Matchpoint (5 page)

We were quiet for a moment as unspoken questions and comments flooded the room. Should I be worried that Holden was seeing another woman? Why didn’t I
know what he was doing with his days? Why wasn’t he communicating with me, and should I break off whatever relationship I had with him? His hot quotient was pretty high, but would a self-respecting woman let herself be strung along like this? Bridget and Lucy waited for me to broach the subject, remaining quiet like only good friends could.

I remained quiet also, too chicken to talk about Holden. I grabbed a fudge bar to hide my embarrassment, but one bite made me yelp in pain. I tried to downplay it, but in the end, I had to fess up about my appointment with Belinda and the discovery of my seven cavities.

“Dr. Dulur is gentle as a baby, Gladie,” said Lucy. “He gave me a crown. Put me to sleep, and when I woke up, my mouth was fixed, my teeth whitened, and I could swear that my hands were newly moisturized.”

I looked at my hands. They could use moisturizing.

“I think my teeth can wait. I don’t think it’s urgent,” I said, but my teeth disagreed. The pain was getting worse. I grimaced in discomfort and moaned.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad, Gladie,” Lucy said.

“Let’s call for an emergency appointment,” said Bridget. “I bet Belinda will make sure you get in.”

I whimpered and instantly hated myself for it. I am a terrible coward. “I should have been born brave,” I said.

Bridget put her hand on mine. “Dr. Dulur is known for being very good with children. All the moms bring their kids to him. He gives out toys and lollipops.”

My bottom lip jutted out. “Yeah,” I said. “But the lollipops are probably sugar-free.”

“Yeah, they probably are,” Bridget said, looking down at the floor.

Lucy stood up and took her cellphone out of her purse. “I’m making the appointment right now, and I’m going to add in a whitening treatment, on me. No charge for
you. There, doesn’t that make you feel better, Gladie? You are going to have blinding pearly whites. You’re going to be a new person. You won’t need a smidge of makeup with your new teeth.”

I was doubtful. “Without mascara, my eyes look like two holes burned in a blanket,” I said. But Lucy wasn’t listening. She got me an appointment for after office hours and threatened to give my cellphone number to Visa’s collection agency if I didn’t show up to have my teeth filled and whitened. Ha-ha on her. I hadn’t paid my cellphone bill in three months, and it was due to be shut off any second now. The collection agency would never find me. As soon as I got Spencer out of the house, I would pick up Orajel at the pharmacy and then never eat sugar again. No sugar, no pain. It was a plan.

By the time we got the house cleaned up, the sun was getting ready to set, and Bridget and Lucy went out to have dinner in town, where they could have a front-row seat for the war between the townspeople and the end-of-worlders. I was tempted to join them, but Spencer was still upstairs in my bedroom, and I wanted to see why he felt the need to hide there, make sure he was all right, and kick him out.

But out the window, I could see Holden’s truck still in his driveway, and I realized Spencer would have to wait, as well. Before I could get him out of my underwear drawer, I had some pressing spying to do.

SPENCER WASN’T the only one who knew how to skulk. I did a pretty good job at it, skulking across Grandma’s lawn on tiptoe, careful not to draw Holden’s attention, whenever he was next door.

I was congratulating myself on my athletic grace and spylike reflexes when I thought I saw Holden’s shadow hovering close by. I jumped to the side, trampling through
Grandma’s prized roses and snagging my cotton sweater. I pulled it free and stumbled backward into the bushes that separated her property from Holden’s, landing flat on my back. I lay there dazed for a minute before rolling into a sitting position.

Now I was sure I heard Holden. I squatted on all fours and made a little peephole through the bushes with my hands. Holden was in his side yard, sitting on an old metal chair, sipping iced tea and reading a letter. It was a perfect vantage point to spy on him. He was wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, even though it was a chilly day. His forearms were thick with corded muscles.

I felt spittle gather at the corners of my mouth. He was a beautiful man, tall and composed. He was entirely focused on the contents of his letter, and that’s probably why he didn’t hear my heart beat, which would have given the Marine Marching Band a run for its money. I leaned forward, trying to read the letter, but I was too far away.

“What’s this? Spying on the neighbor?” Spencer came out of nowhere and scared the daylights out of me.

I yelped. Fortunately, Holden’s phone rang at the same time, camouflaging my shriek. He went inside to answer it, oblivious to my spying.

