Maxine waved her hand through the air, trying to ignore the way her stomach dropped. “Johnny did the numbers, he said I didn’t have enough collateral for a small business loan. And plus, he said it would be crazy to leave something solid and dependable, like the spa.”
Stuart became uncharacteristically quiet. Crosby made a sound at the back of her throat. “Solid and dependable? As if Johnny knows what that means.” She ended the sentence rolling her eyes.
“If you want a second opinion”—Stuart’s expression was open, genuine—“I could look at your file, maybe this is something we could all invest in—”
Maxine shook her head. “I can’t take the responsibility of losing everyone’s money.” The truth was, owning her own cosmetic boutique had been a dream as soon as Maxine graduated esthetician school. She had it all figured out: prom specials, birthday parties, bridal functions, the possibilities were endless. Maxine knew she had a special talent for picking out the right colors for her clients, she had a loyal following at the spa, but the biggest reason was that she understood how women felt about wanting to be beautiful. And if you don’t fit into the dress you see in the window, you can always buy a new lipstick.
Crosby’s phone buzzed. Her red fingernails worked quickly on the keypad. “Rose is relieved you’re not dead. It was her idea for us to come over here. She’s pissed you took off like that, though. Apparently, the news scanner is full of creeps prowling the streets at night. And she said the worst ones are the guys who look completely normal. Oh!” Crosby went over to the dining table. “Are these the new eye shadows you were telling me about?”
Maxine groaned inside. Crosby was constantly losing her focus. She’d never get them out of her apartment.
“Hello? What do we have here?” Stuart let out a slow whistle, the gold watch dangled from his finger. He looked at Maxine. “Who owns this?”
She hugged her elbows. “I found it when I was cleaning.”
Stuart raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, I wasn’t cleaning. I was looking for my favorite eyelash curler and found it shoved in the back of one of the junk drawers in the kitchen.” Maxine was impressed with how quickly she pulled that lie out of the air. “It’s obviously Johnny’s,” she said. The expensive timepiece was still in Stuart’s grasp. “I was going to mail it to him, but I have no idea where he’s living these days.”
Crosby put down her purse on top of a pile of magazines and slipped into the kitchen. She started opening cupboards and peeking inside. “You should sell it and buy yourself something nice. Hey, do you have anything else to eat besides goldfish crackers?”
Stuart tried on the gold watch. It hung loosely from his wrist. “Wow, this is heavy.” He inspected the watch more closely. “Tight assed Johnny owned a luxury sports watch? Doesn’t seem like him.”
“He fooled a lot of us, didn’t he?” Maxine replied, her tone was sharp. She wasn’t entirely faking. The emotion was genuine and she was using it to her advantage.
Stuart slipped off the watch, carefully placing it on the trunk.
“Put it on ebay!” Crosby opened a can of frosting. She peeled off the foil and dipped her finger in. “Let’s do it tonight!”
“Excuse me,” Maxine said nodding to the icing. “I was saving that!”
“For what?” she licked the end of her finger.
“Breakfast.”
Crosby took another swipe of frosting, then said, “I totally forgot! Guess who I met at the club tonight?”
Maxine yawned this time, adding emphasis. She thought of the sexy French/Greek sex god with the amazing erection, now hiding in her bedroom. She patted her stomach and tried to look miserable. “Thanks for checking up on me, but I need to call it a night, I’m working tomorrow.” She tried to brighten her expression. “I’ll pay for your cab home. Okay?”
“Awesome,” Crosby said. “Anyway, you know Miles Delaney, that producer who does the reality show, Marry Me? Well, he bumps into me on the dance floor and we start talking. When he found out my PR firm is doing the annual bachelor auction…are you even listening? I told you about it last month, Maxie! You promised to do makeup.”
“On the bachelors?” Stuart pushed himself to standing and joined them at the kitchen counter. He dipped his finger around Crosby’s, helping himself to the frosting.
Maxine eyed her clutch beside the lamp. “I’ll call that cab.”
