by Quinn, Fiona
“That’s Gavin Rheas.” A girl in a black bugle-beaded dress leaned toward me gesturing at Striker with her drink.
“Excuse me?”
“The guy whose buns you’re checking out, his name is Gavin Rheas. Hi, I’m Rebecca.”
“I’m Lexi.” I grasped her outstretched hand in a friendly shake and turned my gaze back to Striker. “Do you know him well?”
“We grew up together. Hey, you guys. You came!” Rebecca smiled at two girls who danced their way up to us. They all gave smoochy air kisses. “This is Isabelle. This here’s Tracy. And this is Lexi.”
I shook their hands. “Nice to meet you.” Maybe.
We’re checking out Gavin’s buns,” Rebecca said conspiratorially.
“They’re worth checking out. He just seems to get better with time. But darned,” Tracy, the newly arrived, winter-tanned, blond-haired woman all but stomped the floor with a full pout on her lips. “I thought he’d be in uniform.”
“Not anymore, remember?” Rebecca said.
“Who’s Gavin? What uniform?” Isabelle the voluptuous Latina, cast her doe-eyed gaze across the room.
Rebecca pointed over to Striker, who had just turned our way and gave a smile and a wave.
“Oh, that’s Gavin. Oh he is yummy.” Her face turned pink. I honestly think Striker took this girl’s breath away.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Rebecca said. “He used to be a SEAL, and he had a chest full of medals.”
“I bet he was a hotty in his uniform,” Isabelle said. They turned in unison to study Striker – who slowly made his way closer to the bartender — probably imagining him in his Class A’s. Group sigh. Good God, this was uncomfortable.
Isabelle bent in and whispered. “Is he on the market?”
I bristled. Was he? I didn’t know myself. “I’m very much in love with you,” he said. “We’ll take it slow,” he said… maybe too slow? Why didn’t he stake a claim or something? Tell me what was going on in that head of his – well his heart, his heart was really what I wanted to understand.
“I think so,” Rebecca said. “He would have told me if he was dating someone special. His job’s keeping him pretty busy though. He goes out on dangerous operations and things.”
He didn’t tell them about me. Is that significant? Should I care? Hmm. Maybe I should introduce myself. As what? “I’m being escorted tonight by the hunky Gavin Rheas, glad to meet you?” I didn’t think so.
“Why? What does he do?” Isabelle asked.
“He’s working up in DC for some government support group. Anti-terrorist stuff,” Tracy said.
“No, not anti-terrorist stuff, military support stuff,” said Rebecca, then she made a face. “Actually, he won’t tell me what he does. He says his job is classified.”
“That sounds dangerous,” I offered. “You grew up together? Was he a dangerous kind of kid?”
“No, he was real responsible. That kind of got heaped on him though,” said Rebecca.
“Why do you think he’s down here in Miami? Do you think he came for Falicia?” Tracy asked.
Falicia? Who is that? My antenna shot up.
“I think he probably flew down to check on Lynda and Cammy,” Rebecca said.
“How’s Lynda doing? Have you seen her since the operation?” Tracy asked Rebecca.
“Jeezus. what a nightmare. The doctors think they were able to fix her nose this time,” Rebecca told her then turned to Isabelle. “Lynda is Gavin’s sister. These drug dealers attacked her, and she got beaten near to death. Gavin figured out she was in trouble; he found her in the nick-of-time before she bled to death. Saved her life.”
Another group sigh, some eye ball rolling on my part. I shuffled my feet. Striker was a hero, but I was used to it, and this idol worship was a bit over the top – even for me.
As Rebecca swiped her lips with some gloss that smelled like Dr. Pepper, Tracy gave her a nudge. They turned in unison to focus on a beautiful woman, gracefully traveling across the floor. She wore a gold metallic backless dress that defied gravity. I’m not sure how it stayed on her, or how it continued to cover her ample breasts, since the neckline draped down to her navel. Skin tight from the waist to a hem that barely covered her bottom, the men’s eyes turned and followed her as she prowled by. She knew it too, and lapped up their attention.
“Falicia. She’s got her radar fixed,” Rebecca hissed.
