7. Ro
Ihung the pump back in the slot and wiped the sweat off my forehead. The weather was as hot as Hades. I tapped on the hood of Mr. Bigstaff’s car, sending him off with a jaunty salute like a pirate captain. Time to head inside to the cool of the store. We’d only had a trickle of customers this morning. Just the way I liked it. Slow days gave me more crochet time, and I was still struggling with my potato-like owls.
On my way to the counter, I grabbed a snack from the shelves. There was something satisfying about the doughy-sugar-fest only a Twinkie could provide, and today, I needed the buzz. I headed behind the counter and brought out my crochet bag.
“Rowena.” A silky voice rolled over me. Mrs. Flubbergeist. My boss hovered in the aisle, her long, red talons gripping the shelf. “Can you hold the fort for a while? Bertie and I have some vital stocktaking to attend to.” Her eyes flashed with something that didn’t involve counting bags of chips, and the corners of my mouth lifted.
Knowing the town’s suspicions about their “adult” acting past, the two of them had done nothing to lead me to a different conclusion. In fact, they spent a worrying amount of time locked in each other’s arms amongst the magazines and chocolate bars. And really, who soundproofed their stockroom with egg boxes?
“That’s fine,” I said, giving her a cheery wave. I was better left out of whatever happened in that storeroom. She grinned and turned away with a jangle of gold bracelets. Her teased bottle blonde hair didn’t move as if she wore a helmet of peroxide and hairspray.
I picked up my daddy potato owl and contemplated unwinding his yarn. Again. Why was this project such a struggle?
Probably because I couldn’t keep my brain off Brody.
Almost every waking thought involved my brother’s best friend and how to avoid him. Because I couldn’t keep my mind above his neck, steering clear was basic self-preservation. But the whole avoiding him thing wasn’t going too well.
At Gran’s pot roast feast, I’d complained of a headache and gone to bed early. I don’t know why I bothered. I’d spent most of the evening listening for signs that Brody was in residence below me.
Twice, I’d walked in on him in the bathroom when I popped in to replace some towels and refill the hand soap. He’d been brushing his teeth the first time - nothing too controversial there. But the second time, he’d exited the shower just as I opened the door. Only quick reactions and a dripping curtain saved my getting to know him a whole lot better.
I’d spent way more time at work than necessary, too. Had even offered to help at the Heavy Petting Zoo just to stay out of the house. The owner was light on staff and offered me a try-out shift. Unfortunately, I gave what I thought were feed pellets to an overweight raccoon. It turned out to be bedding material for the mice, and one sizable vet bill later, I was officially “let go” before my new career even started.
I unwrapped the Twinkie and took a bite. As I chewed, I leaned over the owl to work out what I was doing wrong when a rude clank made me jump out of my skin.
I lifted my head to see Brody Flockhart’s grinning face, along with a smart green bag he’d dropped on the counter. I hadn’t even heard him come in. “Holy crap! You don’t believe in subtle entrances, do you?”
His eyes flashed, and he curled a brow. Damn! Why had I used the word “entrances?” Now, anything that followed would be weird.
“I got you something.”
I glanced down at the counter. “A bag? You shouldn’t have.” It was a snippy comment, but honestly, he’d almost given me a heart attack. Surely, the shock warranted some penalty.
“Open it,” he said, gesturing to the zipper lying temptingly close to my fingertips.
With an eye roll any teenager would be proud of, I set down the owl and gripped the metal slider, dragging it over the teeth. Brody leaned in closer, his face glowing like a kid on Christmas morning. I nudged the bag open. A pair of skates nestled inside, not like Mom’s, though. These had no ankle, no high-top, and they didn’t have the sparkle stickers or the rainbows I’d painted on last year. They were black and white with efficient stitching. These were sneakers on wheels, and they meant business.
“They’re derby skates. For you,” he said, dimples popping.
“For me? I…I…” I looked up into Brody’s beautiful blue eyes. They burned with excitement. “I can’t take these.”
He scowled, the resulting line on his forehead briefly marring its smooth perfection. “Why not?”
Did I need to go into detail? Explain that accepting a gift from him meant he’d have some sort of power over me? That I’d owe him something in return? Of course, he’d never collect. Wouldn’t expect anything from me. Still, I didn’t like the churn in my gut at the thought of being in his debt. In anyone’s debt, for that matter.
“It’s so kind of you, it really is, but I can’t go around accepting skates from single men. People will talk.” I gave him a glib smile, hoping he’d see the humor I was aiming for. It was my usual go-to defense mechanism.
