Chapter Three
I woke up with a pounding headache and cotton mouth. God, I hate it when I let myself get drunk. I know better, I don’t drink that often and so when I do, it doesn’t take much. I rolled over slowly, trying not to make myself nauseated on top of everything else. That was when the panic started to settle in my chest. I wasn’t at home. I sat up too fast, and set the unfamiliar bedroom into a spin. I sat really still until it stopped and then I took another look around. I realized I was sitting in a king-size bed in my bra and underwear in a definitely masculine bedroom. Damn it! What the hell did I do?
I sat there for a long time, racking my brain. Who did I leave with last night? I vaguely remembered promising Greg I’d take a cab home…but then he left…and Sam and Debbie left…Oh God, what did I do? I wasn’t in the habit of going home with strangers. As a matter of fact, I could say that at twenty-three years old I hadn’t done it yet. Surely I didn’t do it last night. I wouldn’t have…would I? I looked around the room. It was neat for a man’s room, but obviously male. There was a big framed poster on the wall of a fighter with a giant UFC title belt draped across his shoulder. I was sure I knew who that was, but my head hurt too bad to come up with a name. The mirrored dresser was covered with men’s deodorants and colognes and the furniture was all dark, heavy wood. There were wooden blinds on the two windows and sheer blue curtains hanging on them that matched the comforter I was covered up with. None of that really gave me a clue about where I was. Shit! Oh God, I remember Mark was there last night. Did I sleep with Mark? Oh God, I hope not! He’s my client. How unprofessional would that be? How would I face him? I’d have to quit my job!
I finally realized that I wasn’t getting anywhere sitting in the strange bed in my underwear. I had no idea where to begin looking for my clothes though. I stood up and pulled the light blue comforter off the bed and wrapped it around me. Like the intruder I felt like, I tiptoed over and cracked open the door. All I saw was a hallway, still no clue where I was. There was a picture of a pair of boxing gloves on the wall. The evidence that I’d slept with my client was piling up.
I could hear the soft sounds of a television down the hall. I had to get this over with, so I followed it. When I got to the living room I was surprised to see a kid sitting on the blue couch. Everything there seemed to be blue…The young boy’s attention was glued to the sixty-inch television in front of him and he was playing what looked like a fighting or boxing game. He was maybe ten…or eleven or twelve…I knew nothing about kids. He was cute. He had dark hair and little freckles across his nose. Geez, what the hell was he going to think about a strange woman coming out of his…Dad’s bedroom? Oh man, I hoped there wasn’t a mom around somewhere too. I started to turn back around but it was too late to make my escape. The little boy was staring curiously at me now.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” was his reply.
“I’m Jessie.”
“Victor,” he said. Then he turned his attention back to the game.
I looked up on the mantle behind the television hoping maybe there would be a picture there to solve this mystery. Victor was obviously not a talker. He reminded me of Paul Delport. Oh my God!
“Victor?”
He looked back up at me. “Yeah?”
“Is Paul Delport your dad?”
“No,” he said.
Whew! That was a close one. If I went home with Paul, there’s no doubt I’d slept with him. I wasn’t a slut, but I was no fool either…
“He’s my uncle,” Victor said.
I felt my face lose all of its color. I was about to ask the boy another question when I heard the front door open. I looked over to see Paul coming in. He was in a pair of running shorts and a tank top. He had his iPod tucked in the waist band of his shorts. He had on his running shoes too. My brilliant detective skills deduced that he must have been out for a run. Unfortunately, even in my state of panic, his gorgeous masculinity did not go unnoticed.
“Hi,” he said, glancing at Victor who didn’t even look up. He looked back at me and I wondered what he was thinking about the fact I was standing there wrapped up in his comforter.
“Hi.” I forced myself to be polite; it was his home after all. Can I see you in the…” I looked around and saw a door next to a little dining room table and four chairs. “The kitchen?”
He motioned toward the door without speaking. No big surprise there. I was beginning to notice that talking was either not his best quality, or not his favorite. I went through the door and he followed me.
With the lump back in my throat I said in a whisper, “Did we sleep together?”
