by D. C. Ruins
"No problem," he replied. "Otherwise you're perfect." He immediately realized what he'd said and how it might be perceived and cleared his throat. He turned to move back toward his clipboard. When he finished his inventory, he shuffled back to his office and quickly stripped his clean T-shirt off and replaced it with a beat-up, ratty shirt to workout in. He headed back out toward the punching bags, glancing briefly at Drew and was pleased to see she was applying the technique advice he'd given her. She looked much better now.
He stretched his neck and arms, put in his own ear buds, and started in on the bag in front of him. He was so consumed in what he was doing and the music that time flew by. After a while, he felt the tap of fingers on his shoulder and he turned sharply. Drew stood behind him, her jacket on and bag over her shoulder. She gave him a little wave as he pulled the ear buds out.
"You takin' off for the night?" he asked, slightly out of breath as he used his towel to mop up his face.
"Yeah," she replied. "I need to go home and get ready for work."
He cocked his head. It was nine on a Friday night. "The café?" he asked, a note of confusion in his voice.
She shook her head, her ponytail swaying. "No. I bartend over at Cliff's Lounge a couple nights a week. Usually on the weekend."
Cliff's Lounge was a ritzy place in the Strip District. Heath had never been there, but some of his friends had, and they told tales of the bartenders and cocktail waitresses. Supposedly they all looked like models; given the upscale clientele, the owner reportedly hired only the most beautiful women to ensure a high amount of business. He wasn't surprised to hear that Drew had snagged a job there, although it was hard to picture her in anything dressier than the jeans she'd worn when he'd visited the café.
"Two jobs, huh?" he asked. "Must keep you pretty busy."
"Three, actually," she replied, to his surprise. She smiled. "I also teach dance on Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings."
He was impressed. "Dance?" he repeated. "What kind of dance?"
"Ballet," she said. "I teach twelve- to sixteen-year-olds."
"No wonder your posture's so good," Heath said, noting her straight back and elongated neck. It made sense; there was a grace about her movements, everything from the way she walked to the way she threw her punches. Grace certainly wasn't taught to professional fighters. "So you've got a busy day tomorrow."
"Yes," she said with a sigh. "I actually will work all three of my jobs tomorrow."
Heath let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Sounds exhausting."
"It is," she replied. "That's why I look forward to Sunday so much. The one day where I have absolutely nothing to do. Unless you count Sunday dinner with the family." She tilted her head and smiled.
"If we're talkin' my family," Heath said, "then I definitely count that as a strenuous activity." He smiled when she chuckled quietly. She glanced down at the toes of her sneakers, then back up at him. As she did so, he noticed that he had at least half a foot of height over her.
"Well," she said lightly. "I better be on my way. I just wanted to say good night."
"Good night," he echoed, watching her walk off. He wondered if she'd come in tomorrow, and found himself selfishly hoping she would so he'd be able to see her and talk to her again. He chided himself mentally, knowing she obviously needed rest with as much as she had going on.
He hated to admit it to himself, but he was becoming more and more intrigued by Drew Carnevale.
Chapter Six
The next morning Drew hustled into the café, fifteen minutes late. When she hurried in, she saw that it was pretty busy. Her father was behind the register, and tapped a finger on his wrist to show that he had noticed she was late. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he waved her off. She smirked to herself and hung up her jacket and went into the back.
She normally would have had to be there at the crack of dawn to help Bunz with the day's baking and getting the store ready for its eight o'clock opening. But her parents had been so pleased when she'd taken the ballet teaching job that they had eagerly amended her schedule to let her come in late on Saturdays. They had been so happy that she'd revisited her one true passion from…before. Now, her mother helped Bunz with the baking in the early morning while her father tended to the registers, made the coffee¸ and completed general opening duties and dealt with the customers until Drew arrived. She personally liked for her parents to do as little around the café as possible. They were more like absentee landlords, and had bigger fish to fry with the apartment complex they owned, where Drew lived. Not only that, Drew wanted to prove that despite her recent traumatic turn of events, she was still smart, capable, and dependable. As a result, her parents came to the café once during the week, on Saturday mornings, and on Sundays when the place was closed after mass to go over the books and the registers and prepare the cash deposits for the next day.