Brody scoffed. “Ro, this is hardly Victorian times. I’d think handsome men delivering presents to your door would fit perfectly with your heartbreaker status. Plus, it’s only a pair of skates.”
They didn’t look like a pair of “only skates.” Their leather screamed quality and as I picked one up and tested the wheel with my index finger, there was no friction to lessen its slick rotation. I let out a breath. Man, they would have cost him a bomb. The idea of at least trying them out on the carpet, of course, had my lips bowing.
“But I didn’t say I would try out for the derby team. Spitz Hollow is so far away, and I’d have to go incognito on account of my Tuft Swallow-ness.”
A sulky pout took up residence on Brody’s lips. He gave me pure puppy-dog eyes, and my resolve wavered a little. He should add “a talent for guilt-tripping” to his Hockey Card statistics. I tutted and returned the skate to the bag.
“I’m gonna take my break now,” I called out into the shop, aware that the Flubbergeists wouldn’t hear me in the egg-box-lined store room.
The dazzling grin from a minute ago reappeared on Brody’s face, and he watched me as I shouldered the bag and came out from behind the counter. “Wait for me outside,” I said, holding the door open for him. “Raspberry or cola?”
One of his brows tipped heavenward.
“Slushie flavor. It’s hot.”
“Raspberry,” he said before I pushed him outside and gently closed the door on him. I didn’t need him to see how fast my chest was moving. Brody backed outside and took a seat at the old wooden picnic table that sometimes served as my office. A huge plaster model of a tufted titmouse dwarfed the bench. It was one of the town’s most famous feathered residents.
From the slushie machine, I had a bird”s-eye view through the window. Brody’s giant biceps fired as he settled onto the wooden planks. The bulk of his muscle cast a shadow on the table to rival a solar eclipse and he’d styled his fair hair in a scruffy “I didn’t spend twenty minutes in front of the mirror” kind of way. I chewed at my bottom lip as I ran my eyes over his jeans. They hugged the bulk of his thighs like their life depended on it. Oh, yes, Brody had it going on today.
When I’d finished pouring slushies, I gripped the flimsy cups and pushed the door open with my shoulder.
Brody was looking into the slightly crazed face of the plaster bird as I approached.
“This thing worries me.”
With its orange eyes, it did have a touch of the “undead” about it.
“I feel like it’s gonna take a chunk out of me at any second.”
I giggled, putting the drinks down on the tabletop. I stepped one leg over the bench. If I left the other one free, I had a quick means of escape should I get too jittery to feign disinterest in Brody’s presence. I slipped the bag”s handles off my shoulder and placed the skates alongside the cups.
“So, are you in?” he asked, tipping his chin at the bag. “The derby? They’re your size.”
Electricity prickled at my fingertips, and I couldn’t help but reach over and peek inside again. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I’m ready to deal with the ostracism.”
“What do you mean?”
I took out one skate and cradled it in my lap. “If I represent Spitz Hollow, even if it’s only for roller derby, nobody here would ever talk to me again.”
Brody scowled and shifted on the bench, the vibration of the movement hitting me right between my legs. “Tuft Swallow doesn’t have their own team. It makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t have to. The rivalry goes back generations, you know that. The residents would drum me out of town. Mark me with a letter ‘T’ for traitor.”
Brody ran a finger down the outside of the slushie cup, leaving a line in the drops of condensation clustered there. And did I imagine that finger running along something else more pleasing? You bet I did.
“Come on. It’ll be fun,” he said.
I didn’t disagree, but I was pretty sure we weren’t talking about the same thing.
“What do you have to lose?”
I huffed, then took a pull on the straw of my drink. “Just my head, my teeth, my dignity, and my social standing in the Tuft Swallow community.”
He scoffed. “What social standing do you have? You’re already earmarked as a scarlet woman.”
“Well...” Think, Ro, think. “I’m captain of the cornhole cheer squad.” At my words, Brody laughed. “Hey, it’s an important job. And then there’s the responsibility of playing a literal icon at Christmas each year. I’m always cast as the Virgin Mary in the nativity play. Not everyone has what it takes to carry off a realistic immaculate conception.”
Brody’s shoulders shook, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes grew deeper.
“What’s so funny?”
Eventually, he recovered himself enough to drag out some words. “I know they say you should watch out for the quiet ones, but crochet and cornhole? Cheerleading and community theater? You’re not leaving me much to work with.”
