Play Fling

by Amber Scott

  Good. The guy deserved it. Putting Gordon through hell all week than backing out on announcing their relationship an hour before lift off was not cool. The more Elliott knew about Jason, the less he liked him. Gordon wasn’t as indifferent as most mistook him for. He tended to fall hard and hid his true heart.

  “One of Elliott’s girls,” Gordon said, emphasis on Elliott.

  From the end of the table, Brooke’s fork clattered. Great. He needed Gordon turning this around like he needed a hole in the head. Could he interrupt and back-pedal? How about a complete do-over instead? He’d wanted her brought up, not thrown in his face. “Hey, hold up. I don’t have any girls. Michelle and I aren’t an item. We never have been.”

  “That’s not what she hopes,” Gordon said.

  Clearly, his cousin was using this to purchase some reassurance for his new beau. One problem. Gordon couldn’t possibly know how expensive his gift was for Elliott. Brooke had enough reason to stay away.

  Elliott sent a hard look Gordon’s way. “Oh, she probably has her hopes up for a lot. Sadly, she’ll be disappointed.” Unfortunately, Gordon’s eyes were on Jason.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Jason said, his tone suspicious.

  “Well, for starters, she’s too young,” he said evenly.

  “How young is too young?” Jason said.

  “That’s relative, I suppose.” Elliott fought to keep his gaze on Jason. Not on Brooke, where it wanted to go. “For me it’s twenty, twenty-one. There’s more to it than that, though. She’s isn’t what I’d call mature for her age.”

  Gordon patted him on the back. “Ah, that’s too bad. Poor girl is head over heels for you, my friend.”

  This was not helping. Elliott shut his mouth. If Gordon kept up, Elliot’d be buried. “I think I might be head over heels for this food, Mrs. Munkle. If I eat another bite, I’m going to explode.”

  “Aw, you,” she said. “Didn’t I tell you to call me Nancy. And thank you. Save room for dessert, everyone.”

  Murmurs and groans weren’t getting anyone out of dessert and, as the table cleared, Elliott let himself search her out. He didn’t have a lot of time. Her friend had one foot out the door.

  How could he get Brooke alone?

  In those seconds before the door had opened, as she’d turned away, he’d been about to say something. To tell her, what exactly, he didn’t know. Something. He’d have hooked her back in. Somehow.

  Brooke rose. Millie touched her elbow and leaned in to whisper. Probably insisting they leave. As if Millie sensed him watching, she pinned Elliott with a glare. The don’t you dare kind found in female breeds worldwide. Protection in numbers.

  He had to try, warning, rejection or not.

  He couldn’t risk never seeing her again. Sure, he could call. Except, she wouldn’t answer. Or call back. She might even drop out of class, worse, out of school, just to never see him again.

  He had hurt her. He was beginning to fathom just how much.

  He’d have to untie his Brooke knots later. Elliott went to her. Millie’s boyfriend stood his ground but didn’t look hostile. Chances were the guy didn’t know who Elliott was or the situation yet. Millie knew, though. Probably every last face-between-the-legs detail from that night. Heat flashed over his skin.

  Millie’d probably picked up the pieces he’d left, the ones he’d let himself believe a simple note would prevent. Foolish. Dwelling on past mistakes wouldn’t get him what he needed.

  He touched Brooke’s elbow. She didn’t jerk away. Millie stared, warning him.

  “Brooke? Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asked.

  She faced him, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Alone,” he directed at Millie, who sniffed.

  Brooke finally looked up. Her usual mask for the world was gone. Vulnerable honesty, the spark that had attracted him across a room full of strangers in the first place, shone bright. His lungs tightened.

  “We’re leaving,” she said, but her eyes burned with fire and promise.

  He opened his mouth in protest, but stopped. Was she trying to tell him something? To wait? Until she was alone? Elliott closed his mouth. Brooke made her goodbyes. At the door, past Nancy’s hug, she met his gaze again. She winked.

  A swell of hope rushed through him. The door closed, but opportunity stood wide open. It took all of ten minutes for Elliott to scarf a slice of pumpkin pie a la mode, drench Nancy with compliments, and leave before Gordon could threaten him with his life to stay.

