was too much, she couldn't.

  But she didn't think she'd have a choice, because she heard Val shift in the chair. A second later, cool fingers closed over her wrists and tried to tug her hands away from her face. At least in this, Alyssa was stronger, and she refused to let her hands budge.

  The strange struggle went on for a minute before Val finally stomped her foot, a small laugh escaping her. "Alyssa, dammit, look at me."

  "No, I can't."

  "You have to! I think I actually hurt Randy's feelings, and I have to at least know why. Now tell me."

  "It's embarrassing."

  "Like I've never seen you embarrassed before? For that matter, how many times have you seen me embarrassed?"

  Alyssa shook her head. Val was right, though. They had known each other for too long, had witnessed too many of the other's embarrassing moments. She took a deep breath and finally lowered the cap just a little, just enough that Val could see her eyes.

  "I don't remember!"

  "You don't remember how many times you've seen me embarrassed?"

  Alyssa blew out another breath, then finally lowered the cap all the way. She shook her head. "No. I don't remember that night."

  "What? You don't remember? But you said—"

  "I sort of remember. A little. But not all of it. Not even most of it. Just...pieces."

  Val slapped her hand over her mouth and stared at Alyssa, her eyes wide. And there was no mistaking the laughter in her friend's gaze. Alyssa moved around the desk and sunk into her own chair, then rested her head against the stack of paperwork that had long since taken over the surface.

  "How could I call him back when I couldn't even remember what we did?"

  "But why don't you remember? Was it...I mean, he wasn't...never mind, I can't believe I was even going to ask that. But why don't you remember?"

  "Probably because of the wine."

  "Wine? Uh oh."

  Alyssa lifted her head and peeked at Val. "Uh oh is right. I couldn't sleep, because I was so exhausted. And then that stupid kiss he gave me in front of the reporter had me so upset. I thought maybe a little wine would help me sleep, so I drank some."

  "How much?"

  "Um, a half a bottle of white."

  "Oh no. Alyssa."

  "Then he showed up, and I downed a whole glass of red. Your brother does not know how to pour a proper glass of wine."

  "Oh my God."

  "Yeah. Things are pretty fuzzy after that. The only thing I really remember is wondering why he'd be interested, when he looks the way he does and I look...well, like this." Alyssa waved a hand around her, encompassing her flattened hair, her too-round curves hidden under the chef's jacket, her baggy black pants.

  "Stop! I hate when you do that. You're gorgeous, you just won't admit it. I'd kill for your curves. And Randy likes you because you're pretty and funny and smart."

  "Liked."

  "What?"

  "You said 'likes'. I'm pretty sure that's past-tense now."

  "It doesn't have to be. I'm sure you could—"

  "No, Val. I'm too embarrassed to face him, especially now that he thinks I've accused him of a one-night stand."

  "That's my fault. All I have to do is tell him—"

  "No, Val. You're not going to tell him anything. Okay? Please? Just let it go." Alyssa pushed herself up from the chair and put the toque back on her head, adjusting it as she moved past the desk. She stopped and fixed Val with a serious look. "I mean it, Val. Please. Just don't tell him anything."

  "But—"

  "Promise me." Alyssa held out her hand, extending her little finger. A long minute went by before Val let out a heavy sigh, then grabbed Alyssa's little finger with her own.

  "Fine. But I think you're making a mistake."

  Alyssa didn't say anything, just walked out of the office and dove back into work. Her mistake had been in letting Randy into her apartment to begin with.

  No, that wasn't fair. That made it sound like everything had been his fault, and it wasn't. She was the one to blame, for all of it. If she had wanted to, really wanted to, she could have taken any of Randy's calls, could have agreed to meet him and then just pretended that she remembered everything.

  But she didn't.

  Because Randy scared her. Because she could see herself becoming too easily attached, too attracted. Part of her was afraid she already was, which was so foolish, even for her. And even though he was as down to earth as his sister, he was in such a different league, used to such a different life, that she could never keep up. Maybe it wasn't the greatest thing in the world that he thought she had told everyone he used her and dumped her. In fact, that was pretty awful. But at least she could take comfort knowing that he'd probably take care to stay away from her now.

  After all, who would want to be around someone who was saying that? She certainly wouldn't want to be.

  She ignored the edge of discomfort that seeped through her, knowing he held her responsible for saying something so awful. But it was a discomfort she could live with, knowing it was for the best.

  And if she told herself that enough times, she might even believe it.

  Chapter Nine

  Lights flashed across the dart board, signaling the end of the game. Randy clenched his jaw as a big hand clamped him on the back, making him stumble.

  "You lost another one, next round's on you." JP's laughing voice did nothing to improve Randy's mood, and he wondered—again—why he was even here. They were having a "quiet night", just a few of the guys in a small corner bar in Fell's Point. Some place where it was quiet enough to talk, not so crowded they couldn't move, with few enough people that they pretty much had the place to themselves.

  Randy moved to the bar and ordered another round, wishing he was any place but here. Anger was still fresh and raw, tightening his skin and souring his mood. Three weeks had gone by since his sister's bombshell news. Three weeks. And his mood had only deteriorated since then.

