CHAPTER TEN
DREW: Pizza, beer, baseball game. No complaining.
I laugh and type out a quick “fine” reply. With a finger jab to send I throw my phone back in my desk drawer. My best friend has been super nice since everything happened with Grant Saturday night.
He made up a believable excuse for me when I missed girls’ brunch. We spent the day in our pajamas watching baseball. He even let me eat both pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in the freezer. Monday he cooked dinner, a family sized dish of Stouffer’s macaroni and cheese. And now our Tuesday is apparently booked as well.
It’s not hard to see his plan to keep me as busy as possible so I won’t think about Grant or the fact he hasn’t called.
Or stopped by.
Or sent a text.
Not that I expected him to. There’s a reason I kept my history a secret, but a show of concern would be nice.
Drew’s idea is a good one, but it isn’t working, not that I have any plans to tell Drew that. Like most men, he wants to fix the problem, but he can’t fix the crap family where I was born.
Being dumped sucks. First by the father who chose money over me. Then a mother who picked drugs over me. And now a boyfriend who decides a contract is more important. It should be expected by this point.
I’m not sure you ever get used to always being second best. Good enough for a time, but never good enough for all time.
I should get a cat.
Name her Mittens.
And a friend for Mittens. I don’t want her to get lonely while I’m at work. I’d buy them one of those big scratchpad towers to lie on. The idea grows in my head and I consider sending Drew a text asking how he feels about Mittens. But hesitate at the last minute. This is one of those times when I need to ask for forgiveness later. After he’s held the kittens and bonded.
Images of kittens with cute balls of yarn and the hot uniformed firefighters who rescue them from trees fill my mind on the walk to the gym. A hot fireman with tattoos.
And of course Mittens would be adorable. She’d be mostly black with a smidge of white on her feet — hence the name — and a white ear too. Drew could not say no to Mittens. He’d buy her kitten treats and toys. The man’s a softy at heart.
Lost in thoughts of Mittens, I’m halfway down the hall before my brain registers the increased noise seeping from the gym doors. Teenager hoots and hollers echo off the hallway walls. My steps pick up until I run the rest of the way, fearful of what I’ll find at the end.
I should have never left them alone. They’re teenagers. Who knows what they do when the responsible older figure isn’t around. I remember those years and its scarier to think that now I’m the responsible figure.
We’re all doomed.
The gym door crashes against the wall, the metal bar slamming. The commotion from my entrance startles the room and sound stops. A group of tall similarly dressed teenagers between the ages of twelve to seventeen huddle in the middle of the room.
“What’s going on?” I use my best adult voice. Fake it until you make it, at least that’s what the band Seether taught me.
Travis, wearing one of the center hoodies we passed out at the Holiday party and a pair of ripped jeans, steps out from the crowd. “Miss C., this dude says he’s your boyfriend, but he dunks like an old man.”
The group of boys part and in the middle of their circle stands Grant holding a basketball to his chest. He smiles, but it’s a little more sheepish than I’ve ever seen before. Almost like he’s realizing right this very moment how bad of a decision this was. He’s toned down the preppy frat boy look today, but even in his dark jeans and a light green polo, he’s obviously out of place.
I have options on how to handle this, but only one comes to mind quickly enough. Sarcasm.
“That’s because he is an old man. Plus he wouldn’t want to scuff those pretty boy shoes he has on,” I don’t yell the words, but they’re loud enough to penetrate the group.
All eyes fall to Grant’s perfectly white tennis shoes. He probably picked them up on the way here since I’ve never seen him wear anything even close to tennis shoes. That and their impeccable whiteness — they haven’t gotten much street wear.
A chorus of “Ohhhh.” Comes from the crowd and a few boys pat Grant on the back in consolation.
“You’ve been owned, son,” Travis says to Grant laughing as he does so.
To the casual outsider it seems harsh, but I’ve done Grant a favor. Now hopefully they’ll treat him like one of the guys. A little razzing will help the group accept him. He should probably also work on his dunking skills.
