Catching Heat

by Alison Packard

  His mouth curved with a devilish smile as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and let it go. “So what happens in those romantic comedies? You know, after the guy and the girl get married?”

  Having seen more than her share of romantic comedies, Angie knew exactly what happened—the guy and the girl lived happily ever after. But that wouldn’t be happening for her and J.T. In her experience, happily ever after was the stuff of movies and books, not real life.

  “Believe me. You don’t want to know.”

  Chapter Five

  Five days later, Angie clicked the online submit button and sent the employment application she’d just completed off into what she liked to call the black hole. A fitting description since every application she’d submitted so far had been sucked into some obscure cyberspace depository where nary a word was heard afterward.

  Staring at the screen, she chewed on her thumbnail and, not for the first time, wondered if anyone would bother to read the application or the attached resume. She was more than qualified for every single position she’d submitted to yet no one was beating down her door for an interview. For someone who’d never had a problem finding a job, the lack of response was disheartening. And a bit frightening.

  On a slightly more positive note, she’d filed for unemployment benefits. The amount she was to receive, while not paltry, was only a fraction of what she used to earn—but it was better than nothing. Still, it wasn’t going to pay all her bills, or enable her to buy health insurance—her biggest worry. If she only had herself to think about she wouldn’t be as concerned, but now there were prenatal doctor visits to consider as well as hospital care when she delivered. She wasn’t naïve; the cost, even for one or two nights, would be astronomical. She did have the option to either apply for Medi-Cal, which was California’s Medicaid program, or utilize a low income health clinic. The thought of either option was depressing.

  Closing her laptop, she rose to her feet and left the kitchen, eager to get out of the conservative business suit she’d donned earlier in the morning to make the rounds of a few firms she’d heard might be hiring. Although every one of them had accepted her resume, they weren’t at all forthcoming about any potential openings.

  Her last stop had been at an employment agency that specialized in placing candidates in temporary accounting positions. She’d met with a consultant who was impressed with her resume and promised to call if anything came up. Angie wasn’t holding her breath. Although it was the week before Thanksgiving, the place had been packed with other out of work men and women who, despite their best efforts not to, looked as desperate as Angie felt.

  After shedding her suit and hanging the skirt and jacket in the closet, she pulled the ivory tank top she’d worn under the jacket over her head and tossed it on the bed. Looking down at her slightly rounded stomach, it was clear she could no longer blame the snugness of her skirt on dryer shrinkage. The nausea may have partially subsided, but now the baby was making him or herself known in the most telling way of all. The almost imperceptible baby bump only added to her anxiety. If she did get an interview she wanted it to be before it was obvious she was pregnant.

  Placing a hand to her abdomen, she sank to the bed and forced herself not to give into self-pity. But it was hard not to. Each day that went by without any hope of landing a job only escalated the panic she’d been in ever since she’d been laid off. More and more, J.T.’s proposal appeared to be her only way out. The thought of it petrified her—for several reasons—but she’d been considering an amendment to his proposal that just might make her only way out a whole lot easier to live with.

  Before she could dwell on the specifics, the phone on her antique bedside table rang. When the word “mom” lit up the screen, Angie was sorely tempted to let it ring. Just like she’d been doing for the past three days.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her mother. It was just that there were a couple of things Selena DeMarco didn’t yet know. Things that might upset her. Like, for example, her daughter’s engagement was over and she’d gotten herself knocked up. Seriously, what mother would want to hear that? It was only a notch or two up from “guess what, Mom? I’m marrying my prison pen-pal.”

  The phone rang two more times before Angie’s guilt kicked in. Damn it. She couldn’t put it off forever. Her mother was probably concerned about her.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said with feigned cheerfulness. It was best not to let on how down she really was—her mother didn’t need the added stress.

  “How’s the job hunting going?” Selena asked straight off in her usual no-nonsense voice.

  “I’m still plugging away.” Angie flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “But I haven’t gotten any interviews yet.”

  “What about Scott? Surely he has some connections at the city. Maybe he can get you a job there.”

  “Mom, the city gave out pink slips recently, remember? They’re not hiring, and even if they were I don’t think Scott has the kind of pull needed to get me hired.”

  “Have you asked him?” her mother asked impatiently. “I know how you are, Angela. You like to do things your own way, but this is a serious situation. Don’t be so proud.”

  Great. Her mom was already busting out the “Angela.”That didn’t bode well for the rest of the conversation.

  “I know it’s serious.” She covered her eyes with her forearm and sighed. “I’m doing everything I can to find a job. It’s tough out there. So many people are out of work right now.”

  “You’re lucky to have Scott. He makes good money at the city. I know you two were waiting for marriage before living together but with your current situation maybe you could move that up a bit.”

  Angie gnawed at her lip. It was time to bite the bullet and get it over with. It would be easier over the phone anyway. She pushed herself into a sitting position. “Actually, I don’t have Scott anymore. We broke up a few weeks ago.”

  The ensuing silence was way worse than anything her mother could have said. Even over the phone the parental disapproval was palpable.

  “Mom?” she whispered after about ten seconds. “Are you still there?”

