by Amy Sparling
I tuck in the sheets at the corners, making them extra crisp, and then I pull the comforter over and tuck it neatly in all around the edges. I’m a pretty excellent bed maker. If Mama’s skill is kitchen ovens, mine is bed making.
When the bed is perfect, I stand back up and glance around the room, seeing if there’s anything I might have missed. That’s when I notice the man standing in the doorway.
Not a boy.
A man.
I freeze, my mouth open. It’s not just any man.
It’s Zach Pena, in the flesh. In lots of flesh. He’s standing there with a black towel wrapped around his waist, hung low enough to show off more than I need to see. His bare chest looks just as good as it did at the track the other day, and his hair is wet and hanging in his eyes.
“Um, hello,” he says.
I’m still here, still frozen. I do manage to close my mouth though.
Zach smiles. “Why are you cleaning my room?”
Then his gaze drifts to my chest, and I feel the slightest bit self-conscious but then I realize he’s reading the logo embroidered on my scrubs. “Housekeeping?” He looks just as confused as I am.
“The woman who lives here—your mom?” I stutter out, “She hired us. To clean. Today.”
God, I feel like an idiot but at least I got out a halfway understandable sentence.
“Oh okay,” Zach says. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
His lips stretch into an easy grin. “If she’d told me then I wouldn’t have walked in here like this. I was in the shower,” he says, cocking his head toward the hallway.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, finally snapping back into housekeeper mode. This isn’t the first time a client has walked in on me having just got out of the shower, and it probably won’t be the last. It is, however, the first time someone this gorgeous has stood before me wearing only a towel and that tight line of muscles that points in a V straight to where I shouldn’t be looking.
“I’m actually done in here, so I’ll get out of your way.”
I grab my cleaning supplies and rush toward the door, which he’s still blocking. At the last second, he steps to the side to let me through.
“Wait,” he says. “Bree, right?”
I nod and I stand here in the doorway, just inches away from this guy who smells like Old Spice deodorant, and my insides are turning warm and tingly just being this close to him.
His tongue flicks across his bottom lip and the motion only lasts a split second, but it seems to go on forever in my mind. Damn, he’s hot. Dangerously hot.
His blue eyes seem to sparkle as he says, “You should stay. We can hang out. Talk about motocross.”
My heart thunders in my chest. Why is this guy asking me to hang out again? Is this some kind of joke? Is he one of those pricks who thinks that just because I’m the help I should do whatever he says?
I mean, yeah, in a perfect world I would love for someone like Zach to like me. But he’s so far out of my league that it’ll never be a possibility. He’s a famous talented dirt bike racer.
I’m a housekeeper with a useless two-year degree.
“No,” I say, stepping into the hallway. It feels much colder out here than in his room.
“Why not?” he says, and he actually looks a little hurt.
I shrug, and tell myself to say something besides you’re out of my league.
“You’re naked,” is what my brain chooses to say. My cheeks flush, and I sneak one last glance at his gorgeous body.
And then I take my supplies and leave.
Chapter 7
I close my bedroom door and sit on my neatly made twin size bed, still wearing a towel and feeling like a total ass. Why did I ask her to stay and hang out?
I’m naked.
I smile a little despite myself, because that’s kind of funny. I wasn’t thinking about how I’m currently wearing only a towel when I asked her to stay. I was thinking about how she’s been running through my mind all damn day. Pretty much since the moment I first saw her at the track. She’s been there, a constant thought in my mind that keeps building a desperate need for me to get closer to her.
And of course she has no idea. Which is why she left.
Also, she’d been cleaning my childhood bedroom. What the hell is up with that? She did say she had work in the morning but I never in a million years thought the work she spoke of would be picking up my dirty laundry.
I fall back on my bed and feel my entire body go warm with embarrassment. I can’t believe she was in here. I can’t believe she saw my dumb childhood room. It totally looks like I live here too, and not that I’m staying for the summer. I’ve already unpacked my clothes and hung them in the closet. The only thing I haven’t done is clean out all my old kid stuff or upgrade my bed.
She’s probably got me all figured out now. She knows I failed to secure a racing spot on the summer circuit and now I’m back here, a complete failure, living with my mom like some loser.
I just need to show her that it’s not true. I need to find her, talk to her, convince her to go on a date with me. I’ll blow a ton of money on a date and tell her that I purposely took the summer off and let her know that I’ll be back on top in the fall. Girls love that shit. They all want to be on the arm of the guy who is famous. I’ll prove to her that I am still famous. Still rich. Still good enough for her attention.
Even as I think it, I am almost certain she’s not the type of girl who cares about that stuff anyway. If she were, she’d have stayed after work on Friday to go home with me. She would have been at my truck instead of that random blonde girl. If she really wanted me the way I want her, she’d have stayed in my room, pushed the door closed and yanked off my towel.
I’m turned on just thinking about it, and I let my mind wander with the daydream of an alternate reality where that really did happen. Then I hear some people talking and I realize she’s probably still here, and I shouldn’t be fantasizing about her gorgeous body climbing up on top of mine.
