5. Ro
Brody left me and headed off to find the gym downtown. I leaned Daisy Three against the wall and stepped into the Easy Swallow, the town’s oldest but best-loved diner. A little bell tinkled above the door, and the smell of fried food and milkshakes rolled into my nostrils. I closed the door behind me, the steady hum of chatter competing with the music playing on the radio.
The counter was a hodge-podge of sauce bottles, and cutlery stands. I spotted the top of Eve’s head in the middle of it all. She leaned over, writing something on her order pad. I never had trouble finding my best friend. Her hair was candyfloss pink for spring. She changed it every season. Next would be green for summer, orange for fall, and blue for winter. With the amount of peroxide it took to fulfill her technicolor whims, I was surprised her hair hadn’t snapped off.
Hearing the bell, she glanced up, then threw me a grin and a wave. I smiled, too. Eve and I had been through a lot together. First dates, first kisses, first disastrous attempts at losing our virginity. But I’d never told her about the kiss with Brody. Or about him leaving town without even saying goodbye. I trusted Eve, but I didn’t want her asking questions. Or prodding and poking at my long-buried feelings.
She held up a palm to me, five fingers outstretched. We’d kept our Wednesday breakfast meets for almost two years, even before Eve started working here. With a nod, I wandered to the other side of the diner.
A family of four sat in our usual booth, making their way through a jumbo pancake stack. The one next to it was free, so I popped my bag on the table and slid in. The cushion on the seat had seen better days, and the second I settled, a loud farting noise ripped through the hum of the diner.
At least three heads bobbed up, their eyes finding me like magnets. Awesome! A pocket of air must be trapped under the leatherette, and now everyone was going to think I needed a solid dose of Pepto Bismol. I could have brazened it out, looking to nearby diners to shift the suspicion onto them. Instead, I rummaged in my bag, cheeks ablaze. Typical of me to pick the one booth in the joint that had a flatulence problem.
“Hello, Dita Von Tease!”
My head lifted. Eve grinned as she approached the table. She balanced a big plate of cinnamon rolls on the inside of one arm and, in each hand, clutched a pink metallic cup loaded with vanilla milkshake.
“It’s nice to see you’re not tempting the customers this morning. Not accidentally tipping the water jug over yourself so they can see what amazing boobs you have.” Her eyes glowed with mischief.
“Eve,” I pleaded. I’d had enough of being teased already this morning. Even the upholstery was mocking me.
She put the drinks and buns on the table with a soft clunk. “No, really, I didn’t know if I’d have to pass out horse blinkers before you arrived. Can’t have you distracting the customers from their food.”
Eve wiggled her eyebrows, and I rolled my eyes. I’d given in to temptation after my shower and texted her again last night. Told her all about my DIY kitchen dousing-by-slushie incident. She’d asked a million questions that I’d been too tired or too stunned to answer, so our breakfast was likely to be on par with the Spanish Inquisition. I omitted the part about Brody’s tight, very low-slung track pants. I didn’t think she needed the visual stimulation.
Eve took the seat opposite, with no fart noises. Of course not. It was the kind of thing that only happened to me. As the only owner of a tooting seat in the vicinity, I’d have to keep any movement to a minimum.
I looked down at the rolls, my belly rumbling. I’d already had two of Gran’s chocolate muffins, but the Swallow’s cinna-rolls were legendary.
“I added extra icing sugar today. Figured you could do with a boost after your shock last night.”
I grinned at Eve, picked up a bun, and took a huge bite, coating my lips in sweetness. The buttery, cinnamon goodness melted onto my tongue, and I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth.
“So?” Eve asked. Her eyes were wide, and she laid her hands flat on the table as if getting a manicure.
“Yeah, the extra sugar’s amazing.”
“No! Not the sugar, silly. I want to know what it’s like to have the hottest man in the NHL sleeping in your house? Waking up next to you?”
I huffed, sending a fine spray of said sugar into the air. “Evie, he’s not waking up next to me.” Technically, he was waking up under me. I mean, it counted for something.
She shrugged, helping herself to a bun. “Well, almost. What’s a few stairs between friends?”
“And he’s here to see Coop, not me.”
Eve chuckled around a mouthful of bun. “Sounds like Flock’s seen enough of you already.”
I scrunched up a napkin and threw it at her grinning face. It was weird to hear her call him by his team name. For me, he’d always be Brody.