  No way was he staying.

  Not after that look. She’d call and he’d be ready. He’d be in his car and at her door the moment she asked.

  Forty minutes later, he stepped out of a hot shower feeling charged. Like a drunk man. He wouldn’t let fear stall him again. He would be a man of action.

  He wiped the steamy mirror, and cinched the towel around his waist. Expectation and strategy jumbled in his brain. Hot memory flashed there, too. Of her back arched, her head thrown back, her mouth open. He forced himself to slow down. He shaved. He dried his hair. Deodorant. The clock ticked. He wouldn’t let it invade his rhythm and throw him in a spin, anxious that the phone wouldn’t ring.

  Ring, damnit.

  Think about something else. Work? No. Anything but Shope right now. Talk about a mood kill. Family. Seeing his dad tomorrow. He hadn’t lied to Nancy. He was glad for it, too. His dad had royally messed his life up when his mom died, all of their lives really, but Elliott gave up grudges long ago. His mom would want it that way.

  He missed his mom. How could six years go by so fast? Every passing day, another sunny memory of her faded. Her scent. The softness of her skin. Her cutting humor and her big laughter. Better place or not, he envied whoever had her now.

  She’d have been the one he’d call right now. Probably would have the night he left Brooke’s, too. She would have known what to say, without judging him. He didn’t have anyone like that anymore. Gordon and he weren’t close enough these days. Not that he thought any person could ever replace his mom. It would be nice to have someone though, to anchor him, to talk to. Not just about women.

  About life.

  What was he going to do if he didn’t get this teaching fellowship, for example? Was he wasting his time on books and research like everyone else seemed to think? Not that Dad or Johnnie or Cy said such a thing to his face. They didn’t have to.

  He knew what they thought by the way they asked. He made them uncomfortable. They worried about baby brother. How did you show a mechanic turned felon, or two air conditioning and heating techs, what only his mom ever saw in him? Couldn’t be done.

  Or it could and he just wasn’t willing to.

  Elliott methodically swished his razor through the water. If not the fellowship, another degree? If not another degree, what? He’d stay in school all his life if he could. It’d be nice to make some money doing it. His heart beat faster at the very idea. Him. Teaching, researching, publishing.

  His hand stilled in the water. The strong soapy scent of his shaving cream clung to his skin.

  He’d put a lot of years into this path. What if they were wasted? That’s where his mom would speak up. She would scold him. Never, she’d insist. You’ve only got one shot at life, Elliott, her hand squeezing his. Don’t waste it wondering, what if? The worst thing in the world is regret. Chase your dream down, grab it by the legs, bite, kick, scream. Just get it. Because you’re worth it. How many times had she held his chin, stared him in the eye and spoken those words?

  Steam collected on the mirror, blocking his reflection. He pulled the sink plug and watched the foamy, speckled water circle down.

  You’re worth it.

  He could forgo examining exactly how much he wanted, but he wouldn’t lie to himself in the meantime. He didn’t know much about Brooke. She tried hard, she hid her true self from most of the world. And something about her spoke to deep parts of him. If he wanted her, he had to decide.

  His chest ached, sweet and low
. Brooke. He closed his eyes, let himself feel what she did to him. If she rejected him again, it would be punishing. But, nothing ventured, nothing gained. No guts, no glory. Just do it. Carpe diem, right? Not a cliché in the book covered it, though.

  Ring, phone, ring.

  All he could do was wait. So, he did.

  Four hours later, he clicked the TV off. Several long moments, he sat in the dark. Listening. Traffic from the freeway. The neighbor’s dog barking low. His own heartbeat, a dull roar in his ears. A growing ache hollowed his insides out. What else could he do to get her alone?

  At last, he tossed the remote control on the coffee table. His feet moved heavily as he strode up to his room. He lay in bed, hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. One last time, he willed her, call. He didn’t want to give up, but he had to be careful. Couldn’t just show up on her doorstep with flowers. Start stalking her.

  This wasn’t boombox outside the window time. Not yet.

  Sleep on it. Best thing to do.

