The Odd Ballerz (22 page)

He laughed. “Yes, you and yes, a sandwich.”

“You don’t have to feed me. That wasn’t a part of our deal.”

“It’s simple, Jones. You want to eat or not? Are you hungry or not?”

“I am hungry. I can eat, or I can eat in here if you want. The desk is cleaned off now.”

“Jones,” he said in that way of his, “you can ask me your questions over lunch. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

“Fine, if you’re sure. Thanks,” she shouted, ’cause he’d moved off, away from the doorway. She stood listening, could hear his footsteps carrying him down the hallway and then to the right, where the bedrooms were, and now in the room next to this one. The shower started up, and nope, not even going to suppose what he looked like wet and nude. He showered for fifteen, and then off, and then the sounds of his feet moved around his room and then down the hall.

He sang or hummed in the shower and then the kitchen, all mentally cataloged by her as she went about organizing his office. Yeah, yeah, she still had this thing for him, and it was growing still. Meredith hadn’t reduced that desire at all, only what she would do with it, which was nothing.

Thirty minutes later he was back, standing in the doorway again, wearing another t-shirt, more jeans; the loose comfortable-fitting kind he so favored, with feet free of shoes. Even his feet were nice.

“Lunch’s ready,” he said, watching her check him out. She’d done a quick scan of his person, and one very interested woman was Jones; all of which he knew. “In the kitchen,” he added.

He was standing by the refrigerator when she entered. Two plates holding sandwiches were placed in front of two chairs across from each other.

“I hope you don’t mind turkey. It’s all I have left,” he said.

“Beggars can’t be choosy,” she said, taking a seat in the chair closest to her. “It looks great,” she said. Better than anything she could whip up, she thought. “Homemade?” she asked, pointing to the bread that sat atop thick slices of turkey, cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce oozing from underneath.

“Yep,” he said, watching her. “What would you like to drink?”

“Water is good.”

He opened his fancy refrigerator and out came a clear glass pitcher filled with water and a combination of mint leaves, lime and lemon slices floating around the top of it. He snagged two glasses from the drainer that sat next to his sink and handed one to her before settling himself on the stool across from her.

“Okay, questions?” he asked, watching as she bit into her sandwich. He grinned in response to the face she made, to the pleasure he read on it. He wondered at her responses to other types of stimuli.

“I kid you not, this is the best sandwich I’ve ever had. Nothing I’ve cooked tasted anything like this,” she said.

“Thanks. I’ll remember that if I’m ever invited to eat at your place.”

“Ha ha, and you’re welcome,” she said, smiling around her next bite. She chewed for a bit. “I love this kitchen, and the deck outside. This was all remodeled?” she asked, looking around the room.

“Yep. I added the French doors, inserted more windows into the back wall of the living room and had the side deck connected to the front porch. The master bathroom was the only other room I made changes too. The house is otherwise the same as it was when it was originally built.”

“It’s nice.”

“It’s home,” he said, waiting until she looked his way again, which was a bit, as Jones really liked his sandwich. “My insurance agent is Yancy Yarborough. He’s works for Foundation Insurance Company. Do you know him?”

“Yes.”

“He speaks well of you. He told me that you’re good—an agent on the rise.”

“An agent on the rise. I like the sound of that. That’s nice of him. He’s good too. Top in the state for a long time.”

“It’s me being careful. You can understand that, right, me checking you out? It’s something I’ve unfortunately had to learn the hard way to do, not to take everyone at face value. He’s a good friend of mine. We go way back, played ball together at Wisconsin. He’s also a partner in Turnkey Relocations.”

“Oh, really,” she said, nodding her head. “I understand. I’d do the same. You had trouble last year. I heard.”

“Yeah. What did you hear?” he asked. Voice neutral, she thought, not a hint of anything personal in it.

“Ah… nothing. You broke up with someone who didn’t take it well,” she said, giving him the sanitized version of what all Alex had told her.

“Alex told you this?”

“Yes, but only the basics,” she said, smiling. “Sisters before bros, I guess, so it was only that you broke up. She respects you too much to gossip.”

He laughed. “I know, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. I like your sister. She’s going to make a fine coach one day.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” he said.