“He’s not here because of his injury, though, right? He’ll be going back to train for the new season soon?” Eve was hockey-mad. More specifically, Flock-mad. She would know all about his leg.
But honestly, what was the big deal? Hockey players were always picking up injuries, weren’t they? “I guess so. He doesn’t look unfit to play.” Quite the opposite.
Eve swallowed her mouthful. “I read some clickbaity article online that said his bones haven’t mended. Like the smash weakened his leg or something.”
I scoffed. “People can say anything they want online. I’ve seen Brody’s legs.” Eve’s eyes widened. “In clothes, Eve. And they look anything but weak.”
She slumped back in the booth, again, fart-noise free. “Well, I want to get to the bottom of it. A mega sports star doesn’t just arrive in a pokey town like this without a reason.”
“Well, feel free. You know where he’s staying.”
Far too close for comfort.
I followed Eve’s gaze as it drifted across the diner to the giant window in the front. A group of neon lycra-clad senior citizens rolled past on inline skates, and the corners of my mouth lifted. Anything went in Tuft Swallow.
“Oh, hey!” she said, slapping her hands on the table. I jumped a mile, and so did the pancake family in the booth beside us. “That reminds me…” She dug her hand underneath her pink apron, into her bra, and pulled out a folded piece of paper before handing it to me. “Somebody pinned this on the notice board. I kept it for you before it got defaced.”
I drew my brows together. What did she mean, defaced? Tuft Swallow had a very low vandalism rate.
“I thought you might be interested.”
I unfolded the warm paper and smiled. Now I knew what she meant. The words Spitz Hollow Scalpers screamed from the top, along with a picture of some fierce-looking women on roller skates. Anything found in Tuft Swallow mentioning Spitz Hollow risked destruction. Though close in proximity, the two towns had a long-running feud to rival the Montagues and the Capulets.
The rivalry between the cornhole teams even made the national press a few years back with reports of a doping scandal. Someone found the captain of the Spitz Hollow Chokers lurking around the Mighty Swallows dressing room with a whole bottle of laxatives.
“Roller derby? Really?”
Eve pulled apart one of the sugar-coated swirls, dangling a piece above her mouth like a baby bird. “Why not? You’ve got skills, girl.”
I mean, she wasn’t wrong. My mum had been a champion roller dance skater in her youth. She’d taught me a thing or two, but dancing on skates was different from battling your way around a track wearing what looked like full body armor.
“You run the roller discos at the school. Policing those kids must be tricky, and you can skate in a circle. How much different can roller derby be?”
I suspected a lot different, but I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t intrigue me. I hadn’t done anything challenging since the Halloween pizza-eating contest last year. For that, I’d trained hard and won, but I’d never be able to look at mozzarella the same way again.
The tiniest tingle sprung in my chest at the idea of having a goal. A new interest. Something exciting to get my blood pumping. My Etsy store was ticking along nicely, and life in Tuft Swallow was all kinds of fun, but a part of me needed something more. Something that wasn’t just reliable old Ro showing up and ticking the boxes. An aspiration to work toward. To remind me I wasn’t being left behind. With a nod, I refolded the paper and stowed it away in my bag for later. “I’ll think about it.”
“Oh, come on, Ro! Besides, your mom would be so proud.”
My chest tugged. I missed my mom so much, but I wasn’t sure a derby-playing daughter was what she had in mind as a legacy. “But it’s in Spitz Hollow. They wouldn’t take me because of where I live.”
Eve grinned. “Or they’d give you a top spot and install you with a wiretap to get our cornhole secrets.”
I giggled. “Well, that’s true. Being head of the cheerleading squad, I have access to privileged information. I don’t know if I can risk it.”
“Okay, you think about it,” Eve said, reaching out to give my arm a squeeze.
I nodded, tightening my ponytail with a tug.
Eve sat up straight again. “So, subject change. I’ve done some digging online, and… Flock’s currently single.” She literally sang the last three words.
“What?”
Eve leaned in, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. “I know, right? That deity of a man who you aren’t sleeping next to is up for grabs.”
I grimaced. “Why do I need to know that?”
“You could start a support group.”
“Why would I start a support group? I’m sure he can handle his own love life.”
Eve shook her head like I was stupid. “Not for him. For us. Flock being on the market means that while he’s in town, there’s hope for us desperate, sex-starved women of Tuft Swallow.”
