Chapter 9
Kevin
I had intended to pick up a pizza, head home, and take a shower. Instead, I end up turning onto the country road and then the state highway, aimlessly following its rises and dips and twists, my windows down despite the heat. I want to feel the breeze on me. Smell that air that’s so different here than anywhere else I’ve been.
Her eyes today… There was something in her eyes today, and not just when she spoke to me. Something cooler. More reserved. Locked away. The seriousness of the presentation and her job probably accounts for some of it, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else.
The night we were together, she seemed freer. Younger. Like her muscles were relaxed and her spirits lighter, especially after that first time we made love.
Well. Not made love, I guess.
The first time we’d—What?
What exactly was that?
I haven’t done a lot of just plain fooling around. But I can’t imagine it feels like that. I swear I thought we connected with more than our bodies. I know we gave each other comfort. We teased and laughed. Enjoyed each other.
I always figured a hookup would be a lot more impersonal than that. A lot less warm.
Not so immediately addictive.
As I’d pulled into the high school parking lot the morning I dropped her at the apartment complex, I was already looking forward to the next time I could see her.
Do other people take this stuff in stride?
How. In the hell . Could someone take a night with Andi Salazar in stride ? How could it be possible for someone to experience that—her—and not walk away permanently changed?
And that was how I felt before I saw her work today.
Jesus.
How can one person be so amazing and talented in so many ways?
I get now why she was ready to move on from me after one night.
Must’ve crossed the state line a while back. I’m in downtown Spartanburg now. I slow down. Drive past Morgan Square, which is definitely not a square. Past some interesting-looking restaurants I am unfortunately not fit to go into in my wind-dried, sweaty state. Same for the little cute bookstore—Hub City Bookshop. I’ll have to come back down here sometime when I’m clean.
There are couples strolling hand in hand. I can barely remember what that’s like, although it’s been less than a year for me.
I imagine exploring this place hand in hand with Andi Salazar. The Andi I met that first night, the one who could laugh and tease me and blow my mind in bed.
That serious-eyed Andi from today, though… It’s hard to imagine her laughing. I definitely have trouble picturing her holding some guy’s hand.
I get what Steve was saying about her now. If I hadn’t been with her last weekend, I would never guess, based on today, that she could be like that.
As sad as it is to think I won’t ever be with her like that again, there’s a tiny part of me that views that one time as a gift. Something rare and special not many people get to glimpse. Yeah, I’m alone now, but one night she shared that with me… She trusted me enough to let go.
I don’t know what led her to that grim line of work, but I can sure see how it would sober a person up fast. Make them view the world through cautious eyes. I’d like to hear that story. I wish I could know her. Even if she never invites herself into my bed again.
But I mean, there will always be a spot for her there. Because I’m not as stupid as people sometimes assume I am.
Main Street broadens. Changes names. I follow it till it meets the interstate where I turn north, toward home.
Galway’s not the home of my birth, but it’s the home of my choice, and I’ve got to build a life there, with or without Andi Salazar.
***
She’s back on Tuesday.
School started yesterday and I’d briefly seen her out back on the track that afternoon, but I’d been heading inside for strength training with a couple of students and I only caught a glimpse of her before the doors closed behind us.
Today, though, I’ve just finished running some students through sprints and set others to do stamina work when I see her come in from the parking lot.
Like yesterday, she’s in a baggy, oversized T-shirt and shorts, looking more like a kid than like a thirtysomething professional woman or a sexy could-be rock star. She walks to an out-of-the-way spot in the inner oval and sets her water jug and keys in the grass. As she raises her hands to fasten her wavy hair up off her neck, a breeze plasters the T-shirt to her torso, and just like that, I’m back in my apartment, my hands and mouth on her full breasts, my body tight with need. The sun catches reddish glints in her hair as she turns to do a few graceful stretches. Then she puts in earbuds and jogs onto the track.
I have a few minutes free and I can’t stop myself. I catch her just before she finishes her first circuit of the track. “Andi?” I have no idea what else I’m going to say.
She gives a startled jerk, leaps to the side, and pulls out one earbud. “Ack! You scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” We eye each other as she comes out of her defensive stance—damn, she must’ve really been feeling jumpy—and resumes her run.
She sets a good pace for a distance workout, her strides easy, no wasted motion.
I match her, running beside her around a turn before speaking again.
“I just…wanted to say what a great video that was the other day. I should have told you then.”
“Well…” Her voice is wary. “Thanks. We worked hard on it to tailor it for the team.”
