Chapter Eleven
The gym was better than I could’ve hoped for. It was stocked with brushes and blow-dryers and hair gel. I slicked my hair into a low ponytail to help alter yesterday’s look. With fresh lipstick and clean teeth, I don’t look half bad. I barely have the chance to set my purse on my desk when Kenneth bounds in, looking winded. He stares at me for a moment before opening his mouth to speak. “She laughed at the frog.”
The frog? That feels like light-years ago. And she probably laughed with delight, for God’s sake. She was giddy over the stupid thing. “Laughed with joy, I presume?”
“No.” His curt tone is like a slap, and I slink back into my chair. His eyes narrow. “I had to come up with a cockamamy story about how she’s had to kiss a lot of frogs before meeting her prince. It was drivel, but it worked. Lucky for you, I think fast. We can’t have any more screw-ups like this, are we clear?”
“Certainly.” How could Patty prank me like that? I’ve done nothing to her.
“I need you focused today. I’ve got a shitstorm brewing on Alvarez. If I don’t deal with it, I’m screwed.” His beady eyes bore into me. “I need you to put a memo together for potential witnesses for the Culpepper case including what information you think they may be able to provide.”
“Where do I—”
“The goddamn internet. Gather information. Fact find. It’s very simple.” Balling his hands into fists, he places them on his desk and leans forward. “Listen, Katie. You came highly recommended. I never agree to hire anyone without meeting him or her in person. Never. However, Steven and Thomas assured me there is no one better than you.”
I stare at him as I absorb his words. Steven and Thomas know very little about me. My interview was nothing compared to the elaborate set of meetings I had at Bradshaw, Burke and Doyle, and I had already interned for them. The truth of it sinks in slowly and painfully, like the first stab of a syringe of novocaine sinking into my tender gum, yet there’s no numbing relief. Only the throbbing truth: my mom got me the job.
Deep in my gut I knew, but I had done an excellent job of convincing myself otherwise. Angry tears threaten, but I refuse to let them fall. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“Look, I’m not asking for miracles with this case, but I want to see something close. Take initiative. This is your opportunity to prove yourself. Wow me,” he says, waving his hands around his head.
“Certainly.”
“By the way, I received the article. I’ll review it this morning. Thank you for getting it to me before nine.” As he walks out, I stare at the door, my mind racing. So he meant nine a.m. after all. Part of me wants to punch a hole in the wall. Before I started kickboxing, I never had the urge to punch anything. Now it seems like a solution for everything. Like Patty, for example. I didn’t peg her as the type to play mean practical jokes, and now I want to punch her, too, but then I’d probably get fired, and Capwell women don’t get fired.
As I step into the gym, a feeling of relief washes through me. Or maybe it’s adrenaline. I can finally punch something. I drop my bag near the cubbies and look up to see Ryan standing behind Jasmine’s desk chair where she’s seated. He’s massaging her shoulders. And smiling.
Pulling my water from my bag, I take a swig. Ugh. It shouldn’t bother me that he’s touching her.
As I recap my water bottle, he pads over. “Hey, Katie! You ready to get after it?”
“Yep. I’ve had a bulletproof coffee and a triple-shot cappuccino today, so I’m more than ready.” Or you can massage my shoulders like you just did for Jazzie.
“Damn. Is that normal for you?”
“Long night.”
With a nod, he takes my wraps and moves them back to my bag. “Let’s warm up with a run.” He glances at my legs. “How are those bruises?”
The greenish marks peek out from beneath my black leggings. I tug at the fabric to reveal the splotches. “They’re not so bad.”
He smooths a finger over my left shin. “That doesn’t hurt? It’s raised.”
“It’s fine.” I glance at the door, trying to ignore the chill bumps that his touch sparked. Can he see them? Does he know that the slightest contact with him sends shivers through me?
“You’re a tough one. Okay, let’s hit it.”
I follow him across the gym, and he pauses by Jasmine’s desk and picks up a takeaway cup, eyeing the purple contents suspiciously. “What the hell is this? Are you waiting for this to age before drinking it?”
“Put it back! I’m saving it as evidence in case I keel over one day.”
“What, are you allergic to acai?”
