by Meghan Quinn
I couldn’t care less about the water dripping on the floor. Wearing only a red dress and yellow cardigan, I’m concerned if she is warm enough.
“Are you cold? You’re drenched.”
“I’ll dry. No biggie.”
I shake my head. “You’re going to catch cold.” Not giving her a chance to answer, I leave her in the entryway and go back to my bedroom where I pull out a pair of USA Swimming sweatpants and a Team USA T-shirt.
Just as I walk into the entryway again, a large bolt of lightning lights up the sky followed by a giant boom of thunder, making Ruby startle and cower.
“Here you go,” I say, making her scream and hold her heart.
“Holy penis on a pineapple,” she exclaims. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Me or the thunder?”
“Both of you. You tag teamed the shit out of me, causing me to wet myself even more.”
Scanning the ground, I look for evidence only for her to swat me playfully at my chest. “I didn’t really pee. Honestly, I’m not some eighty-year-old woman with a vagina the size of Kentucky who can’t hold her bladder.”
“Okay,” I respond awkwardly. Real fucking smooth, Bodi. “Get changed, pizza will be ready soon.”
“Get changed?” She quirks an eyebrow at me. “You expect me to change into your clothes? How do I know you washed these?” She sniffs them and it almost seems like her eyes melt. “Besides the mountainy fresh smell coming off them, how do I really know these are clean? You might have sprayed some Febreze on them.”
“Look around, Ruby. Do you really think I wouldn’t have clean clothes? Now get changed; I won’t have you sitting wet all night.”
“Valid point.” She nods, not saying another word and going to the half bath that’s just off the entryway. Could she really think I don’t wash my clothes? Was she teasing me again? Shit, I wish I understood more.
“Hang your coat in there to drip dry,” I call out, heading to the kitchen. Checking the oven, the pizza is a golden brown, just the way I like it, so I don oven mitts, lay out the ceramic trivet my mom used when making pizza, and remove dinner from the oven.
Steaming sauce bubbles up over the vegetables and cheese as heat radiates from the pie. It’s perfect. Just like mom used to make.
“I have to admit, that smells delicious,” Ruby says, interrupting my silent thoughts. When I turn to thank her, I’m caught off guard by the gorgeous woman drowning in my clothes. The shirt she’s wearing is entirely too large, the sleeves pass her elbows, and the sweats I gave her are rolled numerous times at the waist and the ankles.
A foreign chuckle rips through me and I cover my mouth, not wanting to insult her.
Looking down at her clothes, she curtseys, pulling the shirt out like a dress and says, “What? Do these clothes you lent me not fit? How strange, I would have thought a man of your six-foot-two stature would have clothes that would easily fit me.”
“Sorry, my intention is not to be mean, but those clothes don’t fit.”
“But I make them work, right?” she encourages me.
“Yes,” I smile, “you make it work.”
“Eep! A compliment, giggle, and smile from Bodi Banks. The world is flipping on its axis.”
Scrunching my brow together I respond, “I did not giggle. Men don’t giggle.”
“Pretty sure I heard a giggle.” She places her finger on her chin and looks to the ceiling in contemplation. “Or would you refer to that as a chortle?”
“Definitely not a chortle.” I laugh again, getting used to the sound coming from me.
“One day I will get a chortle out of you.” Leaning over my frame, on her toes, she eyes the pizza, her hand pressing against my back. I hide the quick intake of breath that shoots through me from the touch of her palm. “Wow that’s a lot of vegetables.”
“Is that okay? It’s how my mom used to make it.” I say the words before I can stop them from coming out. Fuck, I don’t want to talk about my mom with Ruby, not tonight, not fucking ever.
The usual Prying-Ruby retreats to my side and wafts the smell up to her face, ignoring my statement completely. She then turns to me and says, “Looks perfect. Can I get us drinks or anything?”
And that right there, that’s why she’s digging her little heart-shaped face under my skin. She can read me like a book, even when I’m uncomfortable and want to sidestep something that comes out of my mouth.
