Chapter 10
ten
PRESENT DAY
KATE
By the time I make it home after work to the Waterborough gated community, it’s nearly dusk.
I punch in my code on the gate. Thankfully, it’s working properly today and not stuck open or closed like it was all last week.
I nearly froze my butt off waiting for a security guard to let me in through the pedestrian gate that had also glitched.
After dropping off an extra entree of pierogies to Mrs. Kovolchuk, my elderly neighbor, I wave away her insistence to pay me as I head across the lawn. It’s not that hard to pick up an extra order of whatever I’m getting for takeout, and I know she’s lonely.
I trudge up my front steps, shove my key in the lock, and step inside.
“Liza,” I call, dropping my keys into the stone bowl. I pitch my next words in a silly singsong. “You’ll never believe how crappy work was.” I set Liza and my usual takeout order on the kitchen table and continue without waiting for a response. “You can guess, but I’ll give you a hint. Two words.”
Liza steps out of her bedroom door in a slinky black dress with a single diagonal strap over her chest and shoulder. She fastens an earring while she speaks.
“Let me guess… Brandon and Roberts?”
I tap my nose.
She laughs, then scoops up a heel and fits it on her foot.
“Man, I wish I could stick around for this, but Cam’ll be here any second.
We’re going to dinner while his grandparents are in town.
” Liza smooths down her brown hair in the entryway mirror, every bit the starry-eyed fiancée.
The shoulder length strands are curled, and the top half is pulled into a cute little knot.
Only then do I notice the hefty suitcase she has wheeled out of her doorframe. “You going somewhere?” I ask.
“No, silly. Just hate having to bring stuff back and forth when I sleep at Cam’s. Thought I’d start leaving some stuff there.”
A shallow pain creeps into my gut. I’m already losing her.
“Makes sense,” I say.
Cam’s knock at the door makes the pain intensify, so I turn back to the takeout. I’d rather smash each of these pierogies on my head than dim even an ounce of her excitement tonight. I slowly close up Liza’s styrofoam takeout container and slip it into the fridge.
Cam and Liza’s greetings and kisses fill the entryway as I slide open the silverware drawer to find a fork.
“Bye, Kate! Love you!”
I toss a wave over my shoulder, hiding my profile. I layer cheerfulness into my tone. “Love you, too! Have fun!”
The door latch breaks me a little more.
Way too many pierogies later, I lay swaddled in my sorrows in front of the T.V. A dripping romance show contestant stands screaming at another contestant for pushing her into the pool during a cocktail party.
It’s like watching a train wreck, and I love it.
Although it’s well past midnight and I have an early spin class tomorrow, I can’t quite bring myself to roll off the couch and go to bed. I also don’t want to wake up tomorrow to an empty condo, but I digress.
My phone begins a melody in my pocket, and I wiggle it out. The contact photo is nothing but a stop sign emoji, and the name reads, “Before you do, don’t.”
I startle to a sitting position. Why on this green earth is Brandon calling me?
Exhaustion and curiosity get the better of me, so I override Past Kate’s warning.
“Hello?” I say.
“Uh. Hey.” Brandon’s voice is husky and quiet, like he’s trying to keep this call a secret. Those two words sound way more exhilarating than they should, and I realize I’ve made a mistake.
I pause for a beat too long.
“You can’t hang up now, Kate. That would make this way more awkward than it already is.”
I sigh. “What do you want, Brandon?”
“That’s a loaded question.” He sounds exhausted, and I’m oddly comforted by that. Like the playing field might be even.
“Okay, then can I ask why you’re calling? And”—I check the time on my phone—“well after midnight? Oh crap. Is this a booty call? I swear, Brandon, I’ll kill—”
He chuckles, and I can’t ward off a tiny smile.
“Relax, I’m not calling to hook up. Though I am open to revisiting the topic of your booty later.”
“Brandon.”
“Fine. I’m sorry for calling so late, I just got home from a movie. I figured you’d still be awake with it being a Friday night and all. And I guess I’m calling to cash in for your sorry boxing skills.”
I search for a loophole with all the ferocity of a caged animal. “That bet over Pulse Fitness wasn’t actually real.”
He puffs a laugh. “It was every bit as real as your booty, Kate.”
“Brandon!” I shake my head, but a laugh slips out.
When he speaks again, I swear he’s smiling. “I won, Kate.”
“Nothing about that fight was fair.”
“Maybe not,” he agrees, “but I do want you to learn to box. There’s a ton of creeps out there. More women should learn to box when they’re younger.” Something dark lurks beneath his tone, and I can’t seem to locate a snarky rebuttal.
“That… makes sense,” I say.
“So?” His voice is midnight velvet.
I can sense my defenses slipping dangerously fast, and I clamber for traction in my thoughts. This is Brandon. The same turd of a tank who stole the nice office chair and intercepted the call with Mr. Winthrop.
“So what?” I say.
“Is that a yes?”
I chew my lip. Even though I never break my promises, I technically could say no. It’s not like he’s forcing me in handcuffs and dragging me to the boxing ring. My teeth stall on my lip at the idea of Brandon with handcuffs, and I hastily sidestep that thought.
Best case scenario, I get to hit Brandon a lot.
Worst case scenario, he renders me translucent, and I become stupid enough to trust him again. Stupid enough to forget how unreliable he is. The memories of our whirlwind romance ending come together to form a small, familiar ache behind my sternum.
The one night I desperately needed him—the night my world came crashing down—he didn’t even care enough to show up. Didn’t care enough about me to even explain why afterward.
And it broke me.
I square my shoulders. College Kate was too naive, too trusting, too desperate. I’m no longer that woman. I had to get over Brandon the hard way, but I did.
And I’m all the better for it.
“Fine. When do we start?” I ask.
“Tomorrow morning work?”
“Yeah. I’ll already be at the gym anyway, I have an early spin class.”
Brandon gives a low whistle that raises goosebumps along my neck. “Staying up late and getting up early? How do you do it?”
“With caffeine and feminine rage.”
“Never a truer statement, Katie Cat.” He chuckles. “Do you realize this is the longest we’ve talked without you threatening to kill me?”
I snort. “No, I did, remember? Back when I thought this was a booty call?”
Brandon hums a vibration so low, it tickles my ear. “Ahhh. Yes. How could I forget that?”
Silence stretches between us, and I know I should hang up, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to end the call. So I stand, phone pinned between my ear and shoulder, and aimlessly wander.
“This call means nothing, you know,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to disclaim this. “It’s not like we’re going to be friends or anything.”
“Agreed,” he says. “The friend zone is a place that neither you or I would ever last long in, and you know it.”
I stop and swallow hard right as an undistinguishable voice drifts from behind Brandon’s words, and I realize he’s not alone.
“Uhh, Kate, I got to go.”
Comprehension drenches me in an ice bath. At the way he said those words, all rushed and breathy. Is he with another woman? I know Brandon is an incessant flirt, but never have I stopped to consider that he might have a girlfriend.
My tone is flat as I respond, “See you in the morning.”
I end the call feeling stupid, embarrassed, and voraciously excited that I’ll get to hit him tomorrow.