“No, jackass. The freaky computer dude brought it for me. He said he couldn’t reach me and decided I was busy, so he brought me lunch.” She waves a hand at the cup. “For all I know it could be poisoned.”
Ryan straightens. “Seriously?”
“Well, no, but he’s gone from annoying to a legitimate pain in my ass. I told him it wasn’t cool for him to just drop by—that this is a business. I’m hoping that’ll keep him away. If he comes back, you and Javier can deal with him.”
“You got it. I don’t like that he’s bugging you.”
“That makes two of us.” She turns back to her work, her brow furrowed and jaw tight. For the first time since I’ve known her, she looks vulnerable.
When we near the door, I say, “I hope that guy leaves her alone. She looks worried.”
He holds it open for me. “I have a feeling he won’t come back. Jazzie’s a no-bullshit kind of girl. I’m sure she made it clear to stay away.”
I step out onto the turf area. It’s big but certainly nothing like a track. We’d have to run in tight circles. “It’s a little small to jog here, isn’t it?”
He levels his gaze at me. “Yes, it is. That’s why we’re running out there. Into the night.” He grins and moves to the gate. “Follow me.”
No need to ask twice. He has the ability to make a warm-up exercise feel like an adventure.
“Let’s head up the hill so we get the tough part out of the way first.”
The cool evening air swirls against my face, invigorating me. Ryan and I run side by side in silence, our bodies gradually moving in sync. The repetitive sound of our shoes hitting the pavement is soothing, like a metronome keeping time.
After a block and a half, he says, “You have good pacing. Do you run often?”
“Often enough, and I ran cross-country back in high school.”
“You have a lot of medals and trophies in a closet somewhere, don’t you?” His elbow touches my arm as we veer up the hill, and I stay close, willing it to happen again.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe, my ass. I see how competitive you are.” He tilts his head toward mine. “So why the long night? Work or fun?”
I consider giving him a nonresponse loaded with innuendo to make him wonder, the same way he made me wonder about his salsa dancing, but he’d probably see right through me. “Work. I’m not sure I know what fun is anymore.”
“This is fun.”
I smile in spite of myself. “Yes, it is. You’re lucky to have such a fun job.”
“I’d say you’re pretty lucky to be an attorney. It’s impressive. Did you always know it’s what you wanted?”
“My mom is an attorney, so it seemed like a natural choice. And I like the idea of helping people.”
“We have that in common.”
“It’s funny, when I was a little girl, I remember watching commercials that showed these tragic little kids, and for only pennies a day, you could feed a child. I wrote down the number and convinced my grandma to let me use my allowance to feed two kids.”
“That’s really sweet. When I was a kid, I was pegging my sisters with Nerf gun darts or wrestling with my brother.” He laughs. “Although I did spend some of my time doing less derelict things. I learned to draw.”
“Really? What’d you draw?”
“All kinds of stuff.” He holds an arm in front of him. “I drew these.”
I grab a look. “Your tattoos?”
“Yep.”
My labored breathing prevents me from responding immediately. When I get enough air, I say, “I had no idea. Your angel… She’s stunning. It’s hard not to stare at that one.” My face grows hotter with the realization that I’ve admitted to checking him out. “I don’t mean I stare—”
“I get what you mean.” There’s a smile in his voice that eases away my embarrassment. “I like looking at my arms, too.”
I choke out a laugh. “No self-esteem issues with you.”
“Not a one.” He motions to the block ahead. “We’ll turn there.”
Seconds later, we’re heading down the hill. As a runner, I know it’s important not to sprint down hills because it can mess up your shins and knees. But the desire is there, urging me to run full speed with the wind in my face and my hair flying out behind me. It’s enticing, but I hold back.
We reach the bottom of the hill and turn the corner. Too soon, Ryan’s pulling open the gate back to reality.
Inside, he takes my wraps from where they sit on the bench and begins unrolling them. “Hold out your hand.”
“You don’t have to wrap them. I can do it.”
“I know.” He smiles as he takes my hand. “So can I.”
I stretch my fingers apart as he begins to weave the fabric through them. Does he enjoy this as much as I do? His gentle touch soothes me. It’s like having someone else brush my hair. As he tucks in the end of the wrap, I notice a tattoo on the side of his pointer finger that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s the word “relentless,” etched in a tiny font that looks like barbed wire. It makes me think of clawing to the top, ignoring pain or obstacles. I want to ask about the stories hidden in all his ink, but I won’t. Instead, I blurt, “Did it hurt?”