“He wants me to apply!” She squealed and handed the frosting to Stuart. “Isn’t that awes—”
“Do you here that?” Stuart looked down the short hallway. Music was coming from behind the bedroom door.
“I was watching shows on my laptop,” Maxine said. “I guess it came on by itself.”
“Shows?” Stuart put the frosting down on the counter. “That’s the Hockey Night in Canada theme.” He was at the bedroom door in three steps and then the music stopped.
“Anyway.” Crosby took Maxine by the shoulders. “Guess who is going to be entering the next Marry Me auditions?”
“No!” Maxine cried out, as Stuart opened the door and stepped into her bedroom.
“Hey,” Crosby sounded hurt. “I’d be fantastic.”
Maxine rushed in behind Stuart. Her open laptop was on her bed, exactly where she’d left it before she and Crosby went to the club. The closet door was wide open. She eyed the bed suspiciously. There’s no way he’d be able to fit under it. Then her gaze went to the bathroom door.
“Weird,” Stuart looked around and shrugged. Then he made his way to her bathroom.
“Stop!” Maxine grabbed his elbow.
“I have to piss,” he said.
“Can’t you wait?” Maxine tried to get in front of the door.
“Do you have any idea how hard my kidneys have been working tonight?”
“I, um…it’s not fit in there. The mint went right through me.”
“I’ll plug my nose.” He pushed past her and closed the door. Maxine waited for a scream of surprise, but there was only Stuart’s stream hitting the water in the toilet bowl, then the flush.
When he opened the door, she angled around his shoulders, looking for a tall shadow behind the shower curtain.
“Anxious much?” Stuart said.
In a daze, Maxine stood in the middle of her small bathroom. “Where’s Westley?” she asked.
Stuart laughed. “I just shit him down the toilet. Where do you think? He’s still at the club.” Then he added sulkily, “Smart bastard.”
“You left him at the club?” Maxine caught her refection in the mirror. Her hair! It was totally messed from making out! She patted it down, fighting the blush. She really was glowy. Then she caught sight of something else in the mirror—the bathroom window was all the way open.
“He pleaded a rock solid case against leaving,” Stuart said. “He figured you’d left early to come home.”
“I guess he was right,” she said, staring at the open window.
The music started again, but this time it was much closer. She pulled back the shower curtain. There, on the bottom of the tub was a cell phone. The music stopped when Stuart picked up the phone.
“A hockey themed ring tone?” he cut a side-glance at Maxine. “Don’t tell me this is Johnny’s, too.”
Crosby snorted. “He thought stamp collecting was a sport.”
Maxine took the phone from Stuart. “I forgot the plumber was here this afternoon,” she lied again, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. “I’ll hand it into the landlord tomorrow.” She could see the missed call was from someone named ursexslave.
“It’s almost out of battery,” Crosby said. Then she saw the text. “He’s popular! I wonder if he’s cute.”
“You’re so sexist,” Stuart said. “The plumber could be a woman.”
Maxine leaned out the open window and saw a set of fresh tracks through the snow on the fire escape. He must have jumped the last part to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Stuart asked her. “You lost your glow.”
“My battery just ran out, too,” she sighed.
After Crosby and Stuart left, Maxine turned off all her lights and returned to her bedroom. She studied the phone. Three more messages had come in; one more from ursexslave and two from someone with the contact name, thewife.
He wasn’t wearing a ring. How could she have known? Were all men pigs?
A strange veil of rationalization settled on the room. Maybe Johnny wasn’t so unique in his fumbling of their relationship. That small moment of desperate validation was all it took for the melancholy to take hold—like it usually did at night.
Maxine went to her closet, pulled down the long white box from the top shelf, and took it over to the bed. Hating herself but unable to stop, she opened the lid.
Chapter Eight
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Coach Foster strutted through the locker room, shouting down at the team as his black shoes tapped a beat. The game plan was rolled up in his hand like a diploma, slapping his thigh with every exclamation mark. “This is a winning team and you finally proved it tonight!” He took a sharp inhale through his enlarged nostrils. “And I expect the same performance tomorrow!”