I snorted, again startling the pancake family. “Speak for yourself. I’m not desperate, and it would be weird. He’s like a brother to me.”
Eve lifted one eyebrow. “Oh, come on, Ro. You can’t let the opportunity pass. The nearest we get to such a quality specimen of manhood in this town is the new chiropractor. I can’t get an appointment with him for love or money. He’s totally booked out. Have you seen the throngs of women in his waiting room? The atmosphere in there is like a crowd waiting for a Magic Mike show.”
“What do you need a chiropractor for?” I asked, trying not to choke on my last mouthful of pastry.
“Maybe I need some adjusting. Maybe I want some hands-on attention.”
I barely covered my giggles with a napkin.
“Just promise you’ll keep your eye on Flock for me,” she said. “Report back on anything of interest while I think of a way to kidnap him, lock him in my basement, and force him to be my sex slave.”
From the stories Coop had told me, Brody wouldn’t need much forcing. He didn’t believe in abstinence.
“Who’s a sex slave?”
A smooth, familiar voice washed over us, and both Eve and I turned. I took a slow breath. There stood Brody Flockhart in all his glory. He had a sexy smirk and looked like he just stepped out of a movie. What the hell was he doing here?
My cheeks heated like molten lava. Eve just grinned. “Ro is. A slave to her insatiable libido. She’s Tuft Swallow’s answer to Taylor Swift. A notorious serial dater.”
“No, I’m not,” I squealed, my voice far louder than I expected. “And neither is Taylor. It’s just a case of optics and people being mean.”
Brody’s eyes met mine, and something glinted in them, like mischief or delight. My protests weren’t enough to divert Eve from her course, though.
“Call it what you like, Bestie, but you’ve had more dates than most.”
Brody leaned against the side of the booth and tipped his head to one side.“You popular, Small Fry?”
I blinked. He hadn’t called me that in years. Not since we were kids. Back then, he’d towered over me, too. Took great delight in making me the butt of his jokes.
Eve turned to Brody, warming to her subject. “Last summer, I swear Ro’s dating life was like a season of Love Island.”
Brody chuckled. “This I have to hear. Do you mind?” He gestured to the space next to Eve. She patted the spot beside her, inviting him to take a seat. Brody edged into the booth, struggling to squeeze into the tight space. Just like Eve before him, he sat down without a squeak.
“No. You don’t need to hear this.” I threw Eve a look, trying to channel a condemned man pleading for his life.
“But I do,” said Brody. “I need to know If I’m staying under the same roof as a notorious maneater. There could be a clause in my contract against living with loose women. I may need to claim danger money. What do you think, Eve? Should I wedge a chair up against my door at night?”
My mouth hung open. Who was he to call me a loose woman?
Eve grinned at him, resting her chin in a palm and gazing at him with goo-goo eyes. “Well, last summer, old Mrs. Woodcock…”
“The crazy bird lady?” asked Brody.
“She’s not crazy,” I said. “Just a little old school. People call her odd, but she does great things for the town. Plus, she runs her bird-watching group voluntarily.”
Brody raised his eyebrows. “Anyone who goes around with binoculars trained on the locals is odd in my book.”
Eve nodded so fast I thought her head might pop off. “So, Mrs. Woodcock and Ro’s Gran took it upon themselves to fix her up with someone… anyone.”
“Why?” Brody’s brow furrowed.
Eve leaned into him, pretending to talk behind her hand. “I recall hearing the words ‘ticking clock’ and ‘spinster’ being bandied around.”
“I’m only twenty-three!”
Eve continued, waving me off like an annoying fly. “The two of them ran Ro through a rigorous dating program. Anyone single and under thirty was fair game.”
My pulse throbbed in my ears, and I swear my insides and my dignity curled up and died. Why didn’t Eve stop? Whose side was she on anyway? Now Brody would think I’m even more tragic than he already did after my solo wet T-shirt competition last night.
Brody turned to me, a sizzling grin on his gorgeous lips. “How many dates did you go on?”
Damn. It was too late to feign innocence. “Fifteen,” I mumbled, cheeks warming.
His eyes widened to the size of our cinnamon rolls. Awesome.
“And nothing to show for it? No heartbroken men throwing roses at your feet? No proposals?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, attempting a withering glare.
