Eyeful (Gladiators of the Gridiron Book 2)

by C. R. Grissom

  “Right? I mean. He was trying to say something about never bringing anyone else here. And then he starts in on how he and Aubrey had this relationship with a predetermined end date. And I was shocked. And I’m pissed, I guess. I mean telling me about her assumes I want more than friendship with him. Right? I probably don’t have a right to be angry, but I just am. It was a crap-ass way to find out.”

  Tiago picks this moment to join us. “What’s crap-ass?”

  Shit. Don’t lie. Choose another truth. And I remember the email I got during the game. “I have the first shift tomorrow at Goose’s. Which means I’ll have to leave for work pretty early tomorrow.” I force my bottom lip into a pout.

  Faith nods in agreement.

  I’ll need to explain later so she doesn’t think I’m a big fat, and accomplished liar.

  “Want to head out onto the balcony with me for a few minutes?” Tiago asks.

  Hmm. No. I definitely don’t want to do that. Shit.

  “Dad always waits up for me on nights I crash at his place. I’d feel badly for keeping him awake. Since Phoebe has the first shift, I was about to ask if she’s ready to take off?”

  “Of course,” he agrees.

  “Thanks for the invite, TJ,” I say, not sure what to do next. Escape with Faith? Keep staring at him?

  “Sure. Sure,” he agrees.

  Faith takes pity on me again. “Good night, TJ.” She pats his shoulder.

  Which provides the opening for me to blurt, “Good night.”

  She leads me through the condo. She brushes her lips against Caleb’s. “We’re out. I’ll stop by tomorrow. I’ll bring bagels.”

  “Mmm, yes,” he says. “I should walk you to your place. It’s late.”

  “Thanks. We’ll be fine.” Faith glances at me. “Right?”

  “Yes. She can text you when we get there, so you’ll know she’s safe.”

  He smiles at me. Full wattage. They really need to stop that. Or bottle it and make a fortune. These guys are potent. We finally manage to head out the door a full ten minutes later after saying good night to all who gathered at Club Caleb.

  The temperature outside is gorgeous, much cooler than Las Vegas. “Faith, it’s important for you to know I don’t make a habit of not telling the truth.”

  “You mean when TJ walked in on us?”

  “Yes, that specifically. I misdirected by telling a different truth about the work email. But I really dislike lying. I want you to know that.”

  Her head tilts like she’s examining me, checking her radar for whether I’m lying right now. “I believe you. In your position, I would have saved face. I feel you on that. In fact, I gave you an out. Even though it is true, I don’t like to keep Dad waiting.” She wraps her arm around me. “Do me a favor, if I ask you something you’re not ready to answer, just let me know. It’s okay not to tell me stuff.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Good.”

  Faith’s dad lives one building away from Caleb’s condo. It’s close and no one was around to make us feel uncomfortable or worried.

  “Dad living at The Row is pretty convenient for me. Caleb’s here. But I’m spending less time at Dad’s and more at school or with Caleb.”

  “He seems like a great guy.”

  Her smile sparkles. “Caleb is a keeper. It took me some time to realize how fortunate I am to have found someone so perfect for me.”

  She seems so decisive. I marvel at how together she is while I’m a freaking wreck. “How long before you dropped to your knees to thank the universe for this rarity? Five minutes. Ten?”

  Her face scrunches. “Too long. Months. But I never claimed to be smart about men.”

  “Months? You have your act completely together. You’re my role model.”

  She unlocks the door to the condo. “Dad, it’s me. Your favorite child come to visit.”

  Faith’s dad comes around the corner. “You have it wrong.” He shakes his head. “You’re my least favorite child.” He grins when he says it. Then presses a kiss to the top of her head.

  Faith laughs. “As your only child, I get it right half the time.” She wraps her arm around him. “I missed you this week. Daddy, I’d like you to meet my friend Phoebe.”

  “Hello, Mr. Lacerna. It’s nice to meet you.” Seeing them together makes me wish my dad hadn’t died before I was born. I’d like to think maybe we’d have forged a decent relationship with each other. Then again, he married Mom, so maybe not?

