Chapter Eight
Brady
I wake up on Saturday morning with Angie on the brain. And other places. The girl may be a bald-faced liar, but she’s a hot liar. And I’m going to see her today, preferably with a whole lot of skin revealed.
As predicted, the day dawns nice and hot and hazy.
The temperature has slowly climbed all week until it’s a hundred degrees on Friday and expected to be even hotter today.
Exactly what I had hoped for. Perfect weather for a pool party at my place.
I invited my study group and the handful of buddies I drink with and, of course, Angela Pines.
“I’ll pick you up at eleven,” I told her after class on Friday before she went home to get ready for work. She shrugged, playing it off like a pro and making me smile. I’ve always appreciated a girl who could drop-kick my ego.
When I pull up to her place on Saturday morning, I can’t suppress a grimace.
I’d hoped this place would look better in the daylight, but everything that looked rundown in the dark looks outright disgusting now.
To top it off, a fiftyish woman with stringy, grayish-blond hair and a square, fierce, heavily wrinkled face sits on a beach chair on the porch, her thighs squeezing out of a pair of spandex shorts and the strap of her stained tank top falling off her shoulder.
She takes a long drag of her cigarette as she watches me get out of the car.
A huge, drooling rottweiler stands next to her, a low growl rumbling in its throat.
“Hi.” I wave and smile.
“How ya doing?” she calls back in a lazy, scratchy voice.
Her eyes follow me until I get to the end of the driveway and the boxy garage that Angela calls home.
I knock on the door, looking around at the weeds growing through the cracked cement of the driveway and the tree branch practically resting on the roof of the garage.
I notice that someone has planted a small garden off to the side, with tomatoes ripening on the vines.
Geranium-filled window boxes hang beneath the two windows that face the driveway.
Something about that attempt to make this place look nice, that small sign of pride and optimism, feels like a sudden punch to my gut.
Don’t be a pussy, McDaniels , I chide myself.
“I’ll be right there!” Angela’s voice coming from inside snaps me out of it. A moment later, she’s opening the door as little as she can and squeezing out of it.
“You cooking up crack in there or something?” I say, trying to peer inside.
“Meth,” she volleys back, throwing a little bit of a smirk my way and closing the door firmly.
“You got that swimsuit?”
“Everything’s in here,” she says, holding up a canvas Museum of Modern Art tote bag.
Her hair is twisted into some elaborate braid that makes her look like the Victoria’s Secret version of a Midwest farm girl.
She’s wearing a strapless plaid dress that matches her hair and emphasizes her first-rate rack.
The classiest tattoo I’ve ever seen, finely etched gray lines forming a cluster of roses, covers her left shoulder.
Her lips are shiny and pink with some kind of lip-gloss stuff that reminds me of watermelon.
Eyes off the lips, McDaniels. And definitely off the rack.
“Let’s blow this joint, then,” I say, motioning toward my car.
“Bye, Lizette!” she calls as we pass the lady on the front porch.
“Bye, hon!” The woman waves back.
“That your landlady?” I ask when we’re in my car.
“Yeah.”
“Someone oughta tell her there’s like a dozen code violations in plain sight.”
“Wow. You’ve been paying attention in Property,” she says with a smile. “So who all’s going to be at this party?”
“Just a few people from our class,” I say.
“Cool.”
I steal a glance at her. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it right. “You look nice,” I say.
“Thanks,” she says, looking out the window. Huh. Okay. Try a little harder, man.
“I mean, like, really nice,” I say. This time she looks over at me, trying to tamp down a smile with her teeth.
“Oh yeah? Thanks.”
And for just a split second, I hear New York in the inflection of her words. Busted, Pines. I smile. This is going to be a very good day.
“Nice place,” says Angela when I show her inside my apartment.
Wish I could say the same for you, princess. “Thanks. You want anything? I got Guinness, other beers for the less-discerning guests, Coke. No sambuca, though. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m fine for now. Can I do anything?”
“I’m just going to bring some stuff down to the pool.”
“I’ll help.”
I hand her a bowl of watermelon.
“I carried a watermelon,” she says with a half-smile.
I stare at her. “Did you just make a Dirty Dancing reference, Pines?”