“No. She’s too fussy,” quipped Eve. “I‘d have had no problem locking down a suitable man myself.”
“Why haven’t you, then, Eve?” Brody leaned back against the shiny seat cushion and draped his arm around the back of the bench.
Eve shrugged. “They all want Ro.”
Brody tipped his head to the side as if he were contemplating the solution to world poverty. “So, there aren’t any single men in town who haven’t taken Ro Swan on a date?”
“Exactly,” beamed Eve. “I swear you could make a romance book from her dating life.”
A tragedy more like. “I am here, you know. Can we change the subject? I’d rather my tragic love life wasn’t up for public discussion.” What was Eve trying to achieve? I wasn’t interested in having a love life.
“Eve!” A man’s voice cut through the thick chatter of the diner. We all looked back to the counter to see the grim-faced chef beckoning her like a madman.
“Oops! Looks like I overstayed my break time. I’ll see you later, Ro.” I scowled at the saccharine grin on Eve’s face. She stood, and Brody made to move out of the way. “No need,” Eve said before bobbing down under the table.
Was she about to crawl out of the booth on her hands and knees? “I’m so sorry,” I murmured to Brody before leaning down to track my friend’s progress. She’d ogled Brody until halfway out. She turned her head to me, gave me a thumbs-up, and mouthed the words “great legs.” I sat bolt upright, cheeks afire, fighting the urge to kick her. If Brody guessed Eve was checking out his body, I didn’t want him to think I was in any way involved.
When she finally extracted herself from under the table, Eve stood and gave Brody a flirty smile. “It’s good to see you, Flock. Don’t be a stranger.” She backed away toward the counter, colliding with a table on her way. Setting a vase of plastic flowers back upright, she giggled and gave Brody a little wave. Man, she had it bad.
Brody and I turned back to stare at each other across the table. His blue eyes burned into mine, roaming over my face as if taking in every feature. Under his ocular onslaught, I fought to keep my breath steady. I wished I could tell what was going through his mind. But every molecule in the air between us hummed. Vibrated.
“Ro,” he said, his voice soft. “Can I do something?”
Before I could answer, he leaned in a little, and my breath hitched in my throat. A burning rose in my chest as flashbacks from prom night barreled into my brain. The memory of his mouth and hands on me. Was he going to kiss me again? Right here in the diner? I swallowed hard and nodded, praying that he didn’t have an allergy to cinnamon. But instead of leaning across the table to claim my lips, he lifted his hand to my face and brushed my cheek with his thumb.
“Icing,” he murmured. “We can’t have you looking as dirty as your reputation.”
The wink that accompanied his words had my panties melting on the spot. I had the strangest urge to turn my cheek into his hand. It was ridiculous! He wasn’t about to kiss me and I shouldn’t be feeling like this. Not again. Brody was my brother’s best friend. Not to mention, he was way out of my league, and he’d broken my heart once already. Why would I chance that happening again?
I shook my head, dislodging my thoughts. “So, how is it being back?” I asked with far too much enthusiasm.
“It’s odd, with my folks not being here and all.” Brody licked the tip of his index finger and ran it around the plate Eve left, capturing the remnants of cinnamon sugar before popping it into his mouth. I swear I licked my own lips. Oh, holy crap, what else could his tongue do?
“It must seem like nothing’s changed,” I persisted, willing him to sit on his hands.
He paused, his gaze fixed on mine. “That’s not true. Not everything’s stayed the same.”
His words hung between us like someone who’d outstayed their welcome, and a clammy feeling sprung in my palms.
“You really don’t have a boyfriend? How is that even possible?”
I blinked and struggled to find words, my cheeks heating. Was he being serious, or was he still playing with me? “I think my hobbies and three older brothers might have something to do with it.”
He chuckled. “The older brothers, I get. I’ve seen Cooper defend your honor before. But what I don’t get is what you could possibly do to frighten a man away? Don’t tell me you’ve taken up grave robbing? Human sacrifice in the town square?”
“I crochet.”
The corners of his mouth trembled the second the words left my lips.
“The hottest date in town crochets? Isn’t that what old ladies do?” He shook his head slowly. “That Mrs. Woodcock has really done a number on you. You’ll be dyeing your hair gray soon. Wearing slacks.”
I huffed. “Stop, don’t knock it. Crochet makes me money.”
His smile grew. “Do people pay to watch you stitching live on Only Fans?”