Oh that’s Falicia. Hmm what has she got to do with Gavin? My lips compressed with displeasure.
“Of course she does. She’s still holding out hopes,” Tracy said.
“Hopes of what?” asked Isabelle, “What’s on her radar screen?”
“Gavin. They dated all through high school. She thought they’d be married and have their 2.5 children and brick house with a garage by now.”
“She’s gorgeous.” I managed to sound disinterested which was a total lie.
“Oh and don’t she know it? The year we graduated, she was Cheer Captain, Prom Queen, and Homecoming Queen,” Tracy ticked off on her fingers. “And after she graduated, she became a cheerleader for the Dolphins. The boobs are bigger than in high school.” Tracy said speculatively. “She must have had them enhanced.”
“All those multi-million-dollar football players around her, and she’s still gunning for Gavin?” Isabelle asked.
“Just look at her.” Rebecca gestured toward the bar. The gold dress now draped over Striker, who had a pink cocktail in one hand, and a soda glass in the other. A beer bottle dangled between his middle fingers. Dexterous. I watched as Falicia greeted Striker with great familiarity. She leaned seductively over the bar, dress barely hanging in there, and got a beer for herself, clinking bottles with Striker. He moved out of the way to let the next guy up, and Falicia moved with him.
Next thing I knew, Falicia had Striker’s face in her hands and planted a big kiss on his mouth. From this angle, I couldn’t tell how he was responding other than to hold the drinks out on either side, to keep them from sloshing on their clothes.
Rebecca scowled. “Look at her. She’s practically choking him with her tongue, the bitch.” Ditto that!
Tracy laughed, “You’re just mad because Gavin hasn’t fallen head-over-heels in love with you instead.”
“And you’re not?” Rebecca put her hands on her hips.
“Sure I am. Who in their right mind wouldn’t be? But I’m also realistic. I’m not in his league. Look, he’s trying to head this way,” Tracy said.
Rebecca adjusted her dress, fluffed at her hair and licked her already glossy lips. Falicia had her hands around Striker’s arm and walked possessively back with him. I gave him a little wave.
Tracy grabbed my hand and stared down at my rings. “Are you here with Gavin?” she asked.
“Yes.” I smiled shyly.
“You’re married? You and Gavin are married?” Tracy asked, her eyes wide in horror. Whoops. Probably that introduction would have been a better way to have gone. I sighed. Couldn’t do anything about it now.
“What? Gavin got married and didn’t tell us?” Rebecca glared over at him, and then scowled back to me.
“No, no. Gavin and I aren’t married.” I retrieved my hand. “I’m the widow of an Army Ranger. Gavin and I are…Gavin is my…”
Striker arrived just in time to hear me floundering to define his role in my life. He stood patiently, waiting to see what word bubbled up. “He’s my transmission,” I finally offered. The four women who stood with us looked perplexed.
Striker gave me a slow nod. “Hey, I got all of the way up there, and realized I hadn’t asked you what you wanted to drink, so I ordered you a Cosmo and a Diet Coke.” Striker smiled, full-on dimple action, holding both out to me. I took them from his hands. Felicia was still entwined with his arm.
“Thank you.” I slapped on my perky face to cover up my annoyance.
Falicia, of the long black silky hair, beautifully and expensively cut and styled, was the high school girlfriend. Strik
er told me in the safe house he had no one of significance in his life, and he said he loved me. So, what the hell was this nasty reaction making me want to slap this delusional vamp? Jealousy? No, that didn’t fit. Territoriality? Bingo. She was draping on my turf. Hmm. Wasn’t that an unexpected emotion? I put the Diet Coke down. Since no one carded me tonight; this might be a good time to try my first sip of alcohol. I tasted the Cosmo. Oh. Very nice.
“I see you’ve met Rebecca and Tracy. I’ve been friends with them since we were babies together. They’re like sisters to me.” He hugged them warmly, each in turn. Tracy and Rebecca visibly bristled. They didn’t like being sequestered in the sister-corner — it was even farther away from dating than the friendship-corner. They had no chance.