I clutched at my heart and fell back onto my butt. Spencer was leaning down, his face inches from mine, his annoying little smirk planted on his face. He was still wearing his sweats and hoodie, a strange look for the usually dapper police chief.

“I was not spying,” I replied. Holden’s side door opened with a creak, and I pulled Spencer down on top of me by the front of his hoodie so Holden wouldn’t see him.

“Shh,” I urged. We lay quiet for a moment while I listened for Holden’s approach. What would he think if
he saw me spying on him? Would he shout at me about his personal space and tell me he never really liked my thighs? I should have known that was a line when he said it. No man in his right mind would like my thighs. I had very unlikable thighs.

“He probably hates my thighs,” I muttered.

“Really? They feel pretty good to me,” Spencer said. He was lying directly on top of me in a pelvis lock. His breath smelled of coffee and oatmeal. Funny, I figured him for a no-carb kind of guy.

“Did he hear us?” I whispered. “What’s he doing?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer whispered back. “He’s out of my line of sight, but I bet whatever he’s doing, it’s less interesting than what I’m doing.”

My eyes narrowed. Spencer’s smirk was growing. I hoped it was the only thing growing. “If you are enjoying this, stop,” I said. “You should get off me, now.”

“Too risky. What if Holden hears me rolling off you? It wouldn’t look good.”

He had a point. What would Holden think if he saw Spencer with me? My breasts would never feel his big warm hands on them again.

“Why were you spying on Mr. Lumberjack, anyway?” Spencer asked.

“He’s not a lumberjack. He’s …”

Spencer smirked again. “You don’t even know what he is, do you?”

“No, do you?” It dawned on me that as police chief and not Holden’s number one fan, he had the resources and wherewithal to do a background check and might have looked into Holden’s past.

“No. I mind my business, unlike you, Ms. Perez Hilton.”

“You’re awfully heavy,” I said, but he wasn’t. He was supporting most of his weight on his forearms. He was warm, and there was an energy building between us,
which was making me melt like ice cream on a summer’s day. Spencer’s eyes were huge, and his focus sharp and directed at me.

“Uh,” I said.

“We haven’t gotten to spend a lot of time together lately,” he said, his voice low in his throat.

“Uh,” I repeated.

“I forgot how good you smell,” he said, breathing me in.

“That’s Herbie’s Hoagies. I ate two. They stick with a person.”

“I don’t think that’s Herbie’s Hoagies,” he said. His face was closer. I could taste his breath. Testosterone. His lips were so close. If I moved my head just a little, I would be kissing him. I thought about moving my head. I thought about moving my head a lot.

Spencer was a good kisser. I had kissed him once before, and it was like kissing flame. He nearly blistered my lips. It might be good to test that out again, see if he still was a good kisser.

What was wrong with me? Of course he was a good kisser. The man got more practice time kissing than Michael Phelps got for swimming. His lips had been on huge numbers of women.

“What the hell were you doing in my bedroom?” I asked.

“Unpacking. I told you I had to lie low for a while.”

“In my bedroom?”

“They wouldn’t think to look for me there.”

“Are you hiding?” I asked. He wasn’t the hiding type. He was the storming-the-castle type. “From who? Mobsters? Terrorists?”

“What does it matter? I just need a place to stay for a while.”

I smelled a rat. “Spencer Bolton, fess up or I’ll tell Bridget you’re a Republican.”

He pulled back. “You wouldn’t dare. That would be cruel. She would hound me.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

Holden’s side door creaked again, and the sound of his work boots receding into his house reached us on the lawn.

Spencer rolled off me. Lying on his side next to me, he leaned up on his elbow, rested his head in his hand, and took a big breath. “I have Facebook problems.”

“Excuse me?”

“Facebook. A Facebook status problem. Several women said they were involved with me at the same time. It caused a stir.”

“You’re hiding from—no, it can’t be.” But Spencer’s face was dead serious. Even his smirk was gone. “You’re hiding from Facebook friends?”

He jumped up and put out his hand to help me up and walked me toward the house. “These women are persistent. And angry.” Spencer looked around before opening Grandma’s door.

“How many women are we talking about, Spencer?” I asked.

“Several.”

“Several? More than two?”

“Yes.”

“More than five?”

“Yes.”