  He rolled over, fought to quiet his mind. Eyes closed. Her face surfaced in his imagination. The way the light played on her skin. Her eyes full of emotion, bared for him to see. He couldn’t have been wrong. What he’d seen today had been real. Had to trust her a little.

  She’d call.

  Probably just had one overly suspicious friend keeping her busy. Or maybe she’d figured out her ex-husband was gay. Gordon hadn’t been a wealth of information on Brooke since that day at the mall, but he had sworn, no one knew. Discovering something like that had to be hard on a woman like Brooke. On any woman. But, particularly Brooke. She was a perfectionist at heart. He could tell in the concise way she wrote, the contained way she kept herself.

  He nodded in the dark and adjusted his pillow. No use trying to figure it out right now. Tomorrow he’d see his dad. Better to focus on tomorrow, on family and what really mattered. Maybe he would tell his dad about her.

  Moxie….

  Chapter Fifteen

  The second Brook awoke, she sat up. Where was she? Oh yeah. Millie’s. The sofa springs creaked beneath her. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the sunlight filtering through the blinds. She peeled back the afghan blanket and rubbed her face.

  Shit. She was supposed to be working today. She didn’t have to look to know, she was late for her first estate sale. She couldn’t afford missing a sale. She needed product and it would all be picked clean if she didn’t haul her butt in gear.

  She grabbed for her cell phone. 9 a.m.! She had to get out of here. Moving sales didn’t happen often enough in the winter to consider skipping out. As it was, she’d need to hit some antique shops and thrift stores this week too. Christmas shopping had depleted her stock of treasures and it would only get worse. Or better, if she had the right stuff.

  Getting up, Brooke whip-folded the blanket over the back of the sofa and gathered her clothes.

  Peering about, she heard soft noises from the kitchen. The music of someone making coffee? God, she hoped so. She rushed to the bathroom. Wiping her face with one hand, she tugged on the hot pink velour pants and jacket Millie offered her last night. Some borrowed deodorant and a finger toothpaste scrub, and she could face the bargain hunter world. No one at a moving sale would care what she looked like anyhow.

  Timing was crucial.

  Brooke stepped out of the bathroom, ready to scratch a note off to Millie and go. If she left now, she’d get there by 9:30. She’d pick through everything, then head to Save You Thrift on the way back. Maybe she could hit St. Vincent’s on 4th Street, too.

  Millie stepped in her path, blessed coffee in hand. “All ready to go?” she asked rather perkily.

  Brooke downed a third of the cup’s contents, nodding. “I overslept.” She left out accusing Millie for keeping her up so late. It was her own dumb fault for not triple checking her cell phone’s alarm. “I should have left three hours ago.”

  “Uh-oh. Will it be worth going still? We could go to breakfast.”

  “I can’t.” Brooke tried to ignore how hopeful Millie sounded. “I just hope I find some merchandise, regardless.”

  She’d already spent Thanksgiving night, plus Friday day and night here. If Millie tried to keep her any longer, she’d think something was definitely up. More than the “don’t be alone for the holidays” excuse Millie pressed on her after leaving Nancy’s.

  “If not,” Brooke continued, “well, if not, I’m screwed. I’ll either have to sacrifice a chicken to the eBay gods or drive to Sacramento for the swap meet.” She hated the drive. This time of year Donnor Pass always required snow tires or chains.

  Worse, it could close altogether. She couldn’t count on Sacramento as an option.

  Brooke headed for Millie’s door. Despite the panic, she also felt good. The last two days here had given her time to think, to get some perspective. Nothing like a day in pajamas—borrowed or not—eating junk food and watching reruns with her best friend to get her head straight.

  “Can I come?” Millie asked, following her to the door.

  “Come with me?” To a moving sale? “You do remember where I’m going, right?”

  “Of course. It’s a yard sale thingy. Elvis hunting.”

  Brooke supposed Millie should get some credit for correct answers, even if saying them puckered her mouth.

  “I’d love the company, Millie, but I think you’d be really bored.” A bit irritating, too. “I really have to get going.”

  “Me, bored? Are you kidding? I love Elvis.” Millie donned her coat as she spoke. “It’ll be fun.”

