Playing the Game (3 page)

“The proper tool for the proper job, my dear. Your fortuitous arrival provides an opportunity for Jay to work off his abundance of excess energy.”

“Moving is hard work. Nobody has that much extra energy.”

The sound of bouncing feet on hardwood called her a liar, and she waited for Jay’s latest witty or flirtatious contribution.

“What, not on the roof yet? You’re slacking, Henry. And I lost my audience.”

Alice twisted in the chair to look over her shoulder.

Jay made ridiculous puppy-dog eyes at her. “You didn’t see me carry that last load. Three boxes. I should start a moving company.”

“Perhaps, Jay. Though Alice has questioned your ability to complete the task. I believe she feels your stamina is lacking.”

Her cheeks heated. She whipped her head around to face Henry. “That’s not–I didn’t–thanks
a lot
, Henry.”

“You’re quite welcome, Alice.” His expression didn’t flicker.

“Ludicrous,” Jay said. “I have so much stamina it’s oozing out of my pores.”

“Best get a mop, then. The custodial staff shouldn’t be forced to deal with your overeager excretions.”

“Pfft. Going now. I better see actual food in progress when I come back. Hardworking boys need their meat, Henry. I deserve it, don’t I?”

“I’m certain I’ll find something to pay proper tribute to your excellent efforts as an aspiring moving business mogul.”

Jay’s footsteps faded and Henry began pulling dishes from various places around the kitchen.

“Is he always so…” What was the diplomatic way to ask if a man was a half-trained puppy who needed frequent pats on the head?

“Eager for praise?” Henry glanced up and smiled. “Always. It’s his most endearing trait.”

Alice sipped her lemonade while Henry bustled around the kitchen, their conversation punctuated by Jay’s cheerful interruptions and progress reports.

Henry did, indeed, wax melodic, though not about lettuce. He extolled the desirable qualities of fresh mozzarella, its softness, moisture content, spreadability. He detailed varieties of heirloom tomatoes and grades of olive oil.

By the time he set a Caprese salad in front of her and invited her to help herself, she’d had a thorough education in every step of its preparation. She’d never enjoyed being in the kitchen quite so much as she had with Henry.

She was eating a slice of tomato slathered with semisoft cheese and sprinkled with fresh-chopped basil when Jay slung his body into the seat beside her. Bare-chested still, he’d draped his shirt over his left shoulder.

He sat eight or nine inches from her, and the overwhelming scent of pure male taunted her. The woodsy smell of his deodorant or bodywash. The deeper note of his sweat daring her to lick his neck and taste the salt of his skin.
Fuck. Rein it in, Alice.

“That’s one load done.” Jay wiped his face with his shirt. “It is seriously hot out. Sahara Desert hot.”

Henry looked up from trimming steaks for shish kebabs. He glanced at the window, and she followed his gaze. A small digital thermometer clung to the glass.

“Yes, eighty-three degrees. An inferno.”

She couldn’t tell from his even tone whether Henry was serious or subtly mocking Jay, but she suspected he had a dry sense of humor. She loaded her voice with her best rural twang. “Y’all cain’t hardly be jawin’ on this here spell o’ cold weather. Shucks, it ain’t even hit a hunnerd yet.”

Both men turned startled faces to her. She picked up another slice of tomato and bit down.

Henry showed a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile.

Jay nudged her with his elbow. “Well?”

She swallowed.

“South Dakota. And no, we don’t all sound like that.”

She popped the rest of the slice in her mouth.

Jay reached past her to snag the plate and a tomato slice of his own. “You wanna have lunch before we pick up the rest?”

Alice finished chewing. “The rest?”

“Yeah, you know, the rest.” One hand, thankfully not the one holding a tomato slice, waved vaguely. “More boxes? Table, chairs, dresser? Whatever. I can run over with you and help load. It’ll go faster.” He popped the entire slice into his mouth.

“There isn’t any more. I need to take the van back, is all.”

Jay stared.

She turned her attention to the appetizer, took her time choosing a third slice.

“Oh. New plan, then. We all have lunch, and Henry follows you with the car while you drop off the moving van and I get some stuff out of storage.” Jay’s head moved in her peripheral vision. He raised his voice. “I’m thinking that two-seater table and chairs and the small chest of drawers, Henry. You know the ones?”

“Yes, of course.” Henry cubed the meat with precision as he spoke. “Alice might like the vanity and bench as well, though perhaps we ought to let her decide before we leave to return the van.”

“Wait, wait. You two have already moved me in and fed me. I’m not a stray cat. I’m fine with the furniture I have.”

“Jay?” Henry hadn’t even looked up.

“A futon, a trunk and a lamp. Unless she’s building the rest out of cardboard boxes.”

“Unacceptable.” Henry stopped working and met her eyes. “Jay and I have furnishings doing nothing but gathering dust in storage. The unfortunate result of merging two households. Please. I would be grateful if you provided a use for them again.”

How had he made their generosity to her feel as though it worked the other way around? As though she’d be offending them if she said no?

“I…thanks. That would be great.”

“Lovely. We’ll eat first, if that suits, Alice.” Henry filled two trays and draped dishtowels over the top. “The roof deck has both a grill and a breeze to recommend it.”

“Fantastic.” Jay stood. “The meter on the van’s good for another four hours.”

One more thing she’d have to owe him.

“And I’m starving.”