He didn’t smile, but I got the impression he wanted to. I was glad I could amuse him. “No,” he said.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“You fell asleep in the truck. I had no idea where you lived. I tried to wake you up, but you didn’t even flinch until I got you in the apartment and laid you on the bed.” Those were the most words I’d heard him string together at once since we’d met. When I processed that he had to actually carry me into his apartment from the truck and I got a visual of that in my head, I almost died of humiliation. Oh dear God, how much more humiliating was this going to get?
“What about my clothes? Why am I in my underwear?”
“You said your clothes were dirty,” he said. That time his lips quirked up on the edges.
“Oh, they were!” I was so excited that I remembered something and I started babbling again, “My washing machine is broken; It’s been broken for about a week. That’s why I looked so disheveled this week and my clothes were all wrinkled…Wait a minute…You took them off me because I said they were dirty?”
“No. You took them off yourself,” he said. He turned to the refrigerator and pulled something out that looked like a green protein shake. He shook the container and took a long swig off of it. Then he said, “Your clothes are on the chair in the corner of my room.”
My face was on fire. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so embarrassed or ashamed of myself. Here I was accusing him of taking my clothes off and I was too drunk to even remember what had happened. Shameless!
“Oh, thanks,” was all I could think of to say. I turned and did the walk of shame back to his bedroom. I found the clothes right where he said they would be as well as my shoes and purse. I was so humiliated I didn’t even know how I would go back out and face him. I was pretty sure the apartment didn’t have a back door or I would have gone out that way. I considered escaping out the window but that put me on a whole new level of desperation. I finally pulled on my clothes and decided that I needed to further explain myself. I should at least try and explain to him that I’m not really a drinker. When I got back to the living room, Victor was in the same spot on the couch but Paul was nowhere to be seen. In the room to my left I could hear the sounds of a shower running. Victor still hadn’t looked up. I started to say something but I found that I was even humiliated in the presence of the young boy. Instead I slunk out the front door like a coward. When I got to the street I spent ten minutes trying to hail a cab. I finally ended up walking to the closest bus stop and taking the bus home.
*******
My only saving grace of the miserable morning was that I wasn’t scheduled with anyone until one o’clock that afternoon. Mark was once again my first client of the day, but he always came in later on Sundays because he had a standing appointment with his masseuse Sunday mornings, and then he took his mother to church. Good old fashioned American boy. I’m so glad I wasn’t naked in his bed this morning.
Once I finally made it home on that hot, smelly bus, I called Yolanda who was kind enough to come pick me up and take me to the sports bar to get my car.
“So how did you get home last night, a cab?” she asked. I considered lying so that I didn’t have to admit the embarrassing truth. I hated lying to anyone, much less a friend. I wasn’t very good at it anyways so I decided to go with a half-truth and I said,
“Paul Delport was nice enough to drive me home.” Yolanda raised an eyebrow at his name. “What?” I said.
“Oh nothing,” she said.
“Oh come on, now you have to tell me.”
“I’ve just never heard the man even speak. Greg likes him, but I swear he goes mute when I’m around. I guess that would be a good guy to have a relationship with…”
I laughed and said, “Yeah, he’s not a big talker.” I did vaguely remember then about him telling me he’d won fighting championships…I guess when I was drunk he at least tried to talk to me.
When we got to the bar Yolanda said, “Just be careful of these arrogant athletic types, honey. I know they’re all you’re really going to meet working in a gym…but I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
I smiled and said, “Greg’s an athlete.” Greg played Triple A baseball for quite a few years before opening the gym.
“True, but he’s the exception, not the rule,” she said with a smile. I thanked her for the ride and for worrying about me. It was nice of her. They’d kind of adopted me in a strange sort of way.
After I picked up my car, I did a quick run to my place and then to the laundromat. I’d at least have clothes for another day or two until I could get the washer fixed. By the time I got home again I had time to eat a fast lunch, take a shower and then got to work. I broke a few speed laws, but if a cop doesn’t see you, is it really illegal? That is the million-dollar question.
Mark was waiting for me when I got to work and I was mortified to see that Paul was there once again as well.