“Huh?”
“Getting all the tattoos?” The thought alone makes me cringe. “Stupid question. It must’ve.”
He finishes my right hand and fastens the Velcro on my gloves with a squeeze. “You’re funny. The worst was my hands, but you forget pain. It doesn’t stay with you.”
Some does. The thought is so automatic it startles me. But what if I could forget the pain of losing my dad and hang on to only the good memories? My eyes blur, but I smile and say, “You’re such a badass.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“Hard not to,” I murmur.
“What’s that?”
But I can’t repeat it. I’ve already said enough today. “Nothing.”
His gaze rests on me for a second before he says, “All right. Time for some bag work.”
Phew. It’ll be easier to face off with the bag than Ryan. I step into fighting stance.
“Keep your arms up. I want you to get in the habit of always protecting your face, even though the bag won’t hit back.”
I nod and square off. My punches stop shorter than when I hit the pads. I shift and go in for another, but it feels wrong.
“Try again, and stop with your arm extended.”
Doing what he says, I end with my glove touching the bag. Before I can turn to ask what’s next, his hands are on my shoulders. “Keep these down.” His words land on my neck, his breath cool against my warm skin. “You need to keep your shoulders relaxed and loose, the same way you do when hitting the pads.”
As he slides his hands away, I wriggle my arms, trying to loosen up, but the memory of his touch lingers on my shoulders. I blink and focus on the bag in front of me. As soon as I throw the first punch, I know it’s robotic and wrong. I huff out a breath and try again, but all I can feel are Ryan’s eyes on me. Do I have a huge circle of sweat on my back? Or is he too busy focusing on my technique to notice?
“Stop for a second?” He reaches a hand to slow the swinging bag.
I turn to face him, my arms hanging by my sides. He lifts my right hand and rips my glove open, tossing it to the floor. He repeats the action with my left. Before I can ask what he has planned, he grabs my hand and steps back. I follow automatically, not wanting to fall. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you how to get out of your head and move.” He takes my other hand and pulls me close, then quickly extends his arms, pushing me back. He’s dancing with me. “Relax and follow my lead. Close your eyes if it helps. I won’t let you fall.”
The exhaustion fades, replaced by screaming adrenaline. His words ring in my ears. I won’t let you fall. I’m not sure he can stop me. Everything he does is making me fall. I shut my eyes, but they spring back open when he twirls me.
“You’ve never done any cowboy swing dancing?”
I shake my head as his hand circles my waist. “No. You have, though.”
“Don’t tell anyone.” A mischievous grin lights his face, and he grips me tighter, more assuredly, as though now that his secret is out, he’s free to show me how good he is. Our bodies are in perfect rhythm. I don’t think; I just follow his lead, trusting him so easily my heart flutters. I want to bottle this moment, save it, treasure it.
He spins me, holding to the tips of my fingers with a touch that sends chills down my arms before they spark in my chest, making me feel like I could light up an entire town. He dips me, then swings me back up so our faces are only inches apart. My breath catches somewhere in my chest, and time stops. His eyes are magnets, drawing me in, hypnotizing me. I bite my lip, wondering, wanting…
But he steps back. “That’s how you get out of your head,” he says in a low voice. “Trust yourself to get after that bag the way you trusted me just now.”
I nod, keeping my eyes on his. God, does he realize how captivating he is? Maybe I don’t want to know. It’s possible he acts this way around every girl, honing his powers of enchantment to use when he’s with someone he’s actually attracted to.
He passes my gloves to me one at a time. After they’re both on, he tightens the Velcro, running a hand around it to make sure it’s secure. It’s a natural move, but if I didn’t have gloves separating the space between us, it’d feel like a caress. He dips his head, making sure I’m looking him in the eye, and says, “You’ve got this, Katie. Five minutes and you’re done.”
My first punch is solid, causing the bag to drift from me. As it swings back, I meet it with a quick left hook followed by a right cross.
“That’s it! Follow that bag, and keep those arms up.”
