“Got any idea what you’re lookin’ for?”
TJ turned from the hardware store’s shelves to find his sister’s friend Jo. Her tone made clear she doubted he could find the right part on his own. Just the kind of conversation he needed after the lecture from his coach.
“I got it handled.” He swung his attention back to the bins of gaskets, the same ones he’d been staring at for the past five minutes. The smells of kerosene and turpentine were making him light-headed, compounding his frustration.
“Problem with the sink?”
He edged out a nod.
“Kitchen or bathroom?”
“Kitchen,” he muttered, picking up a random gasket to study the thing. He was hoping she’d take her cue to move on to another customer roving her family’s store.
But she didn’t. She continued to watch him, hands in the pockets of her gray work uniform. Her lips bowed in amusement. “You know, I could save you a whole lotta time if you let me help.”
Was there a skywriter over his head today announcing he needed charity?
He snapped his eyes to hers. “I said I got it.”
Pink spread over her cheeks, a look of surprise, then aggravation. “Suit yourself.” She pivoted sharply on the heel of her loafer. By the time she exited the aisle, TJ saw himself for the jerk he’d been.
“Shit.” He flung the gasket into the bin. Abandoning his sports bag on the cement floor, he trudged after her, ready to smooth the waters with the I’m-just-tired-and-have-a-lot-on-my-mind spiel. Sure it was only half the story, but no one needed to hear more. He rounded the corner and bumped a display of paint cans. The pyramid held its ground. Jo’s loose ponytail in his sights, he trailed toward the cashier’s table in front. He was about to call Jo’s name when a voice from the side stopped him cold.
“TJ,” was all she needed to say and he knew it was Cindy Newman.
The harsh fluorescent lights did nothing to take away from her stunning face, her knockout figure. The girl was known to pass as Veronica Lake any day of the week, and today was no exception. Her golden hair draped long and styled, her sundress snug around the curves. Her full lips shimmered in the same red that had tainted his shirt collars more than once.
“Hi, Cindy.”
She smiled broadly. “How have you been?”
“Doin’ all right. You?”
“Terrific, thanks.” The difference between their answers was that hers sounded genuine. “So,” she said after a pause, “who won?”
It took him a moment to follow the question. He’d forgotten he was wearing his baseball uniform and jacket. He wished he could as easily forget about the game. “We did.”
“That’s grand. You were pitching?”
“Yeah.” He left it at that.
“Then I’m not surprised.” She offered another smile, though this one wasn’t solid enough to block the awkwardness rising between them. She fidgeted with her purse handle and glanced down and away. It was the same look she’d given at the end of their last date, a look that said she didn’t expect to hear from him again. No question, she had put in effort. She’d tried to talk to him, to kiss him until he would open up. But his wall of fury had sealed her out.
He realized now, more than a year later, that he’d never explained that to Cindy. Never told her it was nothing she’d done.
A grizzled man in overalls wandered past with a shovel, the cash register rang out a sale, and TJ decided another place would be more appropriate for this conversation. “You know, maybe, sometime,” he said, “if you’re not busy—”
Jo’s brother Wes was marching in TJ’s direction. The oldest of the five Allister boys, he’d been a quiet but popular linebacker. Latest word had it he was on a winning streak of boxing matches around the city. A guy you didn’t want to piss off by insulting his sister.
TJ was about to speak up but didn’t make it that far. Wes took the first shot—by scooping Cindy up by her waist. “There you are,” he said, and nuzzled her neck, inducing a giggle.
“Were you worried I’d gotten lost?” she teased.
Wes gazed at her with pure adoration, oblivious to any others’ existence. “I’m all finished here with inventory. How about a movie at the Palace?”
She groaned. “Is there any picture we haven’t seen this month?”
He held her close and whispered in her ear, prompting more giggles, her face to blush. TJ did his best to pry away his focus. He felt intrusive, irritated, regretful. And yeah, jealous. Not of being with Cindy necessarily. Just of any guy who could truly be that happy.
The couple headed for the door. As her boyfriend held it open for her, Cindy angled back. An afterthought. “It was good seeing you, TJ. You take care.”
He nodded, staring after her. She’d moved on, as she should have. She was better off with someone who had his head on straight.
“Anything I can help you with, sonny?” From behind the counter, old man Allister regarded him over the rims of his bifocals.
Jo touched the man’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Gramps. He’s not one who takes kindly to help.” After flicking TJ a cool look, she pushed through the swinging half-doors of the storage room. It was then that TJ recalled why he’d trailed her through the store. Yet the urge to follow her was gone.
Lane wasn’t aware his mind had been wandering until something hit him in the forehead. He jolted back in his cushioned leather chair. A wad of notebook paper had landed on his leg. He could guess the culprit before looking up.
“At least we know he’s alive.” Dewey Owens smirked at the other two guys in their study group before turning to Lane. “I was getting worried that punch had bruised more than your eye.”
Lane pitched the crumpled ball right back. But with Dewey’s eagle eyes, a match to his beak-like nose, he ducked in plenty of time.
“Have to be faster than that!”
A student in the corner of the common room sent a curt, “Shhh,” to which Dewey retorted, “Relax, bookworm. Finals ain’t till next week.” No doubt, he’d thrown out the grammatical error just to grate on the stuffy kid’s nerves; Dewey had been born to a wealthy L.A. family, same as Lane. Both saddled with the tedium of properness.
“So where were we?” Lane flipped forward in his economics book. Envisioning his rendezvous with Maddie wasn’t going to speed up the week. “Did we already cover the graph on page one-o-one?”
Dewey reclined with feet on the coffee table and addressed the classmate beside him. “Gotta love my roommate. Almost four years now, he’s been pretending to cram just for my sake. Bastard aces his classes without even trying.”
“That’s not true,” Lane said.
“Oh?”
“I try. A little.”
Dewey laughed. “Imagine what you could do if you were actually interested in your major.”
Lane