  “What did you do?” Selena’s tone was accusatory. No surprise there. Her mother’s dreams of her first born daughter marrying a safe and financially secure man had just gone up in smoke. And since her mother believed Scott could do no wrong, of course, it had to be Angie’s fault the engagement was off. Which it totally was, but why was it so easy for her mom to point the finger at her? Scott wasn’t without faults.

  Maybe she should have mentioned the time Scott had taken her to the movies, refused to buy her popcorn and then chastised her for not popping a bag in the microwave to sneak into the theater. Or instead of taking her to Napa on her birthday like he’d promised, he’d taken her to dinner at the senior facility where his mother lived. The menu that night had consisted of meat loaf, creamed corn, and pudding for dessert—the cuisine of choice for denture wearers everywhere. But the dinner was free and that’s what mattered to Scott. Never mind that she’d had her heart set on staying at a cozy B&B and touring a few wineries.

  Angie pondered her mother’s question for a few seconds then decided to skirt the issue. Nothing positive could come out of admitting she was pregnant—not today anyway.

  “I didn’t do anything. We mutually came to the conclusion that we weren’t right for each other.” She congratulated herself on her ambiguous wording. It made it seem so civilized, which, when she thought about it, it had been. There hadn’t been enough emotion involved in her relationship with Scott for them to engage in a big blow-up.

  Selena sighed heavily. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m mulling over a couple of options.”

  “What kind of options?”

  Since her mother would definitely not approve of what she was contemplating, it was best to keep her mouth shut. Angie tamped down the guilt that niggled at her and remembered one of Grandma Sophia’s favor
ite clichés—desperate times called for desperate measures. If these weren’t desperate times, she didn’t know what was.

  “I heard there’s a strip club in the East Bay hiring dancers,” she said with a wry smile as she rose from the bed. “If I don’t find a job soon I might have to start giving lap dances.”

  Dead silence ensued. Obviously her mother had misplaced her sense of humor. “That was a joke, Mom.”

  “I don’t see what’s so funny about becoming a stripper.”

  “Okay, moving on. How’s Livvie? I haven’t talked to her in a while.” Angie moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a pair of fleece sweatpants and a thermal top. Not using the furnace made the heavier clothing a necessity.

  “Busy with her studies, and she’s been after me to take a drive to Davis so she can get the lay of the land.”

  “But she doesn’t start until next fall.”

  “You know your sister. She doesn’t like surprises.” Her mother paused. “She’s a lot like you, you know.”

  Angie tossed the sweats and shirt on the bed and shoved the drawer closed with her hip. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Good. It’s comforting to know I can count on both of my girls not to get into any trouble.”

  Angie suppressed a snort. Her mother would soon get a rude awakening on that front. “How’s work?” she asked.

  “Busy. I picked up the late shift last night and the place was packed. My feet are killing me.”

  Selena DeMarco hadn’t planned on being a waitress, but it was the only job she’d been qualified for when Dante DeMarco—Angie’s father—had left her for one of the many women he’d cheated on her with. Fifteen years later, her mother still made a low hourly wage waiting tables and counted on tips to help her get by each month.

  “Remember to soak your feet in Epsom salts. It’ll help.”

  “They’re soaking as we speak.” Her mother paused before continuing in a somewhat softer voice, “Angie, if need be, you can always move back in here with us.”

  “I know, Mom.” Swallowing the lump lodged in her throat, Angie sank to the bed. “But it won’t come to that,” she added, thinking of the already cramped house her mother and sister occupied. It was a nun selfish gesture, but definitely out of the question. Her mother had enough on her plate. The last thing she needed to worry about was putting a roof over her pregnant daughter’s head.

  * * *

  The sound of J.T.’s guttural groan was all but drowned out by the loud rock music blasting from the state-of-the-art speakers in the weight room. Five hundred pounds. That’s what the bar he held over his head felt like it weighed. Sweat trickled from his forehead down to his ears as he held the bar in a locked position for several seconds before lowering it with the help of his brother, who was spotting him from just behind the weight bench.

  Jake stared down at him with a smirk. “Should I take some weight off?”

  “Leave it on.” J.T. wiped his brow with the back of his hand. His muscles were twitching, begging for mercy, but there was no way in hell any weight was coming off that bar. If he allowed that to happen he’d never hear the end of it.

  “Here.” Jake handed him a water bottle. “You look like you can use it.”

  After taking a long drink, J.T. tried to give the bottle back to his brother, but Jake’s attention was diverted elsewhere. Since he didn’t have the energy or the inclination to lift his head, J.T. rested the bottle on his stomach and stared at the ceiling, grateful for the short reprieve.

  “Hey,” he said when it appeared whatever—or whomever—Jake was so interested in was more important than spotting him. “I don’t have all night.”

  Jake looked down and grabbed the water bottle. “Sorry. I just saw someone I signed up last week. I wasn’t sure she’d come back.”

  J.T. lifted his arms and wrapped his fingers around the bar. “Is she hot?” he asked with a grin.

  His brother hesitated before answering. “She’s got a pretty face.”