“I can grab them. You go sit down. We can work and eat if that’s okay with you.”
“Fine with me.” She smiles and goes to the dining room, giving me some time to collect my thoughts.
Nervous and anxious, I run my hand over my face, hoping to gain a little courage to get through this night.
She doesn’t want to know the true you. She would be disgusted. Keep it together, Banks.
With an exhale, I cut up the pizza and bring it out on the trivet followed by two root beers. I set the brown bottle in front of her, which makes that bright smile shine back up at me.
“I’m not going to lie, you’re making me swoon a little here, Bodi. Pizza and bottled root beer. You’re the hostess with the mostest.”
Swoon? If only she fucking knew the thoughts and foreign feelings running through me every time her big brown eyes focus on me, as if I’m the only man on this planet. Want to talk about taking my breath away? She’s fucking gold-medaling in that department.
“Just wait until dessert.” I wink while handing out the pizza.
Wink? I fucking winked? Who the hell is this winking person? Whoever he is, he’s charming the fuck out of Ruby, who can’t seem to stop smiling.
Shit, she’s so damn beautiful.
Her lips are full, plump, glossy. Her eyes speak her truth in bold brown waves and the slight crinkle of her nose when she’s unsure of something is so fucking adorable all I want to do is kiss it.
I want to kiss her.
Fucking badly.
I want to know what it feels like to be intimately entwined with someone so pure and true as her. I want to feel her warmth against my frigidness, get lost in the soft, silky feel of her skin and hold her as if she’s mine for the keeping.
Lifting a slice of the pizza, she pushes it toward me and waits. Confused, I ask, “Everything okay?”
“We need to cheers.”
“Our pizzas?” I ask, never once cheers-ing my food. Drinks, yes; food, no.
“Well of course, what else would we cheers?”
“Our drinks maybe?” I suggest with a shrug.
“And how boring is that?” Rolling her eyes, she picks up her root beer, cheers mine and takes a sip. “Ugh, so boring. No, we cheers our food.” Holding up her pizza again and encouraging me with her eyes, I do the same. “To good friends, good pizza, and . . . hmm, I feel like there needs to be three things we cheers to.” A girl after my own heart, three is such a great number. “To . . .”
“To not cheers-ing our drinks,” I add, hoping I don’t sound like a complete dipshit.
“Yes, to not cheers-ing our drinks.” She smiles broadly. I love her smile, especially how it lights up her whole face when she appreciates something I’ve done.
Carefully and very strangely we tap the tips of our pizzas together and then both take a bite at the same time. Once again, nerves flutter in my stomach as I wait for her reaction to the one and only creation I used to make for my mom so many years ago.
A low moan escapes her as she closes her eyes. She’s clearly enjoying the bite she took. Pride surges through me, once again. Mom would adore Ruby’s bright personality. It’s times like these I wish she and Dad were here. I really hope she would be proud of me.
“This is so good, Bodi. At first I was nervous about all the veggies but this crust is amazing, really crisp with a cheesy flavor. Where did you get it?”
And here is my little secret that will blow her mind.
“It’s actually ground-up cheese and cauliflower.”
“Cauliflower?” she asks in
disbelief. “There is no way that is cauliflower.” She takes no time in turning the slice in her hand over to take a look at the crust. “How could this be cauliflower?”
“Veggies can do weird things.” I take another bite, loving my cauliflower pizza.
“Typical Bodi Banks. Skips the carbs for some kind of magical cauliflower crust. Where do you get your discipline?”
I shrug. “I guess I’ve just become accustomed to it.” More like obsessed but she doesn’t need to know that. My obsessive-compulsive personality has fixated on certain things: eating healthy, training, keeping the house impeccably clean, and locking the fucking doors . . . three times.
Taking another bite, she talks with her mouth full. For some reason, I find it adorable. “I wish I could become accustomed to eating veggies like you, but my body seems to enjoy a doughnut over a carrot.”
“Ah yes, I remember your love for doughnuts.”