I scowled. At least, I hoped I did. I wanted him to see how much I didn’t appreciate his mockery. “I’ll have you know, some folks don’t consider me boring. Besides, I can be wild.”
His eyebrows lifted, and his lips settled into a smirk. “Really?”
My blood simmered, and I fought the impulse to stamp my foot. “Yes! I’ve had sex with almost strangers.”
His eyes widened, but his stubborn smile remained. “You have?”
“Yes. Twice.”
As the glee danced in his eyes, I swear my insides curled up and died.
“Just twice?”
I leveled a glare at him. “I suppose you’ve had lots of sex with people you’ve only just met, Mr. Bigshot.”
Brody ground out a laugh. “Perhaps more than twice.”
A twinge tugged at my gut, and I swallowed away a nasty taste. I had no right to be jealous. No matter how much my body disagreed, I shouldn’t be thinking about Brody in anything other than a sisterly way.
I played with the thin lace of the skate in my lap and dared a glance at him. His eyes were still full on me, the corners of his mouth wearing little indents where they turned up.
“You’re too cute,” he said.
Instead of pleasing me, his words heated my blood to a simmer. How patronizing. “I’m not cute. I’m kick-ass.”
“Prove it,” he said, giving the table a gentle slap. “Try out for the derby team.”
A fizzing bubbled up my chest. “I already have a lot going on.” Did I really expect him to believe that? We’d spent almost a week in the same house. He’d know I had the social presence of a hermit crab.
“Come on, Ro. Get out of your comfort zone. Live a little.”
The wink he gave me put my back up even more. Ramrod straight.
“Me get out of my comfort zone? What about you?”
“What about me?” he countered, holding his palms up as if pleading his innocence.
“You’re cruising, Brody. Since your return, people can’t do enough for you.” I put on a comical voice. “Oh, Flock, you’re amazing. Oh, Flock, can I name my firstborn after you? Oh, Flock, please give me your babies. You’re like the prodigal son on steroids.”
He let out a roar of laughter, and the pure joy on his face drew me in closer. “I agree, none of that sounds too uncomfortable, particularly the babies part.”
I mulled over his casual attitude. The way he expected me to go out on a limb with little inconvenience to himself. I mean, I’d halfway talked myself into trying out already, but his cocky grin and the arrogant turn of his jaw made me see crimson. “Okay, buddy, here’s what’s gonna happen. If I’m going to try out for the derby team, you have to do something for me in return.”
He chewed on the edge of his lip, and something flickered in his eyes. “Okay. I’m listening.”
I nodded once. “If I try out for the Spitz Hollow Scalpers, you have to learn to crochet.”
The corners of Brody’s mouth twitched anew, and my toes curled in my Chucks. Damn, those lips of his.
“I’m sure I can learn a few stitches,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head. “It can’t be that hard.”
Little did he know. “Don’t be so sure. Holding a fine hook is a little different from holding a hockey stick. Can those big, manly hands cope?” I cocked an eyebrow at his substantial paws. Wait, was I flirting?
“I think I can handle it,” he said, his voice a little tighter than before.
“Not just a few stitches. You actually have to make something. Something difficult. In fact,” I said, glancing at my own much daintier hands, “I need new gloves. If I try out for the derby team, you have to learn crochet and then make a pair for me.”
I could almost hear the cogs in his head whirring as he weighed up whether he’d take the challenge. “In two colors,” I added. No harm in upping the ante.
Brody placed an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his upturned palm. “Just the two?”
“Harder than it looks.”
After the longest beat, he sat upright. “Deal.”
A wave of something passed over me. I couldn’t tell if it was delight or terror. “Good. I’ll find you a hook and some yarn.”
“Sounds fantastic,” Brody said, moving his legs from under the bench before he stood, dwarfing me. “Looks like we’ve got some work to do.”
I held up a hand, shielding my eyes from the sun. “We?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention? I’m your new coach.”
My stomach flipped, and my breath ran shallower than before. “Wait, what?”
“Yep.” The grin on his face twisted up my insides. “It’ll be fun. And I know my stuff.”
Well, he was right there. He was a genius on his blades. Roller skates couldn’t be that different. But him coaching me meant we’d be spending a lot more time together. We’d already lived in the same house for less than a week, and I was fighting a losing battle with my wayward thoughts. I looked up at the angular planes of Brody’s face and swallowed.
Any misguided notion that I’d lost my crush on him disintegrated. He was going to coach me for derby. And I didn’t like to admit there were plenty of other skills I’d happily learn from him.