“I did, McDaniels.”
“Tell me it’s not your favorite movie.”
“It’s my favorite movie of all time. I can recite the entire script by heart.”
I shake my head slowly. “That’s sad, Pines. You’re killing me.”
“It’s a classic.”
I shake my head again and grab the burgers, steaks, and hot dogs. “I know your secret now,” I tell her as we head down to the pool. “You’re actually fifty.”
She laughs. “Not even close. Twenty-two. And by the way, how did you catch the reference if you’re such a modernist? Maybe you’re secretly fifty.”
“Nope. Twenty-five. I might have been forced to watch it a few times.”
“Ex-girlfriend?”
“Annoying little sister. So, what is your secret, if it’s not your age?”
“Who said I have a secret?” Her tone stays light, but I sense a note of tension that hadn’t been there before.
“Everyone’s got secrets.”
“I’m an open book, McDaniels.”
I snort a laugh, unable to hold it back. “Whatever you say.”
We carry the food down to the pool, and I leave her there while I go back upstairs for beer. By the time I return, a couple of people have shown up and are talking to Angela. I get music going on my wireless speakers, hand out beers, and get the grill fired up, and the party is underway.
The whole reason for this little shindig is to stake my claim and get things going with Angela.
That kind of happens, but not exactly as planned.
As more and more people show up—word has gotten out—she goes full-on hostess on my ass, taking care of food and drinks and never stopping long enough to get into a deep conversation with anyone, including me.
I manage to sling my arm around her and grab a selfie at one point, but that’s pretty much the extent of any contact.
Nevertheless, I see a lot of looks directed our way, and I do nothing to discourage the speculation.
Even better, she does most of the flame-fanning herself by acting like we’ve thrown this party together.
I suspect it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her not wanting anyone to try to get to know her.
Despite her earlier statement, I know for a fact that Angela Pines has a big-ass secret to keep.
“I’ve got to get going,” she says just as the sun is beginning to set. The party has turned into a full-on rager, drunk people everywhere, dancing and swimming. Good thing I invited the property manager. He’s wasted, too.
“You didn’t even get a chance to go in the pool.”
“I’d be too tired for work if I’d gone swimming.”
“You’re going to be tired anyway after running your ass around like crazy all day.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says and turns to head upstairs for her things. I grab her hand. She looks down at our hands and then up at me, but she doesn’t say anything. She also doesn’t pull away.
“When do I get to see you in that swimsuit?”
She smiles slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “You want to see me in my swimsuit?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?”
Her eyes take a nice, slow walk down my body. I’m wearing a T-shirt and board shorts, but I feel like she burned them off me with that look. I swallow.
“I have to go,” she says, her eyes returning to mine.
“What about tonight? When everyone else is gone? I’ll pick you up from work.”
“You want to go swimming in the middle of the night?”
“Yeah,” I say. “What do you think? You down?”
She looks at me for a long moment. I brush my thumb across the roses on her shoulder and feel the faintest tremor run through her body. “Down for just swimming,” she finally says.
“That’s what I said, right? Swimming.”
“I know what you said.”
“It’s also what I meant.” I mean, come on, I might be a total stalker asshole, but I’m still a gentleman. Kind of…I guess…
She looks at me for what feels like a long time.
“Okay,” she finally says. She withdraws her hand from mine and starts heading toward the exit.
“Wait up,” I say. “Hey, Caleb,” I call. “Take over the grill until I get back.”
“You got it.”
Angela shakes her head. “It’s cool, I can get an Uber.”
“Yeah, right, Pines. I dragged your ass here. I’ll take you to work.”
“Whatever you say, McDaniels,” she says with a shrug. We go upstairs, and I wait for her to change in the bathroom. When she comes out, the plaid sundress is gone, replaced by her green Finnegan’s T-shirt and a short denim skirt. She holds up her tote bag.
“I’ll leave my things here, okay?” she says.
Hell, yeah, it’s okay.
We’re both quiet on the short drive to her work. That’s normal for her but definitely uncharacteristic for me. I have Angie on the brain again. Angie in practically no clothes, in the pool with me at night. This is definitely a win-win situation.