Now that she had arrived, her parents assisted with the last of the late Saturday morning rush, peddling coffee and pastries to bleary-eyed college students, enterprising young professionals and the elderly who were out to take the early spring, albeit chilly, air. Once the crowd died down a bit, her mother and father kissed both her and Bunz good-bye and made to leave.
"We'll see you tomorrow for dinner," her mother said, and it was more of a threat than an invite. She allowed Drew's father to help her into her coat before pointing at Bunz. "You coming too, for once?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Carnevale," Bunz said with true regret. "Not tomorrow. I have a huge paper due on Wednesday and it needs my full attention. Maybe next week, though."
"Fine," Mrs. Carnevale sighed, tossing her hand up in defeat. "I just worry about you not getting a good, hot meal in your belly. You college kids, you work too hard."
"Bye, Mom," Drew said, smiling and shaking her head. It was their typical parting routine on Saturdays.
"Bye, girls," her father called over his shoulder. "Be safe and make some money today, huh?"
"Yes, John," Drew called out. "Now go."
Bunz handed off a tray of freshly baked bigne to Drew to put out in the display case before turning her attention to some biscotti dough before her. Drew dutifully carried the tray out and began carefully placing each pastry in the case. She noticed that Bunz and her mother had been busy—there were several loaves of Italian bread, three different kinds of cupcakes, some whoopee pies filled with cannoli filling, and croissants. She knew they were all fresh.
As she finished with the tray, the lone college student huddled at a table in the corner approached the counter for a refill on her latte. Drew began measuring out the espresso and started the drip after adding the requested caramel flavoring, and began steaming the milk, humming to herself. The café would close at five and she had to be at Cliff's by eleven. She thought about going to the gym for a bit, then going home for a much needed nap.
She handed off the latte to the girl and grabbed the tray, taking it back into the kitchen. As she set it on the counter, she felt eyes on her and glanced up, seeing Bunz staring at her with a huge grin on her face.
"What, creepy?" she demanded but tempered her words with a smile.
"I have something for you," Bunz replied, and reached into her back pocket, pulling out what looked like a normal sheet of paper, folded in half. It was sealed with a Strawberry Shortcake sticker and had "SAM" written in marker on the front, accompanied by little doodles of hearts, flowers, and stars.
Drew took the paper with a smirk. "Is this your work?" she asked, gesturing to the doodles on the front.
"Yes, and I'll thank you to appreciate some artistic shit when it's in your face," Bunz replied, folding her arms. "Anyway, open it!"
Drew smiled, her dimples digging into her cheeks, and broke the sticker, unfolding the paper. Her eyes scanned the page, quickly seeing that it was a flyer.
"Pittsburgh Talent Showcase," the top of the flyer boasted. Her eyes dropped lower. It was an invitation for the best and brightest talents of Pittsburgh to come to t
he Benedum Center in the Cultural District two months from today's date. The showcase called for musicians, singers, spoken word poets, artists, and…dancers. There was further information on how and where to register as well as the cost to register for entering a piece for the showcase.
She lifted her eyes to Bunz, who was still grinning. "What is this?" she asked softly, holding up the flyer.
"Um, I thought you were just reading it…"
"No. I get what it is. I mean, why did you give it to me?"
Bunz shrugged. "I thought that maybe, you know, you could create a piece for the showcase and show everyone in Pittsburgh what an incredible dancer you are."
"Except for the small part where I don't perform in front of people anymore." Drew folded the flyer and handed it back.
Bunz made no move to collect it from her. "You just think you can't," she insisted. "But, you can. And you should. You're so talented, Drew. Don't hide that!"