  “Aren’t you the diplomat,” he said and let out another loud groan as he lifted the bar. When his arms trembled from the effort, Jake put his hands, palms up, under the bar in case J.T. couldn’t hold it. He held the position for several long seconds before letting it drop to the rungs once again. “Are you training her?”

  Jake shook his head. “I don’t think she’s ready for personal training. It took a lot of courage for her to even walk in here again.”

  “Why?” J.T. wiped his brow again. He was sweaty as hell and damn glad this was his last set of the night. As threatened, his brother was putting him through his paces. And then some.

  “She’s overweight.” Jake paused. “At least sixty pounds. Maybe more.”

  J.T. couldn’t imagine carrying that much extra weight on his body. But Jake could, which was why he’d studied exercise physiology in college and worked as a personal trainer for several years before opening his gym, Jake’s Joint, two years ago.

  “Before I signed her up I gave her a tour and, unfortunately, a few of my less classy members made some derogatory comments about her size.” Jake’s eyes, which were the same hazel color as J.T.’s, blazed with anger. “I took her back to my office and apologized for their remarks. I was sure she’d walk out, but she brushed it off and then signed up for a yearly membership. While she was filling out the paperwork, I found the assholes and told them if I ever heard them talking about a member like that again I’d toss them out. I don’t tolerate that bullshit in here. I want this to be a place where everyone, no matter their size or fitness level feels comfortable.”

  J.T. admired his brother for many things, one of which was Jake’s compassion for people, and well, all living things. There wasn’t a week that went by when they were kids where Jake wasn’t bringing home a stray animal, or giving up his free time to help tutor his classmates. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit if Jake took this new member under his wing and helped her achieve her weight loss and fitness goals. That was the kind of man he was.

  Reaching for the bar one last time, he let out his loudest grunt of the evening as he hoisted it into the air. Remembering to breathe, he sucked in some air, held the weight for several seconds, arms shaking, and then let it drop. It made a loud clanking noise as it settled onto the rungs.

  “Good job,” Jake said as he moved to take the weights off of the bar one by one and hung them in the stand near the bench. “Tomorrow we’ll work your lower body. How’s the cardio going?”

  “I ran five miles this morning.” J.T. sat up, grabbed his towel and mopped his face.

  “Do six next time. And make sure you get in some sprints.” Jake turned toward him and put his hands on his hips. “You’ve been at five for a while. You seem to think that’s as far as you’re able to run. It’s not.” He lifted his arm and tapped his temple with his index finger. “Change your mindset, bro. Think six.”

  J.T. pushed up from the bench and nodded at a couple of guys who, like him, were regulars in the weight room. Most of the members were aware he was Jake’s brother and that he played pro ball, but they treated him like he was just another member. He liked that—being recognized and fawned over because of his profession made him uncomfortable. “Mind over matter, is that it?” he asked, looking back at his brother.

  “Speaking of minds.” Jake’s brows knitted together. “Yours has been somewhere else lately. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  As Jake’s probing gaze fell upon him, J.T. shifted uneasily. “Nothing’s going on.”

  “Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you like I do.”

  Jake was right. Of his three brothers, Jake was the closest to him in age and knew him better than anyone. He’d been dying to tell Jake about the baby but until Angie made her decision he was keeping a lid on it, and training until he was dead tired in hopes of forgetting that his entire life might change in the next few weeks.

  “You’re imagining things.” J.T. flashed a grin hoping to avoid any more q
uestions. “I’m gonna hit the shower. Want to grab some grub after I’m done?”

  “Can’t. I’m here until closing on Thursdays,” Jake replied as they walked across the weight room toward the men’s locker room. “Besides, I want to check in with my new member.”

  “Catch you tomorrow night then,” J.T. said as they parted ways near the men’s locker room. He watched as Jake strode to the cardio area of the gym and approached a heavy-set woman with short blonde hair who was walking on one of the treadmills. J.T. smiled as his brother engaged her in conversation and started pointing out the electronic features of the treadmill. It looked like Jake was still taking care of people.

  After he’d showered and changed into jeans, a T-shirt and his Blaze sweatshirt, J.T. left the gym and headed to his truck. His first stop was his favorite deli for a turkey sandwich. After wolfing it down, he made a second stop at the nutrition store to pick up a container of protein powder. By the time he got home it was almost nine. As he pulled into the driveway, he made a mental note to trim the trees in the front yard. The branches had grown so much that they were now hitting the house. The excitement of the season, and then getting to the World Series, had so consumed him he’d forgotten to hire a landscape company. Another thing he’d put off was furnishing his house. Oh, he had what he needed—a bed, a television and a couch. But other than that, the place was pretty bare.

  He entered through the back door and dropped his gym bag on top of the washing machine in the mud room. He wasn’t sure why it was called a mud room, but the real estate agent who showed him the house had called it that and since she was a professional, she ought to know. To him, it was the laundry room, and his route from the garage into the kitchen.

  As he set his protein powder on the counter, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his sweatshirt pocket and checked the caller ID. His pulse quickened at the sight of Angie’s name on the small screen.