“This is our friend, Isabelle,” Rebecca introduced the girl standing next to me. Striker held out his hand and Isabelle giggled like a child.
No one introduced Falicia.
“I’m Lexi Sobado.” I extended my hand to her. I was being the big girl here, being friendly. At least, that’s what I told myself. Reality was I wanted Miss Huge-Tatas to have to unravel her arms from Striker’s.
“Nice to meet you.” Falicia grasped my fingers in a dead-fish fingershake. “You know my Gavin?” She smiled possessively up at Striker and batted her false eyelashes. Striker cast a glance at her then extricated his arm to hug yet another pretty girl who came squealing over to him, and then back to her date. Striker took the opportunity to stand farther away from Falicia, but Falicia worked her way back over again.
“Yes, Gavin invited me to the party.” I smiled sweetly.
“How nice of him. I’m sure he told you all about me.” She brushed her boob against Striker’s arm and glared pointedly at me. “I’m his Falicia.”
“Oh?” I made my voice as saccharine as hers. “He never told me he had a Falicia.” Rebecca, Tracy, and Isabelle tried to hide their snickers behind manicured fingernails. Falicia glanced their way, then back at me with narrowed eyes before she recovered.
“Cute dress.” Falicia smirked. “Last year’s Prada knock off?”
“Mm, maybe. A friend of mine gave this to me when cleaned out her closets. Knowing her, it could very well be Prada. Good eye, Falicia.” Bitch.
“So, how did you meet my Gavin?” she cooed as she flicked her hair over her shoulder and licked her full, red lips to pull Striker’s attention.
“From work.” I searched for an exit strategy. I was done here.
“Oh. Do you answer phones? Or are you the copy girl?”
I slammed my Cosmo. “Neither. I do entertainment.”
“Like a stripper?” Falicia cast a critical eye over my length. Obviously her idea of entertainment was fairly narrow.
“Mm, no. I’m a magician – I pull rabbits out of hats. I entertain when they have clients they want to impress.”
“So you’re impressive? Why don’t you show us some magic then?”
Striker shot me a look telling me he didn’t find this very fun, but I was warming to it.
“Do you have a business card?” I asked.
“Sure.” Falicia reached into the evening bag hanging from a thin gold chain over her shoulder. She pulled out a business card holder and handed me her Dolphin’s cheerleader card.
“I don’t suppose you have a pen in there?” I asked.
“I don’t suppose I do,” she replied.
I smiled at the other women. “Anyone?”
Isabelle dug one out of her purse and handed it to me then cast a moony gaze over at Striker to see if she would get some approval. But Striker was dividing his attention between Falicia and me.
I handed the pen to Falicia. “Can I have your autograph? I’ve never met a real, live, celebrity cheerleader before.” Falicia didn’t pick up on my sarcasm; she took the pen from me with a superior smile, and signed her name with a flourish. Striker took the opportunity to squeeze my elbow, a warning of some kind. Whatever.
Falicia handed me back the card then took a swig from her beer bottle.
I asked, “Have any of you ever seen anything disappear before your eyes?” No one replied — guess they haven’t. I tore the top right hand corner off Falicia’s business card and handed it to Rebecca. Then I ripped up the rest of Falicia’s card into tiny, satisfying pieces. Falicia narrowed her eyes at me, and the other girls did a little intake of breath. Maybe they thought I was insulting Falicia. Maybe I was. After I’d torn the card into the tiniest pieces I could, I showed them to everyone and fisted them in my left palm. I raised my fist to my lips and blew. As I blew into my fist, I opened my fingers; the pieces of paper had vanished.
“That’s it?” Falicia’s tone was pure boredom.
“Yup, ta-da!” I said.
Falicia gave a sardonic laugh and raised her beer bottle to her lips. Rebecca’s finger came up and pointed at Falicia’s bottle first; her mouth hung open. Everyone focused where Rebecca pointed. Falicia’s beer bottle was now empty of beer and in its place was a single un-bent, un-shredded business card with Falicia’s loopy signature prominently scrawled across it, showing through the dark glass. The upper right hand corner was missing. Rebecca held the corner, which I had handed to her earlier, up to the business card in the bottle. The pieces clearly matched together.
