Is it a girl? my brain asked, knowing I had no business wondering that, fully aware I didn’t need that question answered.
“It’s my agent again,” Zac blurted in the time it took for his ringtone to start up all over again, even though he didn’t have to explain anything. “Hope this ain’t embarassin’,” he muttered, sounding distracted.
“Remember that time you threw up funnel cake all over yourself because you got on a roller coaster right after eating it? That was embarrassing. Not getting chewed out.”
His gaze flicked to mine, and that mouth of his tilted up on one side. “You remember that?”
I nodded. How could I forget? Boogie and I had cracked up about it a couple years back when we’d gone to a carnival with Connie and the kids and seen a funnel cake stand. We hadn’t even needed to say anything to each other. We’d both just burst out laughing out of nowhere.
“Forget it happened,” he said with a sneaky little smile that made me feel better about his reaction to my shitty pep talk before tapping on the screen and bringing the phone up to his ear. “Yes, sir?”
Facing my blank TV to give him a little bit of privacy, I took a couple more bites while he said nothing. Scoop, chew, repeat. This soup was good.
I’d shared the recipe a couple years ago on one of my vlogs. The beans, sausage, and greens were a recipe from Grandma Brannen that I’d adapted and tweaked a while back from memory. I’d never met Grandma Brannen, my dad’s mom, but he’d given me her recipe cards for my birthday when I was sixteen. I had a lot of my own too that I screwed around with when I didn’t have all the ingredients to other recipes I liked. I had a ton of Mamá Lupe’s as well, but most of those always felt too personal to share.
Maybe I could mess with a couple of the ingredients a little and post an updated recipe for it? Like a variation if you had different things in your fridge?
“You don’t say,” Zac replied in a way that had me glancing toward him. He was staring at my television screen. Correction: through my television screen. His stubble-covered chin was locked and resembled something on a statue. “Is that right?”
Uh-oh. I could think about my stuff later.
He kept on staring forward, and I kept on staring at him, at that perfect silhouette of a face, trying to pick up on any hints he might drop because I wanted to know what his agent was saying. Bad news? Good news?
“Yeah,” Zac went on, giving me nothing.
I glanced at one of his big hands to see his fingers tapping along his thigh.
It was bad news, wasn’t it?
Then he sucked in a breath, nodded at no one, and said in a strained voice, “’Course I am. I’ll be there.” He took a massive breath that made me want to take a deep breath too. “Got it. Yeah. Thank you.”
He hung up.
I’ll be there?
I stared at my old friend and chanted, “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” in my head, hoping to project the message into his mind without having to verbally request it. Because I wouldn’t actually ask him. If he wanted to tell me, great. If he didn’t, that was okay too. I was toeing the line carefully.
That beautiful, sculpted jawline turned until his baby blue eyes locked in on mine. The giant breath he sucked in worried me though.
But his words didn’t as he asked in a strange, almost distorted voice, “Peewee?”
I set my plate on the side table to give him my full attention, ready to give him a hug if he needed it. And wanted it. And not be hurt if he didn’t. “Yeah?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took another deep, deep breath through his mouth before releasing it through his nose. He was still squeezing his hands into fists. “Either somebody doesn’t think I’m too old or you’re my lucky charm. I got a workout with the Miami Sharks.”
Chapter Seven
“Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” I asked as I scrolled down the spreadsheet that Gunner had practically thrown at me five minutes before. It was full of names of past members who had cancelled their memberships for one reason or another. He wanted me to call them when I had a chance.
You know, because I stood around all day with my finger up my butt.
I was pretty sure that if Deandre, the gym’s last manager, or Lenny or Mr. DeMaio, the previous owners, had asked me to make random phone calls, I would have done it even if I felt awkward, but since it was this asshole asking, my brain wanted to hate it on principle. He’d been an extra ass since the day I hadn’t taken him up on his request to come in and close on my day off. Just two days ago, he’d gone through the drawer beneath the computer I worked at and thrown away all the colored pens I loved to use because they “weren’t professional.”
It had taken everything in me not to throw his lunch away that day.
“They’re filming some commercial next door today.” By next door, Deepa meant the MMA building beside the one we worked in. “The camera crew got here while you were on your lunch break,” she explained in a whisper. I didn’t need to look at her face to know she was trying not to move her lips.
You know, so we wouldn’t get in trouble. Because that’s what life around here had come to. Having your boss toss papers at you and being hesitant to talk because you didn’t want to get griped at.
I just barely managed to hold back rubbing at my eyebrow and sighing.
“Bianca? Did you hear me?”
“Sorry. What did you say? They’re filming a commercial?”
“Yeah, in the building next door. I