  “Welcome to our home. Are you girls hungry? I made lemongrass chicken and butter noodles earlier. It’s in the fridge.”

  He’s an attractive man. He reminds me of George Clooney. Handsome, older gentleman type. And he cooks. Mom showed me how to use the microwave when I turned six. And that was the last time she heated a meal for me.

  Faith looks up from her phone where she’s sending a text. “I’m all set. Phoebe, are you hungry? Can I fix you a plate?”

  “No, but thank you. I do appreciate the offer.”

  “You girls make is easy for me to host. I’m going to be in my office for a bit, then I’m hitting the hay. I’ll be going to the office tomorrow around eleven. Will I see either of you before then?”

  “Phoebe has to work first thing. Can I borrow the car to drop her off? I’ll bring it back again by ten tomorrow morning. Will that work?”

  “Yes, no later. The IT guys are managing a software upgrade and I want to be on hand for it.” He turns to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Make yourself comfortable here.”

  “Thank you.”

  He’s sincere, and I’m pierced by longing for a normal family. One that cares about each other and makes a home. For as long as I can remember Mom never managed to fall for the kind of man who knows how to adult and be charming, without the creeper factor. Grams assured me Dad wasn’t like the rest of the men Mom paraded through my life, but who knows if she told me that to make me feel good about my father.

  Damn. I belittle my relationship with Grams by making unfair comparisons. Sure, I’d like parents who care, but I do have a grandmother who has opened her home to me without question or reservation. That counts. Grams loves me. She’s the only person who does. I have to stop focusing on what I don’t have and be grateful for all that I do have in my life.

  The layout here follows Caleb’s. Same basic color schemes as far as I can see. The kitchen has the same black granite counters and maple cabinetry. Furniture runs to comfortable—a couch, and oversize chair with an ottoman in a buttery-soft-looking fabric. Tuscan landscapes decorate the living room walls.

  “My room is this way. Like Caleb’s condo, we have two master bedrooms. But we have a third bedroom Dad uses as his home office.”

  She leads me into her bedroom. The walls are painted metallic silver. Her comforter is the color of plums. She uses a remote to turn on tiny white lights on copper wires threading through the brushed-silver metal headboard of her bed.

  “You can set your backpack down anywhere.”

  I set it off to the side, and out of the way. Her room is calming. The soft lights and pretty colors soothing. A couple of pictures in frames sit on her dresser and nightstand. One with her dad, one with Caleb. I notice another one with Beau. And she has one with a tiny blonde I assume is her best friend from back home.

  She motions for me to sit with her on the bed. “Now that TJ isn’t around to interrupt, talk to me about Aubrey, and why he mentioned predetermined end dates.”

  “Maybe we’re heading toward friends with bennies and he’s laying the ground rules?” I shrug.

  “Let’s dissect some facts.” Faith uses the fingers of her right hand like bullets points on some imaginary presentation. “Do you want something casual like occasional lovers or do you want something more?”

  Two bullet points, two fingers raised. I consider her questions. Do I want casual from Tiago, and go to bed with him so he can prove some point about being a superior lover? Do I want anything else?

&nb
sp; “If I’m being honest with you and myself, I haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “Well, after he propped Aubrey up between you, I understand your hesitancy.”

  I sigh. “I’m conflicted. Before tonight, I had this sense he wasn’t fully engaged with the idea of us. If that makes sense?”

  “Yes, actually, it does. Why do you think he’d hold back from a natural relationship progression?”

  “Listen to you. Relationship progression. Fancy talk for a booty call.”

  “Listen to you, making what you’re building with TJ less than it deserves to be.”

  Hmm. She has a point. One that pinches my heart, and I wince from the sting. “Touché. But that was before Aubrey.”

  “Her existence does throw a curveball,” she states in a matter-of-fact way. “But she’s not here. And you get to decide whether you want to pursue something more with TJ or keep walking on and find a relationship without an expiration date.”

  Expiration date. Damn. That nails it. “We hit the pause button earlier tonight.”

