13. The Present
The Present
Carla
“Why dopeople always wear overalls when they’re painting?”
I look down at my ripped denim overalls and chuckle. “I don’t know. It’s what they wear in the movies.”
“We look too cute to work,” Mallory says. “Let’s do brunch instead.”
I dip the roller into the paint tray. “We can do brunch once our apartment is painted and decorated. We only have a few things left on our list.”
“You get way too excited about to-do lists.”
“You’ll thank me when we have a rockin’ apartment.”
“Oh, then we can have an apartment-warming party.”
“We have a tight two-bedroom apartment. How many people are we talking?”
She waves a hand. “Not a lot.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You’ll thank me when our bar is fully stocked from all the alcohol people bring us.”
“Fine. Now grab a paint brush and turn the volume up.”
For the next few hours, Mallory and I paint each room while gyrating our hips to the top club songs from the 90’s. Madonna, La Bouche, and Amber. I mixed in a little Blackstreet for good measure. Mallory loves my playlists and I love making them. We’re a match made in roommate heaven.
When 2:30 hits, I’m changing into my work clothes and fixing my hair. I swipe my lashes with mascara and dab on some lip gloss.
“I can’t believe you’re working for that hunk of a man.” Mallory sprawls out on my bed. “I bet you’re going to see him with his shirt off.”
“He’s my boss, Mal. I can’t be looking at him without his shirt on.”
“Work romances are hot. Does he have a desk?”
“Yes, and we will not be having sex on it.”
She grins. “Funny how you knew exactly where I was going with that one.”
“Goodbye, Mal.”
I walkinto the gym ten minutes early. It’s more crowded than it was last night. Several trainers are working with clients around the room and TJ’s in the ring with a middle-aged woman.
“You must be Carla.” The tall man behind the desk extends his hand. “I’m Roger. It’s nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand and smile. “You as well. Congrats on the baby.”
“Thanks. We’re hoping for a boy this time. Keep your fingers crossed for me.”
“Too much estrogen in your house?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” He gestures to the touch-screen register. “Let me show you how to work this thing before I leave.”
As I watch Roger navigate the computer, I take note of the stacks of papers covering the counter and form a mental to-do list. Filing system. Folders. Labels. My excitement grows when I think about taking a trip to Staples tonight.
“All right. I’ve got to get my girl off the bus. Take my number. You can call or text if you have any questions.”
I hand Roger my phone as TJ passes by, walking his client to the exit. Droplets of sweat run down his skin and I’m mesmerized by the way his muscles flex when he holds the door open. His damp hair sticks up in all directions, much like it did after we—no. Don’t think about that.
“TJ’s a great boss, and an even better friend,” Roger says, following my gaze.
“That so?”
“He’ll give you the shirt off his back if you need it. He’s a miracle worker. Really turns people’s lives around.” Roger hands my phone back to me. “See you tomorrow.” He strides toward the exit and fist-bumps TJ on his way out.
TJ leans his elbows onto the counter. “Happy First Day. How do you feel?”
“Great. Just have a few questions for you.”
He waves for me to follow him. “Step into my office.”
Once inside, TJ closes the door behind us. I’m lowering myself to sit when he tears his shirt up and over his head and tosses it onto his desk. He rubs a towel over his damp skin, masculinity and sex radiating off him.
I miss the chair by a fraction of an inch because my eyes are glued to the sculpted body in front of me. My ass bounces onto the floor with a thud.
And I’m mortified.
“Shit, you okay?” TJ offers me his hand but I swat it away.
“I’m fine. I … uh … have some ideas I want to … uh … run by you.”
“Only here for five minutes and you’ve already got ideas. I knew you’d be perfect for the job.”
I smooth my hands over my skirt and sit in the chair, making sure to keep my eyes trained on the floor. The desk. The ceiling. Anywhere but on TJ’s beautiful body. “Well, the … uh … the desk is a mess. I’d like to get some … uh … file folders and organize …”
“Carla.” TJ steps lowers his head until I look up at him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine … I just … can you please put a shirt on?”