“How do you . . .?” Her voice trails off as recognition falls over her face. “Ugh, that damn Lauren tempting me with a doughnut. I could still punch her tuna box. How humiliating. I’m sorry you had to see me sweat over a pastry like that.”
“It was impressive.” I chuckle.
Her mouth flies open in shock, the corners of her lips tipping up in mirth. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, I’ve just never seen someone work that hard for a doughnut. Quite the accomplishment.”
“Oh my God.” She laughs and shoves my arm. “You’re making fun of me.”
“And showing up to a swim class in a two-piece?” I tsk her with a shake of my head.
“Hey.” She holds up her finger. “I showed you how it could be a one-piece.”
“Yes, who can forget the moose knuckle?” The horrified but fun-loving look on her face makes me laugh out loud, not just chuckle or *gulp* chortle. No, I laugh.
“I don’t know if I like this Joking-Bodi. He seems to remember too many incriminating things only to use them against me later.”
“Regular-Bodi would remember the same thing. At least Joking-Bodi is more fun to be around.”
Shit, why did I just say that?
“I like both Bodis,” Ruby says without skipping a beat and finishing off her pizza, putting me at ease once again.
The big question is, would she like the Bodi who left the door unlocked that eventually got his parents killed? Would she like the Bodi who obsesses over minute things? Would she like the Bodi who is emotionally detached?
My guess is no. Up until now, she has been patient and kind toward me. She is probably like this with everyone, so I can’t think any more about it. But this is the first time I’ve made so much effort for someone. I’m not sure it is sustainable. Her acceptance or my effort.
The rest of dinner we discuss the foundation, our next steps, connecting with the national governing body for swimming to set up some paint stations while at training camp, and where we want to hold the event. Ruby has taken time out of her days to scope out some facilities and has narrowed it down to three places we will visit when I get back from trials. My schedule is too jam packed with training and scheduled appearances to fit them in before. Ruby talked Eva into getting her yuppy artist friends involved as well.
Overall, I’m really excited with what we have in the works. I’m pretty proud of what we’ve been able to come up with, and Eva seems to be just as proud.
After dessert—yes, I got to hear her “ooo” and “ahh” over my homemade healthy chocolate mousse—we headed into the living room where we both sat on the couch to finalize the last details of the gala.
“Champagne has to be served,” she counters.
“It doesn’t have to be served. We could save some money by not serving it.”
“Have you ever been to a gala before?”
Is she serious? “Ruby, Eva is my sister; of course I’ve been to a gala.”
She leans forward on the couch; there is a good four feet between us as I made it that way. I’m fucking self-conscious as hell when she’s too close, I don’t want her to see how nervous she makes me. Plus, if I was closer, I don’t know what I would do, probably something stupid like kiss her. “Have you ever seen—?”
A loud boom interrupts her sentence followed by two flashes of lightning and another boom, shaking my condo. Before Ruby can finish, a downpour of rain hits the roof, making conversation difficult.
“Jeeze.” Ruby cuddles into herself. “That was kind of scary.”
I want to tell her she can come hold my hand, maybe rest her head on my chest for comfort but I refrain. How fucking weird would that be if I offered her comfort? Pretty sure she would flee the condo straight into the eye of the storm. And I couldn’t bear that thought.
“I didn’t think the storm was going to be this bad,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket and opening the weather app. The deafening alert sound coming from both our phones interrupts me.
“Flash floods and mud slides in the hills,” Ruby says, reading the alert. “Shoot. I should probably go so I can make it home before it gets really bad.”
Boom. Thunder erupts, putting an exclamation at the end of her sentence, scaring her even more. Hard rain pelting the windows and deck echoes through the room over the constant beat of the heavy downpour.
Turning to Ruby, I say, “You’re not going anywhere. You can stay here tonight.”
“Don’t be silly.” Boom. She flinches. “I will be fine.”
She stands and so do I. She’s not going anywhere, not in this storm. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her, and Eva would straight-up slaughter me if I let Ruby leave in this weather.