Antony sat on the bench in front of his personal locker breathing hard, his number and name labeled the overhead shelf. Sweat dripped from his head in rivets. He stared at the floor, replaying the last-minute goal that won the game…his goal.
Coach Foster’s shoes stopped in front of Antony. “And what the fuck got into you tonight?” There was a delay then a burst of laughter came from the team. Antony looked up cautiously and saw Coach smiling down at him.
He hardly ever smiled.
Earlier, when Antony had arrived for the game in his usual suit and tie, he’d been unable to meet Coach Foster’s gaze, miserable with the rumors that he’d be traded to the minors, plus he wondered if he’d been spotted following the managers last night.
Coach Foster hardly spoke to him all game, even after he got an assist and blocked a shot on net, an act of heroism that sent him off the ice to get his wrist checked by the trainer. They gave him a shot of cortisone and wrapped it tightly, stating it was probably sprained, but Antony insisted on returning to the game. He had too much to lose. Plus, he was having the game of his life.
“One goal and two assists!” Coach Foster was still looking down at him. “Best game in over two months, Laurent.”
“More like six months,” someone jeered. A jockstrap flew at Antony.
Coach Foster nodded and moved along, the assistants followed behind him like ducks in a row.
Antony’s heart ripped a crazy beat. It was his best game tonight. And just when he needed it the most. Jax would be pleased, maybe even get off his back a bit. Last night she’d been frantic when she couldn’t reach him. When he finally got back to his place, freezing in his t-shirt, his landline was full of messages from her. She’d heard about the rumors too and was pissed when she found out he’d gone out after the managers.
“That makes you look desperate,” she’d said when he managed to call her back after a hot shower.
“I’m your agent,” she’d lectured. “It’s my job to do that shit for you. Don’t do it again.” She was doubly pissed when he told her he’d lost his cell phone. He didn’t bother saying he knew where it was, he only let on it was probably in the cab he’d taken home from the gym.
He’d cringed. Jax was excellent at knowing when he was lying, but he wasn’t about to share his unexpected encounter.
She’d ended the conversation with a veiled threat. “You have to look sharp tomorrow night. You can’t afford to bring the team down.”
Antony gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to tell her he’d been trying to look sharp the whole season. Was it his fault half the team was plagued by injuries? He was originally taken on as a player with potential, a big guy for the defense who also had mad skating skills. The intent was to groom him as a potential career player, but with all the bad luck with injuries and their captain being hounded in the media for a stupid tweet he’d sent out about fat and ignorant Toronto fans, Antony’s decline in his ice skills was magnified under the increasingly negative glare from the media.
After he’d ended the conversation with Jax, he’d laid in bed and thought of the redhead again. In the darkness of his bedroom, he conjured up the memory of them lying on the couch. When he’d touched her, she came for him. So easily.
It was pure torture when she’d shoved him in her bedroom and closed the door. Antony had listened, waiting for her friends to leave. Then his cell phone rang, bringing the voices down the hallway. He’d rushed to the bathroom. Once he listened to the voicemail he had no choice, he had to leave immediately. With his heart pounding and his erection protesting, Antony put the phone down on the edge of the tub and used both hands to open the window. He barely squeezed through and had to put a foot against the toilet seat to shove himself out. When his legs kicked out, his foot hit something. There was a loud clang against the porcelain.
He’d taken a cab straight to his apartment, glad he still had his wallet in his jeans. By that time, he realized he’d forgotten his phone. He pictured it on her bathroom floor. He called immediately, anxious to explain why he had to leave, but all he heard was the automated message—“the cellular customer you are trying to reach is unavailable.”
He reasoned the battery had run down or she’d shut it off. A weird mix of emotion battled for logic inside Antony. He could leave it there and never see her again, taking the chance she’d find out who he was, or…
And it was the or part that kept him up the rest of the night, thinking of her full breasts and wet mouth. And then again in the shower the next morning. And then right before the game tonight.