"I appreciate it," Drew replied, folding the flyer again and stuffing it into her pocket since Bunz wouldn't take it. "But I cannot even begin to fathom dancing for a crowd. I know you mean well, and I love you for it, B, but I'm sorry. I can't."
"You will," Bunz replied, and Drew whirled her head to look at her.
"Pardon?"
"You will," Bunz repeated. "Because I already registered you and paid the fee."
"I guess I'm paying you back, then," Drew said evenly.
"No. I don't want your money. I want you to get on that stage and blow everyone away."
"Dude," Drew said impatiently. "I'm paying you back. I refuse to let you do that and besides, I'm not doing this."
"I won't take your money," Bunz said, a note of finality in her voice. "You will get your ass on that stage and dance, bitch."
"Then I'll give this money to your bosses and have them put it into your check," Drew said testily. "Don't know if you knew, but I know where you work."
"And I will give it back to your parents to give back to you," Bunz replied. "We can do this all day. Look, you've got two whole months. Put something awesome together and let's get it poppin'! You're amazing, Drew, I don't know why you don't get that. You could do this and people would be wowed." Bunz started a Charleston step, grinning from ear to ear. Drew couldn't stay mad at her and reluctantly, a smile pulled at her lips. Finally, she couldn't help but join in, and she wondered what anyone who could see them would say—two grown women doing the Charleston in the kitchen of an Italian café.
Finally, when they were laughing loudly enough to echo out into the dining area, Drew shook her head. "I will think about it," she said. "That's all I can promise you. And if I don't do the showcase, you're getting your money back and if you have anything else to say on the subject, you can suck it."
Bunz immediately made to protest but Drew held up a hand. "I'll think about it," she cautioned.
Bunz sighed and grumbled. "Fine." As she turned back to her biscotti dough, Drew heard her mumbling to herself under her breath.
"What's that?" she asked, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen and putting her hands on her hips.
"Nothing!" Bunz called back cheerily. Then, in a lower tone to herself but meant to be heard by Drew, she added, "Bitch."
Drew chuckled and shook her head, heading back to the counter.
***
Heath knew he had a problem.
Over the course of the next week, Drew came each and every night, just as she always did. The difference was, Heath now found himself seeking her out around the times she normally showed up, and when he saw her, his gut would do strange things and clench up in an uncomfortable way.
It wasn't anything he was particularly familiar with and he wasn't sure what it meant or how he felt about it. All he knew was that he physically reacted when he saw her, and he didn't like that at all. He didn't like knowing that something or someone was capable of making him react involuntarily that way. He'd always prided himself on his absolute control and decisions where he, alone, was concerned. Now, someone he barely knew had him checking around for her each day and had his stomach pulsing and heart beating just a little bit harder than normal whenever he saw her. He was annoyed—that shit was for pussies.
He would have been fine leaving her completely alone, letting her come in and work out as she wanted to and then go about her own business. Now that it was clear that she, along with any other woman there, spectator or participant, should be left alone and treated with equal respect (an ideology that disgusted Heath to have to even break down for a group of adults), she was taken as much for granted as the paint on the wall by the other clientele.
But she went out of her way to seek him out, to make conversation, to say hello and goodbye. And he never failed to respond in kind. Partly because it would be rude to simply ignore someone who was talking to him. And also because…he wanted to.
She had a sarcastic, dry sense of humor that made him laugh out loud on occasion. That in and of itself was totally unheard of—it was rare for anyone to see him smile, let alone hear him laugh. After all the pain of the last year, he hadn't even be sure he remembered how to do that anymore. And yet, without even trying, Drew could have him barking with laughter involuntarily at some story of a ridiculous customer at either the café or the lounge, or something that one of her crazy family members had said.
There was something about her, though, that caught his attention even more than her looks or her wit. There was an oppressive heaviness that clung to her. Somewhere in the depths of her warm brown eyes was an unbearable sadness, almost a hopelessness, a despair. He could see it, but he couldn't understand it. And he wanted to understand it.