Alice held in a laugh as Henry gave Jay the once-over. His eyebrows rose, and his nose wrinkled.

“Shower first, Jay, and fresh clothes. With a shirt this time, please. You’ve inundated us with your scent long enough. Alice will think we’re unmannered louts, if she doesn’t already.”

Jay sighed heavily and feigned a pout as he trudged away. “Shower. Shirt. Anything else?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage to think of everything, Jay.” Henry winked at Alice. “And you’ll be quick about it, or Alice and I will have finished the skewers.”

Given the amount of meat he’d piled on the plate, Henry’s threat was in vain.

“Yeah, us South Dakota girls can pack away the cow cubes. I might save you a slice of red pepper if you’re good.”

Henry smiled at her as Jay disappeared around the corner, mumbling about gangs of kitchen bullies with oversensitive noses.

“If I may prevail upon you to carry a tray, we’ll adjourn to the roof and start the grill while Jay washes up.”

* * * *

They worked at the grill in comfortable silence, chatting rarely until the door swung open and Jay barreled out, his dark hair wet and dripping on his shirt.

“Did I miss lunch? Is there any left?”

Alice ducked her head to hide her smile. “The most charming eleven-year-old boy I’ve ever met,” she muttered.

Henry let out a soft laugh.

“An excellent description of Jay, to be sure,” he murmured. “Though his physique, thankfully, reflects his proper age.”

Well, that answered that. Her neighbors were so totally a couple.

Henry raised his voice to a normal volume. “You might have taken the time to dry your hair, Jay. The skewers will be another minute.”

“Oh.” Jay flopped on a chaise and sighed, an overdramatic gust. “I’ll rest until the food’s ready, then. I worked extra-hard moving those boxes. Not that I couldn’t handle it. My stamina is massive.”

God, if he weren’t taken, she’d be all over that, tickling his ribs and straddling his thighs.

Alice flushed the instant she caught Henry watching her.

He tipped his head toward Jay, returned her uncertain smile with a tiny nod, and clapped his hands once.

“Let’s get some food on the table, shall we?”

They ate with hands reaching and elbows bumping and Jay stealing pieces from both of their plates. She learned Henry was a well-respected oil painter. Jay owned a messenger service but preferred bike runs to paperwork. She described her work as a mechanical engineer, drafting and design in the office with a team.

Henry, it turned out, was thirty-seven, a little older than she’d thought. Jay was twenty-eight going on twelve, just under eighteen months older than she.

At least Henry didn’t mind her ogling his boyfriend over lunch. Unless he was trying to set her up with his roommate.
Which is it, Henry, boyfriend or wingman?

* * * *

She drove with an abundance of caution to avoid losing Henry and to control the unfamiliar beast that was Duffy’s van. They’d left Jay after lunch with her apartment key, the building’s hand truck, and his assurances he’d get the chosen furniture out of storage with no problem.

Well, that and Henry’s promise he’d stop for ice cream in Coolidge Corner and bring Jay back “something good.”

Fortune smiled on her with a parking space in front of her old building. She fed the meter while Henry slipped into a space down the block. The length in his stride and the breadth of his chest quickened her pulse as he approached.

“This won’t take a minute. I just need to run in.”

“It’s no trouble, Alice. Please, take your time.” He scanned the street, no doubt noting the differences she had when she’d hunted for a new apartment.

Goodbye, litter. Goodbye, bars with heavy foot traffic in the middle of the afternoon. Goodbye, flickering neon sex-shop sign.

He turned back to her with a neutral expression. “I’ll escort you inside.”

She was tempted to ask whether he worried for her safety or his own. She wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to stand on this street, but inviting him in made her stomach squirm. His apartment with Jay screamed pristine elegance. Not even a throw pillow out of place. Her old place…well.

“Hey, it’s your funeral. Just, uh, watch where you step and try not to touch anything. For your own safety.” She forced a smile and opened the outer door.

The mailbox vestibule smelled of cat urine. Probably cat urine. Hopefully cat urine.

“You might want to hold your breath, too.”

Henry kept his silence as she unlocked the inner door. He held the door for her and followed her down the hall without commenting about the peeling paint or the burned-out bulbs. She almost wished he would, even if his words were scathing.

She unlocked the apartment’s three locks and shoved hard with her shoulder. “The door sticks sometimes.” Why did she feel she needed to apologize to Henry?

Her foot struck a beer can. She looked toward the sounds of gunfire. “Hey, Miles.”

The man on the couch grunted, staring at the oversize television set. Soldiers in camouflage crouched behind objects on the screen, periodically popping out to fire. “Yeah, hey, Al.”

“Winning?”

“Fuck no.” His voice raised. “
Some
people can’t get their asses in gear and take out that fucking bunker.”

He was talking into the headset to his gaming squad. Typical. No point in introducing Henry. “Karen or Duffy around?”

Miles laughed. “You can’t hear the moaning? They must be taking a break. No, you fuckwit, I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to the chick in my living room. Yes there is.
Yes
, there is. Fuck you, too. Shoot the damn enemy.”

“I’m leaving my apartment keys on the kitchen table, Miles. Don’t forget, okay?”

“Sure, Al. Keys on the table.”

He’d forget. Karen would see them, at least. But she needed to put the van keys in Duffy’s hand, or he’d be fucking pissed and calling her cell at one in the morning when he was half-drunk and couldn’t find them.