He couldn’t remember being so easily turned on.
The more he thought about having sex with her, the more insatiable his need. She was unlike any woman he’d been with, completely without any expectations. And the way her voice cut through him when he made her come.
Mon Dieu.
There was something in her tone that brought him to attention and put him at ease at the same time. She was a mystery. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
In fact, sitting there in the locker room, Antony felt pressure build under his jock strap. He started to untie his skates, taking an exaggerated amount of time to loosen the laces.
“Best game, buddy!” There was a slap on Antony’s shoulder. Luca loomed over him, a towel wrapped around his waist. His Saint Sebastian medallion rested against his chest. “Fantastic goal, buddy. Real good job.” He leaned down, making the medallion swing outward. “Good timing, too.”
“Gym time finally paying off,” Antony said, trying not to grin too widely. In truth, it was the best game he’d had in a long time. Everything was clear to him; the angles, the potential plays—he never missed the puck. Everything was in slow motion, except him. He was flying.
“No, not gym,” Luca said. “Something else. Something—” He let the sentence drop, then he picked up his medallion, and kissed it.
Antony rolled his eyes. Luca was always looking for a divine reason for anything he couldn’t explain.
“Maybe I just got lucky,” Antony said.
Luca snapped his fingers. “Yes, buddy. You’ve got a good luck charm.”
“Yo, Laurent!”
Antony sighed, wishing he had a better nickname. “Oui?”
Chase Stanford, all six feet and blonde surfer kid from Los Angeles, came over and retrieved the jock strap he’d thrown earlier. “Little Luca’s got a point. My old man told me that Babe Ruth always wore his socks inside out. And that ‘the great one’ kissed his stick before every game.”
“Sorry your dad is a stupid dad,” Luca said.
“Point is,”—Chase continued—“think about what you’ve done differently in prep this time and that’s your new pre-game routine. Stick to it and you’ll be golden, dude.”
“Golden?” Antony repeated. He wasn
’t picturing gold, he was picturing red hair. But how could he contact her? He didn’t remember her address, all the apartments along that stretch looked the same.
“Figure it out fast, buddy,” Luca said, lowering his voice. “We hit ice again, tomorrow night.”
Chase fired his jock strap at another player making them drop their cell phone. “Heads up, loser!” he roared.
Luca rolled his eyes, but Antony felt a huge lightbulb go off above his head.
He smiled, knowing exactly how to find his belle rousse, his good luck charm.
Chapter Nine
Maxine tossed her coat onto the antique sofa in the corner of Carmine’s. The morning light created a soft glow inside. There was a new rack of outfits still in the plastic wrap from the dry cleaners. She began to pull off the flimsy transparent coverings, letting them fall to the floor in a crinkly pile.
Carmine didn’t believe in organizing the store, he wanted customers to browse around, hunt for the dress that was right for them instead of zeroing in on a pre-selected size or color.
Maxine thought the tiny consignment store on Kincourt Street was underutilized. Carmine had a treasure trove of clothes and accessories, but he kept everything scattered, plus he hardly charged what they were worth. He often let his customers leave with a promise to pay him later.
“Hi, honey,” he appeared through a curtain of beads, an electric cigarette in his grip. “Truly, that Judy Garland was gorgeous!”
Maxine moved a gray pantsuit to the nearest rack. She smoothed her hand down the lapel, appreciating the black velvet detailing. She peeked at the size and sighed disappointedly. “How many times have you watched Meet Me in St. Louis?” she asked, turning toward the doorway that led to a small sitting room where Carmine kept his DVD collection of musicals and what seemed to be an unending supply of peppermints and cigarettes, although since his cancer scare two years ago he only smoked electric cigarettes now.
He went behind the counter. The glass case displayed jewelry and various bits of sparkle that came in sometimes. He once told Maxine he’d found a diamond ring in a clutch purse. She’d always found those stories romantic, but lately, everything had a tinge of callous reality.
The Right Fit Page 5