I get up and throw on some clothes and then listen by the door. I hear my mom talking to someone who isn’t Bree. This woman has a Spanish accent. I don’t hear Bree at all, but after a few minutes, my mom says goodbye and I hear the front door close behind them.
I wait a little longer just to make sure they’re gone, then I walk into the living room.
“Uh, Mom?” I say. She’s sitting on the couch flipping through channels on the TV. “Why was there a girl cleaning my room when I walked in there after a shower?”
“Oh my,” Mom says with a laugh. “Please tell me you didn’t scare the poor girl.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Since when do you have a cleaning lady?”
“Since today. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I keep forgetting you’re even here.” She smiles at me and I can’t be annoyed anymore. “My arthritis is only getting worse and I thought I could use some help around the house. I scheduled for Anna to come back every two weeks, so I’ll let you know before she’s here again.”
Anna must be the name of the other woman who was here. I sit on the couch next to her. “Mom, you need to see a better doctor for your arthritis.”
She shrugs and waves me off. “I do see a doctor.”
“Yeah, but we need to get you to a good one. Some famous well-known doctor who can treat arthritis with the best methods, not the little town doctors here who don’t know shit.”
“They all went to medical school, didn’t they?” she says. She’s being stubborn like she always is when I try to pay for her to have something nice.
I decide to drop the subject for now, but I’ll research good arthritis doctors later and see if I can get her an appointment with one.
I lean back on the couch and try to act casual while I pry for information. “So that one girl that was cleaning my room also works at the track. She seems young to work two jobs.”
“I think she just helps out at both jobs. It’s not a full-time gig.”
“Oh yeah? Is sh
e in college or something?”
Mom turns to me, giving me a look that immediately makes me feel guilty even though I don’t think I am guilty of anything. “Zach, don’t you dare hit on the cleaning girl.”
I open my mouth like I’m offended. “What? No… I was just making small talk.”
Mom’s lips press into a line. “Bree is a smart girl. She just graduated from college and everything. You don’t need to go make her your flavor of the week.”
I swallow. It’s one thing to know you’re a player, but to have your mom call you on it is another. “I wasn’t going to do that,” I say, but my voice has lost all of its defensiveness. “I was just curious.”
“Why?” Mom says, glancing at the TV as she chooses a show to watch. “You never cared about the Grayson girl when you were a kid.”
“Wait, what?” The Grayson girl? “You mean like Mr. Grayson from the track?”
Mom laughs. “Yes, son. That’s the little Grayson girl all grown up. She used to sit next to me on the bleachers when you’d race and tell me how great you were. It was obvious she had a crush on you back then, and you’re not going to go break her heart now.” Mom levels a glare at me. “I mean it, son. She’s a good girl. Too good for you to use and then dump to the side like you always do. Promise me you’ll stay away from her.”
Shame floods over me at the realization that this girl has been in my life way longer than I even realized. I can only barely remember Mr. Grayson having a daughter, and I don’t think I ever paid attention to her. Of course, back then, I didn’t care about girls. All I cared about was winning.
“I promise,” I tell her, and I hate that I know this is one promise I better keep.
By Thursday night I’ve managed to stick to my goal for four whole days. I woke up early each day, worked out for an hour, went to the track and rode my bike for three hours and then came home and worked out for the rest of the day. I probably have zero body fat now that I’ve been training so hard. I go to bed early, wake up early, train, and eat right.
It feels like I’m back on Team Loco already, even though I’m still stuck here in Hopewell. I watched the first summer race on TV the other day, but seeing my teammates racing without me wasn’t very fun. I only watched a little bit of it before I turned the TV off in frustration and went back out in the garage to use my weight bench.
Now, it’s only eight at night, and I’ve worked out all day but I’m wondering if I should work out some more after I make a protein shake. I have to stay busy or I’ll think about her.
My phone rings, and I’m glad to see Tommy’s name on the incoming call. I haven’t seen him all week.
“Sup man?” I say, pressing the phone to my ear.
“I had a rough day,” he says. “Customers pissing me off left and right. You wanna hit up the bar?”
“On a Thursday?” I say with a laugh. I’ve been twenty-one for six months and it only just now occurred to me that I’ve never been to a real bar. Fancy overpriced bars at luxury hotels don’t exactly count.
“Well Friday is race day so you can’t do it then,” Tommy says.
“Fair enough. Blues?” I guess, because that’s the only bar in town.
“Yeah, see you there.”
Hanging out with my boys, drinking beer, and playing pool should be enough to get my mind off the girl who doesn’t want me. I’m looking forward to it as I make the short drive over there. The place is packed, even for a Thursday night. I guess barflies don’t care what day of the week it is.
I can picture my manager in my mind. Marcus would give me a stern look and tell me not to get too drunk because it’ll undo all my hard workouts and healthy eating. He’s right, of course, but I’ve gotta get Bree off my mind somehow.
Since she clearly won’t let me sleep with her, I’ve got to find another way to get her out of my system.
The bar is bigger on the inside than it looks outside. There’s a shitty country wannabe band playing in one corner, a few pool tables, and a dance floor.