“It will ease up. I don’t want to put you out.”
Pulling up my weather app again, I look at the forecast and flip the screen in her direction. “It’s one hundred percent rain until two with a severe weather advisory.”
She bites on her index finger. “Uh, they always say that but it means nothing.”
A flash of lightning followed by a giant boom. The lights flicker, only to falter, turning the condo and all surrounding areas pitch black.
“You still going to go?” I ask her.
I can’t see her but I can hear her heavy breathing. “Uh, maybe I should stay here.”
Thankfully I have a small generator to maintain the alarm system and make sure it’s always on, especially in blackout situations like this. Blackouts are a thief’s Christmas. The generator also warms my water and that’s about it.
“Might be a good idea. Here, let me get a few candles. I will be right back.”
Before I can move, Ruby is at my side, holding onto my arm for dear life. “Please don’t leave me.”
She’s actually shaking. She’s scared. Fuck, what do I do? Do I put my arm around her? Pat her head and tell her it’s going to be okay? Ask her if she wants to make out in the dark? Option three she most definitely won’t want to do even though it’s my number one choice.
“Uh, okay. Do you want to come with me?”
“Pretty sure wherever you go right now, I will be right by your side.” Boom. She shudders, making my heart ache a little more.
What would my mom do right about now?
When I was younger, I was terrified of storms, especially big ones like this, where you feel like your house is going to fall apart from Mother Nature’s downpour. I would run into my mom and dad’s room, tug on her arm, tears in my eyes, and she would scoot to the middle, lift up the covers, and snuggle me into her chest.
How would Ruby feel about snuggling?
No, that’s massively inappropriate. We work together. She’s not your girlfriend. You don’t even want a girlfriend.
“Um, Bodi, are we just going to stand here in the dark or are you going to go get candles?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Perfect, fucking awkward again.
Guiding her with my phone’s flashlight, we walk down the dark hallway while lightning flashes illuminate the condo and thunder booms rattle the walls through t
he storm’s ferocity.
“This is fun.” She chuckles nervously. “Why do things always seem scarier in the dark during thunder storms?”
“Maybe it’s a feeling we never lose from childhood.”
I have a lot of those feelings, thunderstorms not being one of them.
“Maybe. Someone should make a movie about how beautiful thunderstorms are rather than trying to scare the bejeezus out of us with spinning doll heads, dark hallways, and lightning. Thunderstorms could be lovely if paired with a smiling cupcake. Can you picture it? A movie of a dancing cupcake full of rainbow sprinkles celebrating in a thunderstorm? Now that might change my mind.”
“Until the cupcake is zapped and barbequed on the spot.”
“Hey!” She laughs. “You can’t help but destroy all sugary confections, can you? A little frosting never hurt anyone.” She pokes my side and then shakes her finger. “Good Lord, man. What do you have under that shirt? Cast-iron muscles?”
“Definitely not frosting.” I grin and open the linen closet to pull out my emergency kit of candles. Los Angeles has occasional blackouts so it’s always good to be prepared.
I light a couple, hand one to her, and take her back to the living room where we both sit on the couch. Carrying the box forced me to miss the warmth of her touch, a touch I so desperately want back.
In the box there is a box of raisins—I have no clue why—a flashlight, and a pack of cards. Trying to not make things uncomfortable, I open the pack of cards and sheepishly look at her. “Want to play some cards?”
“Yeah!” Automatically she faces me on the couch, crosses her legs, and claps her hands together. “What do you want to play?”
“Go Fish?” I really have no depth when it comes to card games. I don’t even know poker, sad I know, but I was busy being a recluse growing up, only spending time in the pool and watching baseball.
She grimaces. Clearly not a fan of Go Fish. “How about Slap Jack?”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve never played?” Her eyes are wide, complete wonderment floating in them.
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“That’s a crime.” Grabbing the cards, she starts shuffling the deck. “It’s all about having fast reflexes. Think you can handle that?”