I nod. “Your effort showed. I think it made an impression.”
“Good.” She doesn’t smile. “It’s a real problem, you know? Sometimes it seems like we’ll never make a dent in it. So I’ll try anything.”
“Yeah. Lotta guys—jocks especially—need to hear they’re not gods who can just take whatever they want.”
She flicks a glance at me. “ You’re a jock.”
I send her a grin but the sight of her flushed, pretty face does odd things to my gut so I shift my gaze back to the track. “Not anymore. In high school, at first. Got some pressure to continue, but…”
She lets the silence hang for a beat. “But?”
“Well, I grew up in Nebraska and I was a big guy whose older brother played football. Everybody assumed I would too. But sophomore year of high school, I saw one of my friends—a really smart guy—take a terrible hit, bad concussion, and I swear he was never the same. I didn’t want to risk that. It was near the end of the season, so I finished but I told them I wasn’t going to play anymore.” Hardest thing I ever did was telling my family that. Seeing the disappointment in my dad’s eyes, the disbelief in my brother’s. I was shaking so hard my teeth were nearly chattering as I’d forced the words out. Remembering still makes me nauseous.
I feel her gaze on the side of my face.
She cuts straight to the point. “Why are you a trainer, if you think it’s so dangerous?”
I shake my head. “My…job here is unusual. I didn’t apply for a coaching position. I’m a math teacher. But when I showed up for my interview, Steve and a couple of the other coaches pegged me as an athlete and asked me about my training regimen, all kinds of questions. They could see on my résumé that I had a trainer’s certificate. Only got that to help out in my folks’ sporting goods store when I wasn’t teaching.
“I could see where Steve’s questions were going so I told them I wasn’t interested in coaching football. But a week later an offer showed up in my mailbox for a position teaching math and acting as kind of a general fitness trainer to individual students. Not just football, and not just the kids on teams. I’m to help students work on strength, speed, endurance, flexibility…things that will help them get in shape, stay in shape, avoid injury.”
She shakes her head. “How many of them come to you wanting to lose weight?”
I glance over at her, trying to understand her reason for asking. She’s big…and clearly fit. She’s moving easily and well, able to talk as she runs… Please, God, don’t let her be wanting to change that gorgeous body. “Some,” I say cautiously. “I tell them I won’t work on that. I’m to help keep them healthy, not change their size.”
She holds my gaze longer this time and nods. “Good for you.”
We run in silence for half a lap, then I turn the subject back. “There’ve been some high-profile rape cases linked to football in Nebraska over the years.”
She blows out a sigh. “Nebraska’s not unique in that. I think you’d have a hard time finding a program that’s not got a bad rape history. Or domestic violence.”
I fear she’s right. “I thought your approach was genius, with the video. Really bring it home to the players. Make ’em see how their choices matter, through the eyes of people they love.”
She nods. “Yeah, that was my goal. Some people criticize that approach though.”
“What? Why?”
“They say if we focus on people’s mothers or sisters or wives, we’re reinforcing the idea that women only matter in terms of their connections to men.” She shrugs one shoulder. “It’s a valid point. But sometimes I think we have to do whatever works. Baby steps.”
I mull this over as we make another circuit in silence. She doesn’t try to speak. Finally I gesture to the other side of the track. “Guess I should go check on my students.” But suddenly I have to know. Have to ask. “Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or push you to talk to me about this, but could you let me know if I did anything to upset you last weekend? You’re okay, right? We’re okay?” I mean, not that there’s a “we.”
She meets my eye, serious as a judge, and I know that whatever comes out of her mouth will be the gospel truth.
“No, Kevin, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were lovely. I just don’t do relationships. I actively avoid them.”
She holds my gaze and I realize she’s not going to say anything more.
I nod. That’s…good, I guess? At least I didn’t do anything that bothered her. Maybe this one really isn’t a “me” problem. “Okay, then. Thanks. Well, I’ll get back to work. I just wanted to say hi and that I thought you did a good job on that video. A great thing.”
She actually smiles. For a second I see that light in her eyes, the light I saw when she was with me the other night. It catches me like a punch in the gut.
“Thanks, Farm Boy.”
She’s actually teasing me. In another situation I might laugh. Tease her back. But I reach over and touch her elbow lightly. “I prefer Kevin.” The name you called me when I was inside you and you were coming.
I leave her and go back to my students.
***
Andi
I don’t know what to think or do about this damn man.
He’s really pissing me off.