Tommy and his friends from work all show up, and I forget their names instantly but they all know mine.
We get some beers and snag a pool table. I’m not the best at pool, but I can hold my own. The game keeps getting interrupted by people walking up and talking to me. Some just want to say it’s cool to see me again, and I’ll vaguely recognize their faces. Some want to stay and chat a while, and it’s annoying because I just want to play some pool and relax.
The girls are the worst. Before Tommy and I have even finished our first game of pool, I get three girls coming up to me trying to flirt. Maybe they just want free drinks, or something, but I’m not having it. I’m polite, but I tell them I can’t talk because I’m in the middle of a game.
After one girl who is blessed with an amazing rack wanders off, Tommy looks at me and shakes his dead. “Damn, man. You could get any girl in here, and yet you still turned down the hottest one. I’m impressed.”
I inhale a deep breath and exhale. “You know how it is. I gotta keep my head on straight. No girls this summer.”
Even as I say it, I don’t fully agree with myself. That last girl would have done anything I told her to. She’d probably be a pretty good lay, on par with the girls who hang out in the professional motocross circle. Those kinds of girls are just like us guys—they only want one thing. They won’t be staying overnight or wanting to exchange numbers. They just want to bang one more famous motocross guy.
I swallow and focus on my next turn. I aim my cue and barely miss getting the ball in the hole. Dammit.
Tommy sinks the eight ball next and wins the game. One of his buddies offers to play him next, and I happily give over my pool stick. I need another beer.
I’m walking to the bar when I hear her voice.
“Can you idiots just move?”
I look over and find Bree giving a very pissed off look to two drunk guys who are dancing around like idiots. It takes me a second but I realize they’re purposely blocking the bathroom door from her. I guess they think they're funny, but they’re too drunk to realize they're just assholes.
“Get the fuck out of the way,” I say. The guys grimace at the sight of me, but they leave.
Bree’s eyes widen and it kills me that she doesn’t seem the least bit happy to see me right now.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask.
“I’m not old enough to drink,” she says, putting a hand on the bathroom door.
“Wait, how old are you?”
“Twenty,” she says, then she pushes open the door and slips inside. The women’s bathroom is just one small room with a toilet and a sink, and I can see inside without being a creep about it.
Bree’s foot keeps the door propped open to let in the light, because no one turned on the light in there. “Mia?” Bree says, leaning in. “You in here?”
She flips on the light, revealing a very drunk girl with dark brown hair who leans against the wall. “Shit,” Bree says, and then she lets the door close behind her.
I want to go in and help but it is the women’s restroom, and I’m not exactly allowed in there.
I wait outside the door. I can hear Bree talking loudly to the girl, trying to get her to wake up or pay attention. After a few minutes, I knock.
“Need some help?”
“No,” Bree calls back. “Go away.”
But I can’t leave. There is nothing in this bar that would be better than staying here and seeing Bree one more time.
A cloud of perfume appears next to me, followed by a girl with glassy eyes and an empty drink in her hand. “That’s the girl’s bathroom,” she says, her voice slurred. “Boy’s bathroom is over there.”
“I know,” I say.
She reaches out and grabs my crotch, which makes me freeze. “Let’s get out of here,” she says, giving me a lazy grin. “I give the best head you’ll ever have.”
I gently tug her hand off my jeans. “No, thanks.”
She rolls her eyes. “Your loss,”
she sing-songs as she saunters away.
The bathroom door opens and Bree kicks it with her foot. She’s got the girl’s arm swung over her shoulder and she’s attempting to half drag her out of the bathroom. Only this girl is much taller than Bree, and although she’s half-conscious, she’s not even attempting to walk on her own.
“Whoa,” I say, catching the girl before she falls face first to the filthy floor. “Come here,” I say. I put one arm under her back and bend down to grab under her knees and lift her off the ground. She folds into me, smelling like whiskey and cigar smoke.
Bree leads the way as I carry the woman outside and into the cool night air. “Just set her on the bench,” Bree says, pointing.
I carefully fold the drunk girl onto the bench in as comfortable of a position as I can manage. Her eyes loll around and then she grins. “I’m fuckin’ wasted,” she says, giggling. Then she turns to the side and pukes all over the grass.
I jump back to avoid being hit with any of it.
“Thanks,” Bree says. “I’ve got it from here.”
“You sure?”
Bree’s stern expression tells me she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “Yes. Please go.”
Chapter 8
Why is he even here?
Zach Pena is the last person I care to see when I’m dragging my drunk cousin out of a bar. Although I’m grateful that someone was there to help me carry her out, I wish it wasn’t him. It could have been anyone else and I’d have gratefully accepted their help. Why did fate give me him?
This is the worst I’ve ever seen Mia. She’s been drinking ever since her boyfriend broke up with her about three months ago. She always calls me, drunk, from the bathroom of the bar. Sometimes she doesn’t even make it to the bar, and she’s just sitting in her parking spot at her apartment complex, falling over drunk off a cheap bottle of vodka.