  This wasn’t like Millie. Brooke hid her doubts behind another drink of coffee. When AJ had been absent all day, Brooke hadn’t thought much of it. But she couldn’t help noticing last night how stiffly he’d spoken to Millie.

  Brooke didn’t want to pry, but maybe she should ask Millie if everything was okay with AJ. Even perfect couples had problems. That much she could attest to. “You can come along, Millie, but this is work for me. If you get bored, you’ll sort of be stuck until I’m done.”

  “I won’t be bored.” She crossed her heart and grabbed her purse. “I swear. Now, let’s go. Elvis awaits.”

  Brooke set down her empty cup and picked up her purse. If Millie wanted to come, let her come. She bit back any more questions, namely, why was Millie attaching herself to Brooke so much?

  If she found a chance, she’d broach the AJ topic. Until then, she led Millie to the car, put it in drive and headed toward North McCarran Blvd. The heater blasted warm air against her cold hands and neck. The scents of the car and the cold mixed with Millie’s designer perfume.

  Millie flipped through radio stations and Brooke’s mind lulled. What a difference a couple days made. Thanksgiving night, Brooke had left Nancy’s in a twist of confusion and attraction. She’d been ready to call Elliott the second she was alone.

  In truth, she could thank Millie now for browbeating her into staying over for girl time. Being there had kept her from calling Elliott and begging him back into her bed.

  Elliott. Brooke never knew men came in his flavor of sexy. He wore a sweater like a male model. She could just see him posed in a black and white photo, his shocking blue eyes framed by those glasses, piercing her. She wanted him all over again.

  Was he a player or a liar? She still couldn’t say. He’d been about to explain himself when Millie came through that door. Then at dinner, it felt like he was going to again. Her mind screamed she shouldn’t, but she wanted to. Heartache, all buttoned up, or not. For two days, her mind wound tighter around Elliott’s pants.

  Thankfully, now she had work to keep her busy. Going home meant idle time. Idle time would bring her straight back to the man she didn’t want right now. Did want, couldn’t have. Last week’s wadded Kleenex littered everywhere would remind her.

  Brooke downshifted and approached a red light. She glanced at Millie who chewed a thumbnail and appeared lost in thought. At least Brooke wasn’t the only one distracted this morning.
>
  The light changed to green. Millie remained quiet, eyes out the window. Brooke sighed and shifted into gear.

  Thankfully, Millie wasn’t interrogating her on Jason this morning. Who could Jason have been kissing? Could she have been wrong? How had they met and on and on.

  Had to be problems with AJ. Why else would Millie be so nosy about Brooke’s failed marriage? Not to mention the young comments about Elliott or her giggling over how he’d passed out.

  If Brooke didn’t talk about it, she wouldn’t have to lie. Brooke couldn’t lie herself out of a wet paper bag. Her voice got pitchy, her palms sweated, making her wipe them too much, and she was pretty sure her eye twitched.

  She glanced at Millie again, aware of the silence. “AJ isn’t mad about Thanksgiving, is he?

  “Huh? Oh, no. Not at all. He actually had fun. Figures.”

  She couldn’t tell Millie about Elliott any more than she could prove what she overheard Jason doing. Besides, the more she’d thought about it, the less she cared who Jason was kissing. She and Jason were ancient history. He could kiss whomever he wished. So could she. So had she, for that matter.

  Could Millie be jealous somehow? Could she be on a rescue mission?

  Brooke didn’t need any more heroic gestures. After that makeover, which miraculously hadn’t been a disaster, Brooke would pass. Millie’s heart was in the right place, but her methods left Brooke exhausted.

  “Let’s go shopping!”

  “Millie, I can’t. Working. Remember?”

  “I meant afterwards.”

  “I’m not really up for shopping. Not for fun, anyways.” She’d kept saying she didn’t want to see Brooke hurt. “Another time?”

  “Okay.”

  In their friendship, men had never been hot topics. Neither had love. Life, family, even politics had colored their conversations. Aside from an occasional gaga glance AJ’s way, Millie was immune to love, wasn’t she? Brooke always liked that about her.

  Millie waved a hand in front of her. “You okay?”

  “Sorry, tired, I guess. What did you say?”