Cardinal (4 page)

Carter
looks at me, intrigued.

“Hi,” I
offer.

He
flashes a white smile to match his surfer boy looks. “Hello.” He takes a step
toward me, then hollers over his shoulder. “Felix!”

I see a
guy with tan skin grab his red party cup and leave the side of the beer pong
table. He stands beside Carter. “What’s up?”

Carter
gestures toward me. “Did you know Pete had a sister?”

Felix
looks me over and one side of his mouth quirks up. “No.” He reaches for my hand.
“Mucho gusto.”

The tone
of his voice makes me blush. Is he really Spanish or is he pretending?  Lucky
for me I remember details – and Ms. Ciccone’s high school class.

“El gusto
es mio,” I say and bat my eyelashes.   There’s no harm in having a little fun.

Felix
looks impressed. Still holding my hand, he steps closer. “Quiero hacer el amor
contigo.”

I burst out laughing. “Maybe another time.”

“Okay!”  Pete puts both his hands on my
shoulders and steers me away from his friends. He pushes me toward the kitchen
while telling them, “That’s enough.”

“Hey!” I pout.

“We’ve been here two minutes,” he grumbles.

Pete lets go of my shoulders when we make it
into the kitchen. As he reaches for a cup, I ask, “Do your friends always ask
random girls to make love?”

“Just Felix,” he answers. “And, yes, that line
has worked way too many times.”

Pete gives me the cup in his hands, then passes
one to Jules. He gestures toward the counter. “Pick your poison.”

I walk over to scan the selections. Every type
of liquor is here, from high-end to low-brow. Some bottles are unopened and
brand new, while others are half-full or near empty. I decide to make a Kamikaze,
since a bottle of Grey Goose is right in front of me. I eyeball two shots of
vodka, add the triple sec and the lime juice, then take a drink.

So. Good.

Juliana tugs my arm. “We have to dance!”

I look at her over the edge of my cup. “We do?”

She nods. “Listen.”

I take another drink. The song is “Kiss” by
Prince. I agree. “We
so
have to dance.”

We leave my brother in the kitchen and head to
the makeshift dance floor. Once my feet hit the carpet I’m reminded that my
shoes are too small. I can feel the fabric under my toes because they hang off
the end. Regardless, I toss my purse on a nearby couch and follow Jules to
stand among the other girls dancing. We sing the lyrics in our high-pitched
Prince voices, stand back to back and rub up against one another, then turn
around to drink and dance at the same time. When the song ends, my Kamikaze is
gone.

“Need another?”

The voice in my ear sends a shiver down my
spine. The tone is rich and smooth, and my eyes jump to Juliana’s. Judging from
her expression, I know who is standing behind me.

Slowly, I turn and face Latson. He’s wearing a
plain white tee and dark jeans. The tattoos that run down his right arm I
recognize. It’s the way his shirt pulls across his chest and the pools of
melted chocolate for eyes that I don’t recall. His eyelashes rival my own in
length, and his hair is styled in the front but cut short on the sides.

Hello.

Despite his looks, he is still the guy that was
watching me dance in my skivvies. I clip my words. “I can get my own drink. But
thank you.”

He gives me half a smile, which reveals a
dimple. “Can you now?”

Holy perfect mouth. “Yes. I’m a bartender.”

He raises one eyebrow, then holds his hand out
toward the kitchen. “Then, by all means, help yourself.”

I give him a curt nod and walk away. I can feel
eyes following me, but I’m not sure they’re his. They could be Juliana’s,
wondering where I’m going. I make it to the edge of the living room, to the first
step, when my too-big toes for my too-small shoes catch on the carpet. I stumble.

Shit!

I right myself and resist the urge to look back.
I keep walking and pretend like it didn’t happen. Of course I would trip!

When I make it to the kitchen, I take my time
fixing my drink to shake it off.
The lighting in
the living room is
dim
, I rationalize. Chances are no one saw my grace-less exit.

With my cup full again, I head out to find
Jules. She’s half-dancing, half-talking to a girl I don’t know. As I make my
way over to them, someone grazes my elbow. I turn and find myself staring at
Latson.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m disappointed,” he says.