No, that’s not true. I just wish it were true. My elbow still tingles where he touched me. I want to go grab him by that damp, clingy T-shirt of his that does nothing but accentuate the muscles underneath—just grab him and drag him into that shadowy corner where the main school building meets the gym. Kiss him until he begs for mercy. Except I know he won’t beg. He’ll take hold of me and kiss me till my knees are weak.
But I also want to yell at him to stop being so freaking nice. Stop tempting me in multiple stupid ways.
It was just supposed to be one night. It wasn’t supposed to leave me wanting more.
When he suddenly popped up beside me on the track, I leapt halfway into the grass oval. My own damn fault. We’re supposed to always be aware of our surroundings and not wear anything that would impede our sight or hearing, but there I was, running with earbuds in and music blasting as if I didn’t have a care in the world. Damn Chicks are making me crazy too. Well, no, today it was Chinchilla. My “Women Rage” playlist.
But I feel safe enough to have earbuds in here at the high school with so many people around. And, really, I am safe here. Kevin Mahoney’s only a danger to my composure and my libido. Maybe a little to my stupid heart, if I’m not careful.
I thought I’d erected a taller wall between my libido and my heart.
Don’t think about erect.
I can hear Gram’s voice in my head now. “Andi, I’ve only been dead two years and already you’ve forgotten a lifetime of my teaching? Salazar women need to Stay. Away. From men . The more we want them, the more damage they can do. Act like you’ve got some sense.”
***
The rest of August passes quickly. I’m up to my elbows in all the usual fundraising and personnel and public relations stuff for the shelter, as well as gearing up for Labor Day and volunteer training next month. It’s a sure bet that, between heat and alcohol consumption, the shelter will be full to bursting over the holiday weekend. We’ll need to have extra emergency lodgings lined up, so I’m busy finding locations and available funding for that too.
The gym is still a construction zone, but I know Pattie’s right about running on those winding mountain roads so I keep going to the high school for my exercise and stress relief.
The side benefit of getting to see Kevin working with students, sometimes running sprints or longer distances with them himself, is purely that—a side benefit. I would never go anywhere specifically to ogle…but lord, do I enjoy seeing him in motion. Something about his powerful thighs and calves and his beautifully shaped knees as he digs in for a burst of speed… It makes me feel a little faint. A little fluttery, and warmer than my own easy pace justifies. And on the hotter days, when sweat makes his T-shirt cling to his skin, I remember the feel of every one of those ridges and hollows under my fingertips as he surged into me. Mercy.
It’s like I’m turning into somebody else. Somebody without a sense of self-preservation.
The students seem to like him. Some of the girls flock around him, of course, but the boys do too. I can never hear what he’s saying to them, but whenever he explains things, they look attentive. From a distance I see what has to be teasing or good-natured trash talk. Nothing the least bit flirty or inappropriate on his part, just an easy grin and laid-back instruction. The kids don’t seem resentful, even when he sets them to doing truly grueling tasks.
But I’m not here to ogle. I’m just a mildly interested observer who happens to be running in ovals around him with nothing much else to look at.
Salazar women are known to be delusional.
Sometimes he joins me, matching my pace and asking about my day. He’s never disrespectful or flirty with me any more than with the kids, so I don’t really know how to take his attention. Is his interest just polite? Purely platonic now? Obviously he’s aware enough of me to know when I’m on the track—he always waves hello and goodbye—but he seems like a genuinely nice and outgoing guy, so maybe he’s just being friendly.
He might even be trying to set an example for the hetero kids of how it’s possible for men and women to be just friends. That’s admirable, I guess, but also, if I’m honest, kind of a downer. Despite my own wishes and Gram’s constant voice in my head, my interest in him has grown.
Despite what I want to want, I don’t want to be platonic friends with him. I want to be flirty, frequent-and-energetic-mattress-dancing-between-two-healthy-young-adults friends. Not, like, “Let’s have a nice intimate dinner together and talk about our secret dreams” friends; that would be too much, and my grandma would haunt me and shriek a lot.
I just want something more than an impersonal, occasional running companion.
But either he’s amazingly good at honoring my stated wishes or he doesn’t think Everyday Andi warrants more of his attention. I’ve learned Gram’s lessons well. Tamped down any beauty I have and fastened it tight, except for those rare occasions when I’m with the Blue Shoes.
I’d thought that was the way I wanted it. Kevin Mahoney has me rethinking things. I’d thought Singer Andrea was my costume and Drab Andi was the real me. But if the real me wants him, knows how to get him, and is also in the way…who’s real and who’s a disguise?
I am hoist with my own petard.