Whatever it was, whatever caused that torment and pain to linger in her eyes, she never spoke of it. She never came off as anything other than laid back, except for when he caught her off guard. The nights he would go let her know he was closing up, or if he went to say hello first, and she didn't see him coming, she would always start and recoil from him like he'd tried to brand her with a hot iron. The despair and sadness would leave her eyes and be replaced with sheer, unadulterated terror. He could never understand that—was it the fear of being attacked in the gym again? He wanted to ask her; he wanted to ask so badly but he knew he'd be way out of line. So, he stuck to basic conversation. Besides, that was a huge stretch for him anyway. In fact, everything he'd done since the night she'd been attacked had been a huge stretch for him. He couldn't make sense of it, and that always brought him back to his annoyance with himself. And then, he'd see her, and the cycle would start all over again.
On Friday, he was at the front desk with Rex, watching the small TV mounted on the wall behind the desk. It was an ESPN report about Smackdown, and it was a formal announcement of all the fighters. There were to be eight fighters total. A few of the names, Heath shrugged at. He knew who they were; they had reps for being bad-asses. He wasn't particularly concerned with them. Two names he outright didn't recognize which meant more than likely they were amateurs who happened to be really, really good—much like how he got started. Then there was him—all of the clientele who happened to be within earshot of the TV erupted into whoops and cheers as Rex grabbed his shoulders. Heath didn't crack a smile, shaking his head. The final two fighters that were announced made him cringe inwardly. Both had been fighting professionally for a long time, and it just so happened that both had had previous engagements that made them unavailable for Ultimate Warrior. But now…they were in, and Heath couldn't help feeling a pang of nervousness. He quickly shook it off. Good—he was glad there were going to be some hotshots there. It would only make him that much hungrier, work that much harder.
"Oh, wow. Look at that. You're on the TV."
The unenthusiastic voice drew his attention and he glanced over his shoulder, smirking when he saw Drew leaning against the counter. He didn't know how long she'd been there but she looked positively underwhelmed and unimpressed even as the guys nearby and Rex were still carrying on.
"Yeah
," he replied, mocking her tone. "How 'bout that."
"Hey, don't be a hater, Carnevale," Rex said, pointing a finger at her. "Just wait until he comes back with that two milli purse. Then you'll want to be his best friend."
She stood listening to him, her face unmoved. When he was done, she tilted her head. "You know…." She trailed off. "Rex, is it?"
He nodded. "You can call me Rex for short."
"How sweet of you," she said smoothly. "You know, Rex, if you're going to insist on calling me by my last name, the least you could do is pronounce it right."
Rex made a face. "Carnevale," he said. "What's so hard about that?" Heath noticed he pronounced it car-neh-vahl.
"It's car-neh-val-ay," Drew said, rolling her r's and gesturing dramatically with her hand. "Two a's, two e's, and pronounce it all. I'm Italian. C'mon, now." She flicked her hand dismissively and sauntered past the desk toward her usual spot.
"My bad," Rex called after her. "Don't be mad at me, Carnevale." Heath couldn't help snickering quietly at Rex's discomfit. He punched Rex's shoulder.
"Get it right next time," he said.
Rex grabbed his arm and winced. "Ow. Hey, fuck you, man. You weren't saying it right either."
"I didn't have to after a while," Heath replied, enjoying busting Rex's balls. "We're on a first name basis now."
"And that's about it," Rex finished up, then ducked Heath's next swing.
Later that night, he was going over some paperwork in the office when Drew stopped by on her way out. She rapped her knuckles on the doorframe even though he'd seen her heading over.
"Heading to Cliff's?" he asked.
"Believe it or not, I actually have the night off," Drew replied. "Another girl wanted an extra shift so, even though it was hard, I sacrificed mine."
"That's big of you," Heath replied, suppressing a smirk.
"It really was. Anyway, Bunz and I are going get a jumpstart on the baking for tomorrow. So, essentially I'll still be working."