“Why?”

“Your moves.” He flashes a cocky grin. “Especially
that last one. They’re nowhere as good as what I saw this morning.”

Jackass!  He hasn’t earned the right to tease
me. I step closer to him and try to turn the tables. “That’s because what you
saw this morning is for private audiences only.” I look around the room. “This
is a public place.”

He looks surprised before I walk away. I make
sure to measure my steps so I won’t trip again. Successful and smiling, I make
it to Juliana, who introduces me to Gwen, a bartender who works with my brother.
She seems sweet, and the three of us spend the next hour talking, drinking, and
dancing.

Eventually, nature calls. “Guys,” I say. “I
need to use the bathroom. Where is it?”

“Down the – ahhhh!” Gwen laughs as Carter
swoops in behind her. He spins her around and then sets her on her feet. She
brushes her hair out of her face. “It’s down the hall on the left.”

“Got it.”

I weave my way through bodies until I reach the
hallway I spotted when we arrived. I’m surprised there isn’t line for the
bathroom. In fact, the hall is empty and all of the doors are closed. I head to
the left and open the first one I see. Whoops. That’s a closet. Gwen could have
been more specific, but, then again, she’s had a few shots. There is only one other
door to choose from, so I open it and step inside. I feel around for the light
switch and when I flip it, I’m not prepared for what I see.

Well.

This is unexpected.

I glance around the room.

Posters of something called Minecraft hang on
the walls. I’ve never heard of it, but the pictures make it look like some sort
of pixelated video game. A blue striped comforter covers a twin bed, and a small
entertainment stand holds a television and a gaming system. Cords snake across
the carpet to two controllers that lay next to a Nerf gun on the floor. The top
of the dresser is covered in action figures, and a small basketball hoop hangs
over one of the closet doors.

I blink. This is a kid’s bedroom.

Why does Latson have a kid’s bedroom?

I quickly turn off the light and step into the
hallway. I’m about to piss my pants. I decide to try the door across the hall. Where
there’s a bedroom there is usually a bathroom nearby. Lucky for me, I’m right. I
rush inside and close the door. Apparently Gwen can’t tell her right from her
left. I’m going to have to show her that trick where you make a letter L with
your left thumb and forefinger as a reminder.

When I head back to the living room, I spot
Juliana and she makes a face. “Where were you?”

“I told you I needed the bathroom.”

She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “The
bathroom for parties is over there.”

I look over her head. She’s pointing to the
hallway on the opposite side of the apartment.

“No one told me there was a designated toilet.”
My expression twists. “Gwen said ‘down the hall’ and I picked one.”

My brother comes up behind Jules. He hands her
a cup, wraps his arms around her waist, and sets his chin on her shoulder. He
looks at me. “Having fun?”

“If you forget about tripping in front of the
host and venturing into prohibited territory, then yes,” I say.

The music slows down and Juliana’s eyes get
that ‘I’m-buzzed-and-I-want-to-rub-up-on-my-boyfriend’ look. She turns around
in Pete’s arms and I decide I don’t need to watch them get cozy. More party
goers have the same idea as the two of them, so it’s easy to find a place to
sit. I wander over to an empty loveseat to wait out Ed Sheeran’s “Kiss Me”. As
the song plays I can’t stop my fingers from strumming invisible strings. I love
Ed. Hearing him makes me itch to pick up my guitar and play.

A pair of legs rounds the couch and I look up
as Latson sits down. He flashes a sexy smile in my direction and my heart stutters.

Damn it.
The last thing I need is to
be attracted to this guy.

He settles against the cushions all
confident-like and I cross my arms. He looks at me and I look at him until I
raise an eyebrow in question.

“You don’t dance to slow songs?” he asks.

“Only with the right person,” I respond.

“And where is he?”

I decide to mess with him. “How do you know he
isn’t a she?”

Latson smiles and shakes his head. “Is he a
she?”

I shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “Maybe they
should be. Good men are hard to find.”

Ain’t that the truth.

Latson’s eyes light up like he wants to say
something smart, but he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze darts to the hallway I just
explored. “Were you looking for one earlier?  A good man, I mean.”