“Hey, how’s the head?” Mark asked when he saw me. He was talking way too loud. As a matter of fact, the whole gym seemed extraordinarily loud.
“The head?” I asked, not sure what he was talking about. Did I hit my head last night too?
“Yeah, your head,” he said. “After you tied one on so well last night I was sure you’d have a massive hangover.” I felt my face turn red again. The humiliation was never going to stop.
“Nah, I’m okay. I wasn’t that drunk,” I lied. Mark laughed, not buying it either.
“You were putting the tequila shots down!” he said.
“Tequila shots? Really?”
He laughed again and said, “No, I didn’t see you shooting Tequila. But you must have been drunk because you were about to believe me.” He had a point, jerk. I’d just take it out on him in the gym. “I didn’t know Crown Royal could get you to dance on the tables like that.”
“Okay, let’s get started. Weights today,” I said, changing the subject. I knew by now that he was full of it.
“Shit, I hate weight-training,” he said with a grin. I just shook my head at him. I gave a sideways glance over to where Paul and Sam were working. Paul had his back to me, thank God. I had no idea what I’d even say to him if we had to talk again. At the same time, just knowing we were in the same room made my stomach flutter. I forced attention back on Mark.
Mark and I did two days a week of strength training. Coupled with his conditioning and the fact that he actually worked out with his coach once a week as well, that was more than enough. That day was day two of his strength training for the week. On day one we’d had him bench press, do pull-ups, single leg deadlift, and the Bulgarian squats. He didn’t complain as much when we worked with the weights as he did when we did conditioning. That day we were going to do the Military press, chin-ups, eccentric only pull-ups, and then some light grip and ab work-outs to cool him down.
I’d spoken too soon about Mark because that day he whined through most of it. When we got through it all except for the ab work we happened to be right next to Paul and Sam. I thought about just not making eye contact with Paul at all, but that was just way too rude considering what he’d done for me. Instead, I forced myself to make eye contact and smile. He didn’t smile back; he just continued to concentrate on his crunches. That was annoying; he could’ve at least forced a smile at the woman who’d spent the previous night in his bed. Trying too hard, as usual, I looked at Mark who had really been jumping up and down on my last nerve all session and I said, “You should be a nice guy like Paul here. I don’t hear him complaining.”
Mark laughed and said, “You don’t hear him doing nothing, he barely speaks.”
Paul barely glanced over, not missing a beat in his work-out. Mark looked interested though, and said, “Paul’s a nice guy? That’s news to me.” He smiled when he said it and looked over at Paul.
“He’s nice enough to not torture his trainer with one complaint after the other…Oh! And to look after his nephew. Do you do that?” I looked at Paul when I said it.
I could hear Mark say, “I don’t have a nephew. So there. I didn’t know that Paul had a nephew…” but then whatever else he said was a blur as I realized that Paul suddenly had a really pissed-off look on his face and it was directed toward me. I’d definitely said something wrong. Paul finished what he was doing quickly and got up and walked away. I was confused. What I said was intended to be a compliment. I wondered why it seemed to make him so angry. Men were so weird sometimes.
I finished up with Mark and was considering just going home since I didn’t have any other appointments when Sam said, “Hey, Jessie! Can you come over here for a second?”
He was still with Paul who I really, really didn’t want to face again. I couldn’t very well ignore Sam, though, so I sucked it up and went over. “What’s up?” I asked Sam, trying not to look at Paul. I could feel his eyes boring into me. They felt angry…or annoyed…
“Debbie just called. Her car got a flat on the 405. She’s calling a tow truck but I’d like to be there to pick her up…I hate the thought of her out there alone on the side of the freeway…”
“Oh yeah, go get her. I’ll cover for you.” I had a flat on the 405 once and they’d sent me the strangest tow truck driver they had, I thought. I had to spend thirty minutes in the truck with him and there was one point I thought about jumping out on the pavement.
“Well, Paul is my last client so if you’ll finish up with him for me that’ll be it for the day.” Shit! Damn! Shit! I took a deep breath and looked at Paul who didn’t look pissed any longer, just completely disinterested. I preferred pissed. It at least made him look less like a sculpture and more human.