I hear his words of encouragement, but they aren’t the reason I’m attacking the bag with everything I have. I’m pounding thoughts out of my head. He’s not my type. He’s a player. But the memory of his breath on my neck and his hands on my body as we danced begs me to think otherwise.
My punches become slow and sloppy as the energy seeps from me. My lungs scream for air, and I stop, dropping my hands to my hips as I try to catch my breath. Sweat drips into my eyes, along my nose, and makes a path down the center of my shirt.
“One more minute, Katie! Bang it out with nonstop punches. Jab, cross, jab, cross. You’ve got this!”
I glance at him with burning eyes. “I hate you right now.”
He turns to pick up his water bottle. “Hard to believe it when you’re smiling,” he says quietly, his voice teasing.
“I’m not smiling. That was a glare.” I drag my arms into position. “I might pretend you’re the bag.” Using the last reserves of energy I can muster, I fire off punches. One, two, one, two, one, two… When he tells me I can quit, I whack the bag with a final cross that causes it to swing out.
Ryan stops the bag with a slap. “Nicely done. You killed it with that last one.” He steps back. “And look at that. You’re still smiling.”
“It’s because we’re done. Finally. That was tough today.” I tug my gloves from my hands and tuck them under my arm. “So I’m guessing you really do salsa dancing. I thought you were joking.”
“I was. The only reason I know how to swing dance is because my sister forced me to be her partner.” He winks.
“Oh.” Questions race through my mind, but I can’t ask. I’d only sound nosy.
His phone lights up in his pocket, and he reaches for it, checking the number. “Speaking of salsa dancing, I need to take this. Good job today, Katie.”
“Thanks.”
He turns and answers. “Monique! What’s up?”
After setting my gloves on the bench, I begin to unravel the wraps from my hand, taking my time to reroll them as I go. Taking my time so I can eavesdrop.
“Is your friend on for tomorrow night?”
There’s a pause, and I wonder who Monique is. Probably some girl he’s dating.
“You got it. The Shell Room at seven thirty. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
I ball the wrap in my hand and hurry to the cubbies. What the hell is the Shell Room? A bar? And Monique must be a friend who’s setting him up with someone. Like he needs any help.
He clearly has lots of female “friends” and is always on the lookout for more. I swing my bag to my shoulder and duck out the door. The Shell Room grows bigger in my mind, and all I see is Ryan surrounded by beautiful women dressed in mermaid costumes.
Lauren sits on the sofa, her bare feet resting on a beach towel that’s draped across the coffee table. Tissue is looped between each toe, her nails a nice shade of plum. Bridget Jones’s Baby is on TV. “Hey, it’s just starting. Come join me. I have a pizza baking. Feel free to paint your nails if you’d like. I have a pretty blue, too, if you feel like going funkier.”
“Thanks.”
“How was the gym? Are you enjoying it now?”
I flop onto the opposite side of the sofa. “Too much. I think I’m falling for my trainer.”
Her eyes widen, and she reaches for the remote to pause the movie. “Are you serious?”
“Sadly, yes. It’s stupid on my part, because I’m pretty sure he has more than a few girlfriends. I just…I just need to know how to stop liking him. How do I do that?”
“Short of hypnosis, you’re out of luck.” She smiles as I start to protest. “I’m kidding. Do you think it’s possible you’ve developed feelings for him because he’s already dating someone, and there’s no chance anything can happen?”
“Seriously?”
“Possibly. It could be a self-preservation thing. Maybe your trainer is a distraction for now. A safe one.”
“Maybe. But he’s so…” I press my lips together, trying to sum Ryan up in a word. “He’s captivating.” I sigh. “But even if he isn’t a player, our worlds are way too different. I could never date someone like him. Just the thought of my mother’s reaction is enough to keep me away.”
“Well, at the end of the day, a crush on a new guy isn’t so bad, even if you can’t act on it. Just be open to other guys you meet, too. It’ll happen.”
I look to the screen. “If Bridget Jones can take her time, so can I.”
“That’s right. Go change and come back so we can watch.” The kitchen timer dings and she stands. “The pizza will be just the right temperature when you’re done.”
“This is totally what I need. A chick flick, pizza, and a pedicure.”
“It’s all any of us need sometimes.”