He saw me?  I don’t want him to think I spy on
people like he does. “I got lost, I swear. Gwen gives bad directions.”

He laughs, then leans forward to rest his
elbows on his knees. This closes the distance between us and his leg ends up
pressed against mine. He shoots me another lethal smile. “Well, if you ever
want a private tour let me know.”

My mouth tries to fall open, but I catch it. I’m
sure he’s used this line on women before and I’m sure it’s worked. Especially
if he looked at their lips the way he looking at mine.

Before I can think of a witty comeback, a girl
wearing a tiny, form-fitting mini dress throws her body in his lap. I lean back
as she winds her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she coos. “Work ran
over.”

I take in her unnatural cranberry red hair and
six-inch high stilettos. Hmmm. Where does she work?

“Heidi.” Latson adjusts her weight on his legs.
“This is Jen.” He nods toward me. “Jen, Heidi.”

I assume Pete told him my name. I like the way
it sounds when he says it, but I don’t like that he used it to introduce me to his
girlfriend. He was just hitting on me. Are all the men I meet cheating pigs?

Heidi dismisses me with a flip of her hair and
turns her attention back to her man. She whispers in his ear, and I roll my
eyes and push myself off the couch. I take a few steps before Latson says,
“Wait.”

I turn to see him slide Heidi off his lap. She
looks pissed. He walks over to stand in front of me. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because I just got rid of a cheater.” I take
another step. “And I don’t plan on getting mixed up with another one.”

~~~~

The following afternoon I find myself thinking
about something I never considered before.

How to hurt Juliana.

Option number one: throat punch her. From the
arc trainer next to mine, she’s just the right height for my fist.

Option number two: pull the cord to her ear
buds. When they fall, they might tangle around her feet and slow her down.

Option number three –

“You’re doing great!”

Jules gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up and I
give her a weak smile in return. I can’t believe I let her talk me into going
to the gym. I’ve never worked out before and trying to keep up with her pace feels
like torture. When she introduced me to the arc trainer, she said the machine was
great for cardio. She said nothing about the possibility of a having a stroke. I
never run, and this machine is making me. Sweat runs down my forehead and down my
back; hell, it even runs between my boobs. I glance down at the workout top
Juliana made me borrow and frown at the growing stain. How is anything getting
down there?  The girls are pushed together so tight they look like I’ve had
plastic surgery.

Finally the machine beeps, letting me know it’s
time to cool down after forty-five minutes of insanity. I look at Juliana. She
fans herself and slows her steps. I slow down too, but my hands remain glued to
the machine. They’re sealed to the handles with a layer of sweat. I can’t let
go and keep moving. I’ll lose my balance for sure.

Once we’re finished I step off the arc on to
wobbly legs. I grab my water bottle and chug. Juliana takes out her ear buds. “How
do you feel?”

I swallow and wipe my mouth with the back of my
hand. “Like road kill.”

“Excellent!”  Juliana gives me an energetic
smile instead of sympathy. “Let’s give your legs a rest and work on arms.”

Oooo. Let’s.

We walk over to the free weights, which happen
to be stacked in front of floor to ceiling mirrors. Jules reaches for the five
pound weights and hands them to me. Then, she grabs the ten pound weights for
herself.

“Okay. Follow along in the mirror.”

I do as I’m told and the whole time I question
why. This hurts. As my biceps start to quiver, I assess my situation. I know
Jules wants a workout buddy, but I’m not sure I’m the best girl for the job. Sure,
there’s a little extra junk in the trunk I could stand to lose. But I’m not a
big fan of sweat. Or fatigue.

Or the cramp forming in my side.

I’m formulating a plan to break the news to
Juliana when a guy walks up and selects a set of heavier weights. He steps back
and places them on the ground, then reaches behind his head to stretch. The
bottom of his t-shirt rises, revealing the waistline of his gym shorts and that
deep V you read about in romance novels.

I miss a step following Jules. Holy abs, Batman.
I start to reconsider my stance on working out.

By the time we return our weights to the rack, thirty