“You’re disgusting,” I said. “Foul. You make my flesh crawl with your stereotypical womanizing, reprehensible, male behavior.”

“And people say you’re introverted,” he said, his smirk reappearing on his face.

“Remember, Spencer, herpes is forever.”

“Ouch. You went right to STDs.”

“Tough love, Spencer,” I said.

“Love? Are you trying to tell me something?”

I punched him in the arm. He was solid, more muscular than Holden but a couple inches shorter. I figured he was a notch above Vin Diesel but a hair less than The Rock. He took one more look around to make sure the coast was clear and closed the door behind us.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do you cook?”

“Of course I cook,” I said. I made a mean macaroni and cheese out of a box, and I could open a can of ravioli better than Paula Deen. “But I’m not cooking for
you
. You are going home and facing the music.”

“What side of the bed do you sleep on? I sleep more diagonally, but I can stick to a side if forced.”

I threw up my arms in defeat. “I’m leaving.”

“Where? Obviously, you don’t have a date with Neighbor Boy. That whole thing smells done to me.”

“It’s not done,” I said, my voice coming out an octave higher than normal.

Spencer counted on his fingers. “You don’t know what he does for a living, you don’t know where he goes, you have to spy on him instead of just asking him—”

“I don’t have time for this. I have to go.”

Spencer stood with his arms crossed and his feet apart like he was bracing for impact. “Where? Where do you have to go? You’re trying to hide from me.”

“I don’t need to hide. I have an appointment. I have cavities to fill.”

Spencer laughed. “Right. You’ll never keep that appointment. You’re a class A chicken when it comes to medical stuff. Your grandmother told me about the checkup incident.”

“Hey, I was much younger.”

“Five years ago?” He smirked his annoying smirk.

“That story is way exaggerated!” I shouted, stomping my feet.

“She showed me photographs.” The doctor had come at me with his stethoscope, and I bit him. Hard. I don’t know what came over me. Fight or flight, I guess. I drew blood, and then I passed out from the sight of blood.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. I was speechless and embarrassed. I tried to say something, but it all came out like
buh-buh-buh-buh
.

I grabbed my purse from the table in the entranceway. “Feed yourself. I’m going to get my teeth filled and whitened. I won’t need to wear makeup anymore.”

“Huh?” Spencer asked. But I was halfway out the door. That’s why I actually made it to my dentist appointment. I wanted to show Spencer what’s what. Otherwise, I would have rather have had my teeth rot out, infect my jaw, bleed into my heart, and kill me before I let a drill get near my face. It was all Spencer’s fault.

IT WAS hard to turn the car’s steering wheel with sweaty palms, and I was drenched from head to toe. Nerves. But it was too late to turn back. Spencer would never let me live it down if I chickened out. He wouldn’t be quiet until I returned with swollen cheeks, drooling from my numb mouth. I tried to concentrate on the sugar-free lollipops I was going to get, but it was hard to get past the vision of me screaming in agony as the drill went through my molar.

Otherwise, it was a beautiful evening. The sun was setting, leaving the sky a warm pink. The weather was turning chilly. Soon, Ruth would be serving hot cider with cinnamon sticks. Autumn was the time of year Cannes did best.

About halfway to Bliss Dental, caught up in the reverie of cinnamon cider, I didn’t see the traffic stopped in the street and almost crashed my car. Cannes’s idea of a traffic jam is three cars and an electric mobility scooter.
But now Pear Lane was bumper to bumper with cars idling, their drivers standing outside on the street, trying to figure out what was going on.

At the front of the quagmire, cop cars blocked the traffic. The crowd migrated forward toward the police. Lights flashed, and someone practiced on a megaphone.

“What the hell? How do I get this to work?” it blared. I recognized the voice. Officer James was nice enough but slightly incompetent. I had met him a month ago.

“Citizens of Cannes, please stand back from the penis! I repeat, stand back from the penis!” he yelled through the megaphone.

With this warning, the crowd surged forward in earnest. I joined them.

I hopped in place to see past the people. Up ahead, several officers stood around a man, staring down at him and shaking their heads. The man was a stranger, average height and build, around forty years old with dark curly hair, and clean shaven. He wore a white T-shirt and a tight leather jacket. He had worn jeans, but they were now pooled at his ankles. He was a boxers man, but those were hovering just over the jeans. He had a hairy butt, and when he turned I saw that he had the world’s longest penis.