Grant, apparently thinking he’s in the clear, dribbles the ball a few times and sets up a shot.
“Grant!” I yell at the exact moment he lets the ball glide from his fingertips. The shock makes his throw a complete air ball. “My office. Now!”
A new round of “Ohhhhhs” rings out in the gym, but this time I’m not concerned with sparing him.
Travis shakes his head patting Grant on the back. “You’re in trouble.”
I pull open the gym door not waiting for Grant, but the metal clinks again when he reaches it. I’m in my office by the time he makes it over the threshold.
Standing behind my desk I wait for him to take a seat in the chair, but he doesn’t. “You can’t be here.”
He leans against my desk both palms flat, getting into my face. “Why not?”
Not to be intimidated I cross my arms and lean into him. “Because I haven’t approved your paperwork.” What better excuse than he doesn’t have clearance? State law and all that.
He smirks, leaning back and settling into the chair. One leg crossed over the other, suddenly he’s a man at ease. “Yes, you did.”
I leaned further across the desk. “No I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. When I played soccer this spring you ran and approved everyone.”
My mouth falls open in irritation, and I remember back to the day I ran checks on everyone in the RDA gang. I scowl.
“I still have copies at home if you want me to bring them in for you to look over.”
“No,” I grind out. I’m required to keep copies. They’re somewhere in the filing cabinet in the back of my office. “Well… you’re not my boyfriend.”
Yes, it’s ridiculous. But who does he think he is, coming in here and getting my guys to like him?
His smile grows. “Were we dating? Because we certainly didn’t break up. So if you thought we were dating before,” he pauses and I give him time to think about his next words. “Then I guess we still are.”
Why does this man insist on antagonizing me? He always thinks he has to have the last word. It’s annoying.
“Why are you here?” I give up and sit in my chair.
Grant props one leg on the other. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he gets serious. “To apologize, beg for mercy, tell you what a moron I am.”
Well at least we agree on something. “Did you tell William?” I ask, worried about his answer.
I’m not worried William would hear the news and come looking for his daughter. I’m concerned because when Grant tells him I know he won’t get the reaction he wants. It will ruin the image Grant has of his long-time friend. Is it possible I’m more like my mother than I realize?
“Of course not, Clare. It’s not my story to tell.”
“Thank you.” We’re all saved from the soap opera that is my family. At least for today. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am to have that family fuck it up somehow. “So, what do we do now? I imagine you’ll see a lot of him.”
“I’ll work it out,” he says with authority. “You’ll never see him again.”
Is it possible? Would Grant choose me over his lifelong friend and business partner? I shouldn’t get happy over a ruined friendship, but a thrill rises up at the thought someone picked me.
“I’ll keep you far away from him for the length of the contract, and then when it’s over no more deals.”
I lean back in my chair shocked. This is what I get for thinking I’d be a first choice. “Didn’t you say it’s a five-year contract?”
Grant flinches and I hold out hope he sees how crazy this idea is.
“Clare,” he says my name sadly, but yet with a bit of reproach. Like I don’t know how the world works. “The terms of the contract are ironclad. There would be court battles, lost revenue, and two families absolutely torn apart.”
Once again I’m not worth the hassle. I sigh, tired with the whole thing and ready to finish this day and drink beer with Drew. Maybe his whole theory of baseball, pizza, and alcohol isn’t so far off.
“If you ever change your mind and decide you want to meet him, tell me.”
I make a dispirited noise over the fact Grant ever thinks I would change my mind about wanting to meet my sperm donor. “Yeah sure. I’ll keep you in the loop. Is that it then?”
“No.” He shakes his head like he expected my answer, but asked anyway. “I’m willing to do the work to win you over, Clare, but you need to fill out the comment card on occasion. Tell me how I’m doing.”
I actually laugh. “That is the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of you.”
“If you think that was nerdy you definitely can’t come to a guys’ night.”
“Oh? You’re having a guys’ night now?”
“Of course. Why should you girls get to have all the fun? It was our comic book store first.”