minutes have passed. We’ve been at the gym for almost two hours; it has to be
time to leave. Excited by the idea of a hot shower, I consider skipping to the
locker room despite feeling tired. After I drain my water bottle, I ask, “Is it
time to go?”

“Almost.” Juliana starts to walk away. “There’s
another machine I want you to try.”

Argh!  “Are you trying to kill me?”

She laughs. “No. It’s one of my favorite
machines and it’s rare to find it unoccupied. Let’s go before someone claims
it.”

Her ponytail bobs as she power walks to a piece
of equipment in the corner. When we reach it I read the name: Hammer Strength
Leg Press. To me, it resembles something out of the middle ages.

“This one is great for your quads and glutes,”
she says. “You sit here.” She plants her ass in the seat. “Then, lean back.”

Juliana looks like she’s lying on the ground in
a chair that’s been tipped over. She raises her legs in the air. “You place
your feet here,” she sets her shoes against a rectangular black plate in front
of her, “and push.”

My hands land on my hips. “You look like you’re
at the gynecologist.”

“Ha!” She laughs before unlocking the machine
and completing two sets of ten reps. When she finishes, she pauses to breathe
before doing more.

“Your turn,” she says and slides out of the
seat.

Feeling wary, I trade places with her. I mimic
Juliana, and when I set my feet against the plate, my knees are a centimeter
from my chest. I’m crunched into a ball. I grab hold of the handles to unlock
the machine like she did, and the weight falls against me. I straighten my legs
to push it back up.

Holy hell this is heavy.

“Good!” Jules encourages me. “Try to do ten.”

I’m on number three when she looks up and gets
sidetracked. “Oh, there’s Carly from the salon. I need to see if she can switch
shifts with me. I’ll be right back.”

Yes!
  There’s no way I’m doing ten leg presses. Even
though I finished with the arc a while ago, my legs still feel like Jell-O. I
finish the fourth press, then let my knees fall against my chest to rest. This
is crazy. I look up and notice the weight of the plate is written next to my toe.
One hundred and ninety pounds. No wonder I can’t do this!

After I breathe for a couple of minutes, I push
against the plate to lift it so I can get out of the machine. It barely moves.

Oh no.

I try again, but my legs are so wasted I don’t
have the strength. Not even enough to push the weight an inch higher so I can
lock it into place and crawl out. I wait a second and try again. Nothing
happens, except my legs shake.

This is not happening.

I’m stuck.

I’m stuck in a Hammer Strength leg press!

I lay my head back and close my eyes. Okay. It’s
not a big deal. Juliana will be back in a minute and she’ll help me. I just
have to keep the weight from completely crushing my legs into my body. I can do
this.

I can do this.

I can do this.

The weight grows heavier against my feet, and my
thighs press uncomfortably against my ribs.

I can’t do this!

My heart starts to pound. I will be the first
person to be crushed to death in a leg press. I know it. It will make
headlines.

“Looks like you could use some help.”

Awww, hell. I know that voice.

I open one eye to find Latson standing over me.
“What makes you think so?” I wheeze.

“Your face is beet red.”

Shit.

Before I can ask, he steps forward and lifts
the weight off of my feet. I lock the handles into place and roll out on to the
ground. I don’t care that the floor of the gym is infested with germs. I don’t
care that I’m lying on my side in too tight workout clothes in front of a hot
guy. All I care about is the return of circulation to my legs.

Latson crouches down beside me. “Is it that
bad?  How long were you in there?”

I should lie and say an hour. “Only a few
minutes.”

He chuckles. “It’s a good thing I found you.”

“Are you stalking me?”

He smirks. “I joined this gym two years ago. No.”

I decide to sit up and he helps me by pulling
my wrist. Once I’m on my butt, I look at him. He’s wearing navy blue athletic
shorts and another plain white t-shirt. I grab the material with two fingers
and pull. “Don’t you own any other clothes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I see you you’re wearing a plain
white tee.”

He gives me the half smile with the dimple. “Sounds
like you’re the one stalking me.”

I fight the blush rising in my cheeks. “Pfffft.
In your dreams.”

He tries to help me stand, but I manage on my
own. As I brush my legs to get rid of any dirt, he asks, “Are you finished with
your work out?”