“Okay, sure…if Paul doesn’t mind,” I said. Part of me hoped he’d say no way.
“He’s okay with it,” Sam said. “Right?” I thought Paul nodded, but it was practically imperceptible. He didn’t even talk well in sign language. I said goodbye to Sam as Paul finished his reps on the thigh machine and then I tried a smile again and said,
“I’m sorry that I upset you earlier. I’m not sure what I said—”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve got the bench next.”
“Okay…but I feel really bad that I upset you. Sometimes I say things without thinking—”
“I’m not upset,” he snapped. “Can we finish my work-out now?”
“Yeah, sure.” Yeah, right, he’s not upset. I wonder if asking what the hell I said to make him that way was too much to ask. What was up with this guy? We walked over to the weight bench and he sat down. I was about to ask how much weight he wanted me to put on. Before I asked him I heard a commotion at the door.
Victoria was working the desk that day and I heard her say, “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closing.” I looked over in time to see a big guy barrel his way past her. He came across the floor and right up on us. By the time he got there, Paul was already on his feet. I took a step back away from them just on instinct. I could tell by the look on Paul’s face that he wasn’t happy to see him.
“Where is she?” the big guy said. He was really angry that Paul apparently knew where “she” was and he didn’t.
I looked over at Victoria. She was on the phone. I hoped that she was calling the police. From the looks of the guy, he was spoiling for a fight.
“If she wanted you to know that, she’d tell you herself,” Paul said. I looked from the man who was really not attractive in the least to Paul and I almost felt bad for the guy. If the woman he was looking for was with Paul, there was probably no chance she was going back. I felt a strange and absolutely undeserved pang of jealousy toward the mystery woman.
The man stepped closer, almost right in Paul’s face. I saw Paul’s muscles tense and his hands flex at his sides but he didn’t flinch. He was getting ready for a fight. I hoped he was as good as everyone said he was because the other guy had him in the size department. I looked back at Victoria who was off the phone now and watching what was going on. There wasn’t anyone else left in the gym…thank goodness.
“You tell her…” the man started through gritted teeth.
“I’m not telling her shit. Besides the fact that she doesn’t want to hear anything you have to say, I’m not your fucking message boy.” That was when the man went from looking for a fight to starting one. I saw his fist come up and then I was dazzled by how quickly Paul reacted. He blocked the man’s fist with one arm and threw a punch of his own that landed square in the man’s gut. He doubled over and seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. Paul said, “Get the fuck out of here and stop looking for her. You mess with her and you’ll get a lot worse than that, you fat, miserable son of a bitch.” I saw Greg coming in the front door out of the corner of my eye. That must have been who Victoria called.
“Fuck you!” the other man said in a winded voice as he struggled back upright. He couldn’t leave well enough alone. He reached out and wrapped a beefy arm around Paul’s neck like he was pulling him into a one-armed hug. Paul twisted his body with amazing speed and took a step back. He made getting out of a choke hold look like a walk in the park. He moved so quickly, as a matter of fact, that the man barely noticed he’d pulled free before he was rewarded with a kick to the upper thigh, and as he started to drop, a right cross to the chin. He hit the mat on his knees and Greg said,
“I believe that you have been asked to leave.”
“You throw me out, you throw this son of a bitch out too,” the man said, barely able to talk.
“From what I heard, you started it. Paul’s a member here. You’re not. Besides, this is my gym and I can kick you out just because you’re ugly if I want to. Now get the fuck out. You’re not welcome back either. If I see you again I’ll call the police.” The man stumbled back up to his feet and pointed at Paul. He started to say something else but Greg said, “I can call them now if you like.” The man gave Paul another look…a warning look, maybe. Then he turned and walked toward the door, not nearly as straight and tall as he had been when he came in. When he got to the door he looked back over his shoulder and said,
“You’ll be sorry, asshole!”
I didn’t know if he was talking to Paul or Greg, but neither of them looked worried. Paul didn’t even look winded. The big guy might want to rethink who he was threatening.