Tracy brought her hands to her cheeks, and Isabelle gripped at her, as if too frightened to stand alone. Falicia gaped at the bottle, trying to wrap her mind around what just happened.
Striker leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Hey, want to dance? This might be a good time to make an exit.” I let him pull me to the dance floor, where the band had started up a slow song that had couples cuddling up and swaying.
“You pull rabbits from hats?” Striker drew me into his arms, putting his palm at the base of my spine, holding my hips tightly to him. I pillowed my head on his chest. “That was pretty good. Pretty accurate, too. Sorry about Falicia. I think she’s knocked back a few already,” Striker said.
“Really? That wasn’t my impression at all. I think she genuinely believes you’re her destiny, Gavin Rheas.” I arched my back so I could see his eyes.
“Yeah? Well, that sentiment is very much unrequited.” His feet moved to the rumba. He was smooth, easy to follow.
He spun me out.
“Did it used to be otherwise?” I asked as he collected me back in his arms.
“No. She was a nice girl in high school, pretty, fun. I never saw her as part of my future, though. She’s not the kind of girl I’d want to spend my life with. I think I’ve seen into all of her corners, and there’s never anything new. She doesn’t grow. It’s all been done, and I’ve moved on. Actually, I moved on about seven years ago, when I graduated high school. I feel a little sorry for her.”
I nodded. She was pitiful. But hearing this didn’t make me any happier about her being here. “Okay,” I said.
Dip – careful. He held me there, arched backwards, hair brushing the ground. “Okay, what?”
“Okay, let’s not talk about her - new subject, please.”
He pulled me up and pressed me to him, again. “I have one. The girls thought we were married?”
“They have huge crushes on you.”
“Please don’t tell me that. They’re old friends, and I don’t want to be uncomfortable around them.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you then, nor will I mention how jealous they got when they thought we had tied the knot. I don’t know what to do about my rings. I don’t like people asking about them, and I’m not ready to take them off.”
Striker moved my hand down from his shoulder, and examined my rings, twisting them and angling them. “I could design a ring for you, using all of your stones. I have a friend who’s a jeweler - does custom work. He made the brooch I designed for your Christmas present. We could use your gold, and have him reset the diamonds and sapphires. Angel got you those to match your eyes, didn’t he?”
I rolled my lips in and nodded. Angel. When would I let this guilt go? When
would I stop feeling disloyal?
“If you had your rings re-made you could put the new piece on your left or right hand. You would appreciate the significance, but it wouldn’t seem marital, so no one would ask you uncomfortable questions.”
“Oh, that’s a really good idea. Let me sit with it a little bit.”
Striker nodded and gave me a spin. When he pulled me back into his arms, he chuckled. “So, I’m your transmission?”
It sounded stupid hearing that parroted back. I felt my face warming.
“Are you the engine in this metaphor?” he asked.
I nodded, surprised that he had worked his way that far into my logic.
“A transmission is pretty important to an engine’s ability to move forward.”
“Exactly!” I leaned back and looked him in the eye. “You understood me!”
“I’m learning, Chica. I’m learning.”
The music picked up and Striker proved that men from Miami knew how to sway to a Latin beat. We danced and laughed until the five-minute warning sounded.
The waiters passed out champagne. I took a glass and sipped it cautiously. The bubbles tickled my nose. It didn’t taste anything like I’d imagined. I thought it would be like ginger ale. But no. I sipped some more trying to figure out how I would describe the taste. Striker held out his glass and waited for me to focus on his eyes. “Chica, may this year be filled with raspberry moments, abundantly fresh and sweet.”
A smile played across my lips. “Thank you.” I stretched up to my tip-toes to kiss him. His mouth was soft and tender against mine. As the room counted down the seconds to the New Year and the horns and noisemakers erupted, Striker pulled me up against him. His mouth deepened the kiss. It was all tongue and desire. I melted my body into him like icing on cake. He kissed me dizzy.
Fourteen
Striker took my hand and tugged me toward the door. “Let’s go watch the fireworks from our balcony.”