A wide grin spreads across his face. Reaching into a gym bag that’s sitting on the floor, he pulls out a dry T-shirt and yanks it over his head. He sits on the corner of the desk, still wearing that smug grin. “That better?”
“You’re my boss. It’s unprofessional to see you without your clothes on.”
“It’s only unprofessional if you’re looking at me like that.”
My cheeks heat but I lift my chin, determined not to entertain this conversation. “I just wanted your permission to make things more efficient behind the front desk.”
“You have my permission to do whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you.” I nod and stand.
“Carla, I thought I told you to wear any kind of pants you wanted.”
I look down at my red pencil skirt and black kitten heels. The color of the skirt matches the gym’s logo on the T-shirt. “Is this not okay?”
“It’s totally fine. I like how you knotted the front of the shirt too. Just want to make sure you’re comfortable here. It’s a gym. You don’t have to be so … secretarial.”
“Maybe I like being secretarial.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
TJ’s steel gaze holds me captive. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Nope. I’m good.” I spin around and push against the door. I jiggle the knob and push harder, leaning into it with my hip.
“Pull, Carla.”
“Right. Pull.” I swing the door open and all but run out of the room. What the hell is wrong with me?
TJ’s busy with clients for the remainder of the day. The phone rings once, and the only “work” I have to do is greet everyone who walks in. Most of my time is spent separating the piles of paper into smaller, homogeneous piles.
At seven o’clock on the dot, TJ’s locking the front door.
I wave my arm Vanna White-style. “Look at all my piles.”
He leans over the desk and whistles.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and jingle my keys. “Well, I’m off to Staples.”
“That’s your big Friday night plan? Staples.”
I nod excitedly. “I’ll have your front desk running like a well-oiled machine in no time.”
“You’re buying stuff for the gym?”
“Nothing too crazy. Just need to get a home for these stacks of paper.”
TJ pulls keys out of his pocket. “Come on. I’ll drive.”
“Oh, you don’t have to come with me. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“Better than a wild night with office supplies? Pfft.”
I roll my eyes and walk around the desk. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Outside, I stop in front of TJ’s truck and groan. “Why don’t we take my car?”
He shakes his head. “I can drive.”
“Jury’s still out on that one.”
“I’m a very safe driver.”
“Says the guy who once tried to run me off the road.”
He raises three fingers in the air. “I’ll be careful with you in the car. Scout’s honor.”
Somehow, I doubt he was ever a Boy Scout. I step out of my shoes and toss them into the truck. I already fell on my ass in front of him once today—no need to make that twice. I lift my leg but my skirt doesn’t stretch enough to allow me to reach the step.
“Want some help, short stuff?”
The amused tone in his voice only irritates me further. “No. I’ve got this.”
I shimmy the hem of my skirt up my thighs, grip onto the handle, and swing myself into the seat. “And she sticks the landing.” I pump my fists into the air for effect.
TJ’s laughing as he jogs around to the driver’s side. Once we’re on our way, he turns to me and says, “So, tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What are you going to school for?”
“Accounting.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“I like numbers. Numbers never lie.”
“Have you always wanted to be an accountant?”
I shake my head and smile. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be an artist. A painter.”
“Do you still paint?”
“If you count the apartment walls, then yes.”
“Why not major in art?”
“Because I wouldn’t be able to do much with it. I need something practical. Something that pays the bills.”
“There’s more to life than paying bills, Carla.”
“They’re called starving artists for a reason. I need a steady income. Security.”
TJ’s quiet until we arrive. I can tell he doesn’t agree with me, but he doesn’t get what it’s like to struggle just to make ends meet.
TJ parks and hops out of his truck. He waits outside my door, holding out his hand. “Let me help you down.”
“You saw me get in. I’ve got this.” I swing my legs out the door.
“I just don’t want you to—”
Before he can finish his sentence, my heel slips off the metal step and I fall out of the truck.