  He needed physical activity, more than his daily workout routine. Not even pounding a punching bag worked to relieve his frustration. The season couldn't start soon enough, as far as he was concerned. At least then, he'd be too busy to think about things.

  Too busy to wonder why Alyssa had told everyone he used her.

  Too busy to do something stupid, like confront her himself.

  He carried the drinks back to the table, then hooked his foot around a chair and spun it backwards before sitting. Loud conversation continued around him, but he paid it little attention.

  Alyssa's tiny apartment was only a few blocks from here. Would she be there now? He glanced at his watch. No, not yet. She would still be working, no doubt cleaning up, or at least supervising the cleaning. If Randy was smart, he'd leave now, just call it a night and go home, far away from temptation.

  He wasn't feeling very smart. And with each swallow of beer, his recklessness increased.

  Why the hell couldn't JP have found a tiny little bar somewhere other than here, in Alyssa's neighborhood? Some place where temptation wouldn't be so strong?

  "Michaels, wake up!"

  Randy looked up, finally noticing Mathias waving a bottle in front of him. He scowled and pushed the hand away from his face, then sat back. "Knock it off, I'm not in the mood."

  "No kidding. You've been like this for almost two months. You're taking brooding to a whole new level."

  "What do you know about it?"

  "Ah, just ignore him Mat. He has become obsessed with a sweet little chef, who wants nothing to do with him." JP tilted his bottle in Randy's direction, a knowing look in his darkly intent eyes. Randy looked away, not liking how JP saw too much. He might be a light-hearted womanizer on the surface, but Randy knew better, knew that he was still pining for someone in the past.

  "What? You've got to be kidding me. Why worr
y about one woman, when there's plenty more out there?"

  Randy wanted to knock the smile right off the rookie's face. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he himself would have said the same thing a few short months ago. Was he obsessing? He must be. The question was: why? That's what he couldn't understand, couldn't figure out.

  Alyssa was cute, but there was nothing that would make her stand out in a crowd. A little shorter than average, with nice curves that you had to really look for before noticing them, since she kept them hidden behind loose clothes. Caramel color hair, cut in a no-nonsense style. Odd, whiskey-colored eyes. She was shorter than the women he usually dated, curvier. Reserved and quiet. Even that one night at her apartment, she had been reserved. There was no doubt she had enjoyed it as much as he did. Or was that his ego talking? Because looking back, he realized now that she had been holding something back, was reserved even then.

  Was that why he was obsessing? Because he was honest enough to finally admit that's what he was doing: obsessing. What else did you call non-stop thinking about one woman? Maybe if he had her one more time, maybe if he could make her fall apart in his arms, release all of that sensuality he sensed hiding in her—maybe then he'd be over this ridiculous obsession.

  That had to be it.

  Randy took a long swallow of his beer, ignoring the curious glances of his teammates. At least now he knew what he had to do.

  Too bad it would never happen. Alyssa had already told her friends—his own damn sister, even—that he had used her. Why in the hell was he even thinking about being with her, just one more time?

  Because JP was right, damn him. He was obsessing. But if he had her one more time, he could finally put the obsession behind him, move on.

  It was a twisted logic, full of faults. He couldn't pinpoint them, but he knew they were there. Did he care?

  He drained his beer and slammed the bottle down. No, he didn't.

  "What was that for?"

  "What?"

  "That whole slam thing."

  Randy looked at Mat, then at the empty beer bottle. "Nothing, I was just thinking."

  "Just ignore him. He'll come to his senses soon enough. Maybe by the time we all go out to play dress-up, eh? I have a friend who has a friend who will gladly help him forget."

  "Forget it, JP, not happening. I'll find my own date." But he wouldn't, Randy knew that already. He wasn't even sure he was going to go. The entire dress-up evening out was Ian's idea, because he wanted to show off to his new girlfriend. At least Randy could be thankful he wasn't doing anything as foolish as that.

  Yeah, because obsessing was foolish enough.

  Maybe, if he asked the right way, Alyssa would go with him. Talk about foolish. He needed to get her out of his head, off his mind. And there was only one way to do that.

  Randy glanced at his watch then quickly stood, calling himself every kind of fool.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I just remembered some place I have to be." He tossed some bills on the table, probably too many, then walked out of the bar, ignoring JP's knowing stare.

  Alyssa only lived a few block from here, an easy walk. Or should he take the car? No, she might recognize the car, if she even noticed it. She'd probably be tired, probably wouldn't even be paying attention. But just in case, he would walk. Besides, he wasn't sure if he could even find any place to park near her apartment. No, it would be better to walk. If he timed it right, he could get there right as she was getting home. Maybe her guard would be down, and she'd actually let him in.

  So they could talk.

  That's all he wanted to do, was talk. And then, maybe, after that...

  He pushed that thought out of his mind and headed up the street, refusing to even consider the possibility that she wouldn't speak to him.

  Chapter Ten

  Alyssa's street was quiet, the noise from the bars around the corner muted, there but not there. It was also dark. Yes, there was a street light at the corner, and the glow of neon from a few of the businesses—businesses that were closed, but kept their signs lit anyway.