“Oh, ha-ha. I have an Etsy store. People buy the stuff I make.”
“I see.” Brody rubbed his chin as if contemplating dropping a cool million on a new jet. “So you’re talented with your hands, then. When do you plan to leave town and live on the French Riviera with your profits?”
“It’s a passion, Brody. Something you’d know nothing about.”
He raised his brows. Hang on, had I just said that? Accused one of the most dedicated and intense players in the NHL of not understanding passion? Those raised brows had now descended and drew together in a scowl. It was time to make my escape before I said something I’d regret even more.
“Anyway, I have to go. Cars to clean and windshields to fill.”
He stared at me like I had two heads, and my cheeks simmered. Had the power of sensible speech left me, too?
I fumbled for my bag and stood. But no sooner had I left the seat then a loud “thrrrrrruppp” emanated from the cushion beneath me. Brody’s eyes widened, and the whole pancake family turned to glare.
“Disgusting,” the dad muttered.
At that moment, my heart and pride withered away to a crust.
Brody fought a smile. “Are you okay? Do you need to get some air?”
“I swear, it’s the seat,” I ground out, sending an angry “thank you very much” to St Teresa, patron saint of upholsterers, for her lack of care.
Brody stood, too. “If you say so, but maybe you want to cut back on the cinnamon.”
With my cheeks on fire, I twisted away from him, but the slightest touch to my arm turned me back around. A rush of goosebumps streaked across my skin.
“Will I see you later?” he asked.
Ignoring the shiver that ran through me, I struck what I hoped was a nonchalant air. “Maybe, if you’re home.” I threw my bag over my shoulder, weighing up whether I should just garotte him with the handles and be done with it.
“Great. Your gran was talking about making something special for dinner tonight. Kind of like a welcome home meal for the returning hero.”
I exited the booth and headed for the door. But not before throwing a remark over my shoulder. “What did she have in mind? Humble pie?”
“Ouch,” Brody hissed behind me.
Eve had positioned herself at the end of the counter to get the best vantage point of the “farty” booth. As we passed, she gave Brody a ridiculous wave, then gestured to me, holding a fictitious phone to her ear. I nodded back. I didn’t doubt Eve would want a full debrief, farts and all. She gave me a thumbs up before doing a little happy dance, almost knocking over a stack of napkins.
Yep, it was definitely time to leave.
Brody stepped forward and held the door open for me. He trailed me to where I’d left Daisy Three leaning against the wall. I righted her, then threw my leg over the high crossbar. It was hardly a delicate move, but Daisy was a man’s bike. Gran always said I should get something a little more feminine, but I didn’t wear skirts, and lowly gas pump attendants couldn’t be choosers.
“Goodbye, Brody.” I made to pull away, but his lemony scent carried on the air, and suddenly, his proximity was all I could focus on. I dared a quick peek at him, my breath running shallow in my chest. Why did he have to look so gorgeous all the time? It was hard to be pissed at someone with such great cheekbones.
He didn’t reply, but before I set off, he reached out and held onto my front basket, stopping me in my tracks.
Brody leveled me with one of his drop-dead stares. “Before you go, I just want to get something straight in my mind. You crochet and date all the single men in town?”
I cocked what I hoped was a challenging eyebrow at him.
One side of his lips peaked. “I thought I had a reputation. But something’s just occurred to me. I’m single, andI’m in town right now. When can I expect my invitation?”
The tiniest smirk danced on his lips. Gently mocking but oh so sexy. What I wouldn’t give to kiss it away. “You don’t count, Brody.”
I tugged Daisy Three backward, breaking the hold he had on her. He stepped back, chuckling and holding his hands up in mock submission.
Clamping my jaw tight, I pulled onto the road. Three rotations of my pedals later, I turned back over my shoulder to check he wasn’t following. I’m not sure what I expected. He would hardly sprint along the road beside me, declaring his undying love in front of the whole town.
No. He was leaning against the wall of the diner. He had his hands in his pockets, massive forearms glowing in the sun, and the sexiest grin known to man all over his mouth.
An ache sprung low, low down in my gut, but I stifled the feeling and turned my eyes back to the road. He was just a friend. A childhood crush and a tease. And no matter how heavenly he looked or how much I liked the idea, there was no way I could trust myself on a date with Brody Flockhart. Not ever.