TJ catches me, wrapping me in his muscular arms. His lips are in my direct line of vision once again, and his warm breath tickles my skin as he chuckles. “I’m starting to understand why you were called Clumsy Carla.”
I push out of his arms and straighten my skirt with a huff.
He kneels down to pick up my shoe and takes my ankle in his hand. Goosebumps spread like wildfire under his gentle touch, and I’m sure he notices.
“There ya go, Cinderella.” He examines my leg. “Are you hurt? You didn’t twist your ankle, did you?”
“Nothing but a bruised ego.”
He stands with a grin. “For the record, I tried to help you.”
“For the record, your truck is too high.”
“Don’t blame the truck.”
“I don’t. I blame the owner.” With a smirk, I whip around and strut toward the store. I can hear TJ chuckling behind me.
Inside, I drag TJ up and down each aisle, filling my cart with all the office essentials. Within ten minutes, we’re checked out and back in TJ’s truck.
“Have you ever tried New York pizza before?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
“Let’s go fix that.”
While he drives, I steal a glance at him form the corner of my eye. “Why do you have so many tattoos?”
“It’s addicting. I got one and kept wanting more.”
“Do they all mean something?”
“They do.”
“Why don’t you have any on your stomach?”
“Not every part of me is covered in ink.”
Like your perfectly round right butt cheek. I smile at the image that will be forever etched into my memory.
“You seem very intrigued by my tattoos. Do you have any?”
“Not one.”
“Didn’t think so.”
I hate that he’s right. “I’d get one if I found the right one.”
“Where would you get it?”
“Not sure. Somewhere I could hide it.”
“Why get one if you’re going to hide it?”
“What if I don’t like it in five years? What if it looks ugly when I get wrinkles? It’s just so … permanent.”
“Life’s about living in the moment. If you worry about the future too much, you won’t ever enjoy anything in the present.”
His words nestle into my brain as he pulls up to the pizzeria.
I grab a table and TJ places our order. My stomach growls as I inhale the scent of basil and garlic all around me.
TJ slides into the booth with two bottles of water. “So what did your parents think about you moving up here?”
“My dad just wanted to know that I’d lined up school and a job before I left. My mom’s the dramatic one. She’d keep me home with her forever if she could.”
TJ smiles. “Any siblings?”
“I was an only child up until the twins were born four years ago. My parents hadn’t planned on having another baby, let alone two at the same time.” I unlock my phone and hold it up so TJ can see a picture of Sam and Lucas climbing me like a jungle gym.
“You must miss them.”
“I do, but it feels good to be out on my own.”
A waitress arrives and places a large pie in between us. “Here you go, TJ. Can I get anything else for you?”
“No, thanks, Denise. We’re good for now.”
The waitress saunters away and TJ hands me the first slice. I bite into it, delicious melty cheese and sauce swirling together, and I close my eyes. Damn, that’s good.
“Tell me that’s not the best pizza you’ve ever tasted.”
“Best. Pizza. Ever.” I wipe the grease dripping down my chin. “What about your family? What are they like? Is your dad a fighter too?”
TJ shakes his head and swallows a bite of pizza. “Don’t have any family.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” That explains why there weren’t any pictures in his apartment. Now his whole demeanor has changed. Way to make it awkward, Carla. I bite into my pizza again while I figure out how to lighten the mood.
“Carla, look at me. It’s okay. I’m fine being on my own. I’m used to it.”
“You say it like it doesn’t hurt.”
“Everything hurts if you give it the power to. You can wallow in it, or you can grow from it and move on.”
I lean back, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re like one of those desk calendars that has an inspirational quote for every day of the week. People hate those things, you know.”
He chokes back a laugh. “You couldn’t hate me, Carla Evans. You don’t have it in you. You’re too good.”
“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
“Definitely a compliment.”
I squirm under his unwavering gaze. He looks at me as if he can see straight into my core, like all my truths are on display no matter how hard I try to hide them.
“And how did you get to be so wise?”
He smirks. “That’s another story for another day.”