“I don’t think that’s the way Aspen and Marissa see it.”
Grant shrugs standing from the chair. “Am I forgiven? There are teenagers I need to school in the ways of basketball.”
He’ll need a ride to the ER later tonight, but I agree to it regardless. “Fine, but only if you promise to never discuss my father again.”
“Deal.” He reaches across the desk and shakes my hand. “Now what are you going to do about dinner tonight?”
“Dinner? I have to feed you?”
He laughs. “No I thought I’d feed you and Drew, but you should definitely decide on a place now or else he’ll have us eating at Giorgio’s again.”
I draw in a breath at his insinuation. “You did not bash Giorgio’s did you?” I follow Grant out into the hallway acting hurt. “I request it as much as he does.”
“Is this your way of telling me I need to get used to eating more Giorgio’s?”
“If you plan to be around.”
**
“When does Drew get home?” Grant asks leaning up against the counter in my kitchen.
He followed me home after work and hasn’t left. I’m not sure what to do. I’m confused because Grant’s back to his normal happy self. Like nothing happened between us and it hasn’t been two days since we’ve spoken.
How do men not realize that’s a big deal?
And to top it off he’s been great. I’d forgotten how much he makes me smile or laugh when he’s around. Plus the kids at the center genuinely like him. Grant spent the rest of the afternoon with me shooting basketballs with the kids and happily making a fool of himself.
It was nice… until it reminded me why I fell for Grant in the first place. That was annoying.
I close the refrigerator door not happy at any of our snack options. “No idea. He texted he had to stay late. A problem with the wedding arrangements or something. I don’t know the whole story.” His boss is planning the wedding of the century.
The next spot to check for food is the cupboard above Grant’s head. I push him out of the way and stand on my tip toes to check in the corners. If Drew found and hid the brownies I’d been hiding from him, he’s in major trouble.
“And your roommate upstairs?”
“Who knows? We never see him.”
“He doesn’t use the kitchen?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“And that doesn’t strike you as odd?” Grant scoots back into the space when I give up the search.
Damn Drew and his thieving hands. He probably ate all the brownies.
“No. It strikes me as awesome. He’s my favorite roommate.” He doesn’t steal brownies for one. “We’re one roommate short. Once someone moves in we’ll have to share the kitchen with them.”
“I haven’t had a roommate since college. It sounds fun.”
Only a rich person who isn’t forced to live with a roommate would think it sounds fun.
“Yeah, it sure is. If you find sharing public spaces with a person who steals your snacks and doesn’t wipe under the toilet every time fun, then yes you should try it.”
“The Moores have a family rule. We never pay rent only mortgages.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.” Does he hear the shit coming from his mouth?
“Me living in a hotel is driving my grandfather crazy.”
I stop the hunt for food and turn back to Grant. “You know, sometimes it’s easy to forget you’re rich, but then you open your mouth.”
He shrugs switching sides of the kitchen to lean against the other counter. “When are you going to show me your bedroom?” There’s a twinge in his voice making me think he’s not interested in my décor.
“And what are you planning to do in there?”
“Test the springiness of the bed.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s a valid concern,” Grant continues and I’m sure he buys the shit he’s trying to sell me.
“What if I am one of those girls with a bed full of stuffed animals? A big unicorn pillow right on top.”
“Will his beady little unicorn eyes watch me as I have sex with you?”
“Probably.”
“It’s okay. We can put him on the floor.”
“Oh no. You can’t put Mr. Sparkles on the floor.” It’s the most ridiculous name I can come up with in the time crunch.
Grant tilts his head to the side with a questioning look. “Do you have unicorn pillows in your room?”
I hit him on the shoulder and walk toward the hallway. “No, but what would you do if I did?”
“I told you. Throw them on the floor. Not even a room full of crazy animals would keep me away from you.”
I stop in of the middle of the hallway and turn back, my eyes bright with excitement. “What if I had a doll who looked like your mother?”
Grant shakes his head. “That was a Seinfeld episode and again we’d stick her in a closet,” he says laughing.