  Randy felt out of place, like a stalker hiding in the shadows. He glanced around, wondering if anyone was watching him, then realized there wasn't anyone else on the street.

  His gaze lifted to Alyssa's second story apartment, on the lights seeping around the edges of the curtains. She had come home fifteen minutes ago, walking up the street without paying any attention. She had passed so close to him that he could have reached out and grabbed her, and she hadn't even seen him. It didn't matter that he had chosen to wait for her in the dark shadows of a recessed doorway. A single woman, walking alone, should be more aware.

  He had almost called out to her but stopped, telling himself he didn't want to scare her. That excuse sounded so much better than the reality, which was that he still wasn't sure this was a good idea.

  Why the hell had he thought it was?

  He looked back up at the windows, then cursed under his breath and crossed the street. She would either talk to him, or she wouldn't. It was as simple as that. He tugged on the outside door, having to pull on it harder than he remembered before it opened. The door needed a lock on it, something sturdy that would keep people from entering the private stairwell to the sole apartment upstairs. Anybody could walk in, and it would be easy enough to break down the flimsy door of her apartment without anyone hearing it. And it wasn't like there was anyone close enough to help, even if they did hear her scream.

  Clenching his jaw against the irrational anger at Alyssa's complete disregard for her own safety, Randy made his way upstairs. His footsteps sounded hollow, too loud in the dim darkness. That was something else that bothered him, the lack of lighting in the stairwell.

  He reached the landing, which was nothing more than a few square feet of old linoleum at the top of the stairs, just wide enough to accommodate one large person. He paused, listening to the strains of country music coming through the door. Odd, but he hadn't figured Alyssa to be a country music fan. Thinking about it, he realized he hadn't given much thought at all to what kind of music she might be interested in.

  The thought rattled him, and he wasn't sure why.

  Before he could stop to reconsider what he was doing, to tell himself again that this was probably a bad idea, he fisted his hand and banged against the door. There was no doubt she'd be able to hear the knock, even over the music. A minute went by, but the volume of the music didn't change and he didn't hear any footsteps approaching the door. He knocked again, harder, knowing that she was there because he had seen her walk inside. It wasn't like there was anyplace else she could go.

  He banged against the door a third time, even harder, wondering why she wasn't answering. The music stopped mid-note, and he finally heard footsteps on the other side of the flimsy door, hesitant, slow.

  "Who is it?"

  "Randy." His voice came out in a growl, surprising him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It's Randy."

  He pictured her on the other side of the door, her delicate brows lowered in confusion, no doubt wondering what he was doing there. Was she still wearing her chef's uniform? Maybe she had poured herself a glass of wine to relax, and had changed—

  He heard the rattle of the door chain sliding off, the heavy click of the deadbolt being turned just before she opened the door.

  "How did you get up here?" It wasn't quite the welcoming he had been expecting. No, he hadn't expected her to be smiling, but he hadn't quite expected her to look so furious, either. And he wanted to answer her, tell her that he had simply opened the door and walked in, to let her know she needed to be more safety-conscious. But his throat was frozen shut, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Because no, she wasn't still in her chef's uniform.

  In fact, she must have just stepped out of the shower. Her wet hair was slicked back, the color darker, richer. Water dripped from the ends, creating dark splotches on the shoulders of her crimson robe. He watched, helpless to look a
way, as one drop made its way down her neck, slipping further along her rosy skin and down along the curve of one breast before it disappeared into the folds of the satin material. He swallowed and forced his gaze back to her face, not quite able to meet her eyes.

  She tightened the belt on the robe then pulled the material more firmly in front of her. He could have told her that the effort was wasted, because it only made the silky material cling more tightly to her damp curves.

  "How did you get up here?" Alyssa repeated the question, her voice cooler than what he expected.

  He motioned behind him, back down the stairs. "The door was unlocked. You need to be more careful."

  "No, it wasn't. I made sure I locked it behind me."

  "No you didn't, because I opened it with no problem."

  Alyssa looked like she wanted to argue, but she snapped her mouth closed at the last minute. She looked at him, the pupils of her eyes dilating for just the briefest second, then motioned behind him with a quick nod.

  "Then feel free to close it behind you with no problem." She moved to push the door closed and Randy reached out with his hand at the last minute, stopping her. With little effort, he pushed it back open and stepped through, ignoring the look of surprise and panic that widened her eyes.

  The living room looked the same, small, a little cramped but cozy. His eyes darted over to the kitchen, resting on the counter island. Memories of his last visit here rushed to the surface, vivid, clear. Painfully fresh, despite the time that had passed. And suddenly he needed to know why. What hadn't she taken any of his calls? Why hadn't she called him back?

  Why had she told Val what she did?

  The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he felt her body brush against his as she tried to move past him. He reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging just enough to stop her, just enough to turn her around to face him. Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because her own expression suddenly turned guarded, wary, like she was afraid of what he might say or do.

  Irrational anger went through him at that look. She was afraid of him? After what they did? After what she had said? He released her arm and ran one hand through his hair and across his face, trying to tamp back the confusing swirl of emotion and thought. He didn't say anything, though, couldn't find quite the right words, not yet.