  Faith studies me. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What do you mean?”

  “On the drive over, we ran into Caity and her handmaidens in the parking lot at Safeway.”

  “Ugh. She’s like the anti-Visa card. She’s everywhere you don’t want her to be. What happened?”

  “I might have called her a stalker.”

  Faith laughs. “Oops.”

  “Let me say, she was surprised.”

  “I bet.”

  “Then we climbed into TJ’s car and cracked up over it. Which led to a freaking phenomenal kiss. After, we had a conversation about whether we should stay in friend-land or find the nearest private, comfortable flat surface.”

  “Well, that sounds reasonable. I mean, right?”

  “Yes, but that was before the Aubrey convo.”

  Faith rubs my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s best if you do wait to see how he behaves moving forward?”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’m not going to find the answer tonight. Letting it all simmer might be my best plan.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too. But it’s also rough not knowing the answers.”

  “Exactly. Sometimes doing nothing is the hardest thing of all.”

  *

  Faith and I both fell asleep fully clothed on top of her comforter. One minute we’re talking about Tiago and the next I startle awake. I jump in the shower, and then quickly change into the set of clean clothes I had in my backpack. I now carry one change of clothes, a small kit with necessities like toothpaste and a toothbrush. When I open the bathroom door, Faith is already dressed in a hoodie and joggers. Flip-flops on her feet and travel mugs of coffee in each hand.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I doctored your coffee. I remember that you like a lot of cream and three sugars.”

  “Wow. Do you have an eidetic memory or something?”

  She grins. “It’s my Italian side. Nonna used to say the way to show you care is to remember how your friend likes his or her coffee or tea. She said you remember that, you make someone feel special because you paid attention.”

  “That’s considerate. Thank you. Your nonna is right.”

  Tears flood my eyes without any warning. I do my breathing trick, but they spill anyway. I turn my face quickly, so Faith doesn’t get a chance to see.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  Crap. So much for not noticing. “Yes.” I swipe at my face with my sleeve. “I’m sorry for getting overly emotional on you.”

  She makes eye contact. “You’re not. I’m here for you. I hope we can support and be here for each other.”

  Wow. That sounds fabulous. Faith makes it sound simple and easy. Something you do, like remembering how your friend likes their coffee. “It’s been my experience that friends are transient. I’ve never had anyone want to hang around when things got tough.”

  She wraps her arm around me in a quick hug. “You had lousy friends. Friends stick or they’re aren’t really your friends.”

  “How is it that you feel taller than me when I’ve got you by two inches?”

  She laughs. “It’s a trick I’ve learned from Kirsty, my back-home bestie. She’s five-foot-nothing and makes me feel short.”

  She reaches into a drawer and pulls out a set of car keys. “Let’s get you to work.”

  “Today I get to wear the suit.”

  Faith grimaces. “Dang. I hope you don’t hate me by the end of your shift.”

  “Me too. That would suck.”

  *

  Who knew one-size-fits-all avocado suits could be problematic? The oval shape with a boat neck opening allows my head to be free. But I thought the damn thing would reach my knees. Unfortunately, it barely covers my ass. Which would have been okay, but the green tights won’t pull all the way up either. If I move too far in any direction my half-covered ass will show. The waistband of the tights sits so low it barely covers my butt cheeks.

  I’m screwed. If I drop my sign and dare to pick it up, I’ll flash everyone in the vicinity. That’s all I need, my lettuce and tomato on display. If I do some deep knee bends maybe I can somehow pull these suckers up.

  Shit. The employee bathroom is tiny. I’m tall. No ballet plié will save me now, plus there isn’t much room to maneuver. I’ll just have to move cautiously today. I give my jeans a dirty look. I’ll ask Goose if I can wear my black leggings with the costume going forward. Why didn’t I pack leggings? Oh yeah. I didn’t think they’d be appropriate for the job.

  I stuff the offending denim into my backpack. Bending over. Which made the tights roll below my butt to cut off circulation under my butt cheeks. While the costume pit practically punched me in the face. Shit!

  My first day on the job and I’m being thwarted by a fake pitted fruit.

  I take a couple of quick breaths to try to relax. Because now I’m burning up in this costume. It’s padded. It’s weighty. And it’s too freaking short! Yoga breathing. But it still feels like I’m wearing a burning hot fajita skillet instead of an avocado. Sweat trickles down my spine.

  Grabbing the hem of the costume in my left hand, I open the door with my right. Walking down the short hall, my entire body burns, and I’m not even standing in the sun yet. My face flames for an entirely different reason.

  Avocado-induced mortification.

  The first person I see is Dawn. I met her for the first time when I stepped through the door at Goose’s this morning for my shift. She’s my age, blonde, and has the good sense to have said an emphatic no to wearing the avocado. She’s lived in the Valley all her life and graduated from high school last year. She’s working to save money for a backpacking trip through Europe.

  All this information was divulged as she walked me through the space showing me where things are stored and the basic kitchen flow. She’s a fast talker, friendly, and a bit nosy, too.

  After giving me the ground-level breakdown of all things Dawn, she asked me about myself. No detail was too small. I told her about life as I know it at Fortis but left off anything prior except the basics. Hometown: Las Vegas. Not much more than that.

  Dawn explained Goose was a stickler for cleanliness and order. That much was obvious on my ten-minute tour of the place. Countertops glowed. The tile floors were clean, free from the filmy coating that would build on the brick-colored tile inside the kitchen of the Casino deli.

  “Wow. That’s much shorter on you than it looks on the hanger,” she says as she bites back a laugh.

  I nod weakly. “Do you think if I hold the costume hem down with both hands, I can get away with an Irish step dance?”

  Her eyebrows disappear into her bangs. “Sure, that might work.”

  Goose comes around the corner and steps in front of Dawn. His smile breaks across his face. “Let me look at you! Oh, fantastic. This is better than I’d hoped. You’re going to draw customers to us.”

  Behind him Dawn mouths, “You’re fucked.”


  I know what she mouthed because I was thinking the same thing. “Oh boy. Can’t wait.”

  Goose remains clueless about the short length of the costume. Visibly enraptured by the thought of my avocado dance drumming up business. As long as I don’t get slapped with indecent exposure, I guess it’ll be mortifying, but okay.

  “Ready to be my guacamole influencer?”

  “What?” Oh no. Please no.

  “Yeah, we’re starting a social media page for… Wait for it… Wait for it… The. Guac. Pit!” He’s so excited he’s speaking in exclamation points.

  Whereas I’m the flip side of that emotion. Dread. The kind that turns your feet to ice floes and your belly to an iceberg.

  Dawn makes a face that’s a cross between squinty-eyed disbelief, and a naked desire to film whatever happens next. Or maybe I’m projecting? Regardless. It’s like putting your money down and betting the ponies. This bet is in play and there’s no pulling the money back because you changed your mind. The gate burst open and the horses are on the move.

  In this case, I’m the pitted fruit and not a pony. Either way, this is a good bet for going sideways and tipping into absurdity. But it pays more per hour than my deli gig. And it’s just a costume.

  One that feels like it has a built-in furnace woven inside, but a costume nonetheless.

  Goose pulls his phone out of his back pocket and starts to film our short walk to the corner. He sounds like the play-by-play guy for a horse race. Now they’re off. It’s Phoebe, the reluctant avocado, out front. Will she keep the pace and cross the finish line?

  Only that’s not what he’s saying. He’s narrating my debut as he walks behind me. I’m relieved I don’t have many friends, otherwise, this might be too hard to live down. My hands hold down the costume on either side of my thighs.

  “Come on out to Goose’s Taco Shack today. Follow @TheGuacPit on KickBack to get your dose of our dancing avocado and the deal of the day.”

  Things really can’t get any worse. I resign myself to full-on humiliation. But then I think of Agnes. Hell. She’d do a runway walk, and make the costume work for her.

  Embrace the chaos. Ignore the sweat pooling at the base of your spine.