“I’ll need to make a supply run soon,” she said, changing the subject, deciding to slow down with her eating. She’d sort of inhaled her first half of her sandwich, and was about to start into the second half, while he was only half way through his first. “Containers to store the paperwork I don’t toss. There’s years’ worth of paper in that room. As far as I can tell, it’s mostly invoices. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to get rid of most of them.”

“Sure, yes, I guess so. Do you need a credit card for your purchases?”

“Or you can reimburse me.”

“That works too,” he said.

“So it’s art, right, what you do?” she asked.

“It is, and isn’t. Yes, there is an art to glassblowing, but there’s also a production side too, but yes, to answer your question, it is also my art,” he said.

“What kind of classes do you teach?” she asked, before tackling the second half of her sandwich.

“Introduction to glass making, mostly.”

“That was today’s class?”

“Yes.”

“How many students?”

“Three today.”

“Do you like teaching?”

“I do.”

“What do you like about it?”

“What’s with all the questions, Jones?”

“Occupational hazard. So what do you like about it?”

“Like a bloodhound, huh? Sharing a skill that I enjoy is what I like about teaching and coaching,” he said, chuckling.

“Every Saturday you teach?” she asked.

“Not every one, no,” he said, chuckling. “But most. I knew you were a talker, Jones. I noticed it the first day you showed up to camp, but wow. Is that a requirement for selling insurance?”

“It can’t hurt, but no, not really. I’m nosy more than anything, plus I find people interesting.”

“I teach Introduction to Glassblowing most Saturday mornings. It’s the beginner’s class, if there is enough demand for one. Occasionally I also offer a longer intermediate level, an all-day class, and again it depends on the demand.”

“So… Sloan Artisan Lighting, Sloan Glassworks, what’s the difference?” she asked. He laughed again but answered.

“Sloan Artisan Lighting is custom lighting, and new a year ago. It’s commissioned work, custom work, higher end glass-blown art in the form of chandeliers, sconces, pennants, lamps, and ceiling lights only available for purchase through the website.”

“How much would a high-end piece cost me?” she asked.

“My smallest pieces start at about five thousand dollars.”

“Five thousand dollars, wow!” she said, smiling.

He smiled, too. “Yep.”

“That’s got to be helpful coming in. What is Sloan Glassworks?” she asked.

“Sloan Glassworks is more production work; smaller jobs, producing the same vase over and over again for a few of the Unity churches in town to use in their marriage ceremonies. I supply various types of glassware to some of the more upscale restaurants and bars in town, and I produce small retail items to sell during the holidays. They are what I consider my bread and butter business.”

“I see. Something I could afford?” she said.

“You could,” he said, and smiled.

“So, dyslexia is trouble reading? If you don’t mind my asking,” she asked.

“Yes, it is. I
used
to have trouble reading when I was younger, and I don’t mind you asking, as long as you don’t mind me not answering what I don’t want to answer.”

“That’s fair, and no, I don’t mind. So you’ve conquered it then?”

“Enough,” he said, chuckling.

“Is it why you helped me and Luke? Why you knew how to talk to me?”

“Sort of. I understand when things that come easy for some don’t come easy for others. I try to be patient in that way, because I’ve been in your shoes, so to speak.”

“Is that the reason for the disarray in your office?” she asked, done with her lunch.

“That’s a nice word for it.”

“Is it the reason?”

“Not really, or at least I don’t think it is.”

“You know, it won’t take me all summer to organize your office. Two to maybe three Saturdays tops, and I’ll be finished. Most of what I’ve found needs throwing away. You’re a borderline pack rat,” she said.

He laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve been called that.”

“You are one, but anyway, after I’m done with the room, I’ll need a new way to pay you for my training, ’cause I’m pretty sure it’s going to take you longer than three weeks to get me into shape. Two more Saturdays like this one and I should be finished. Any ideas as to what I could do for you?”

“You’ll be a better player for the team. That will be payment enough,” he said, standing. “Are you done?” he asked, pointing to her plate.

“What, you can’t tell?” she said, chuckling and handing her empty plate to him. “I could help you in other ways, is all I’m saying here. I like to pull my weight. I’m used to pulling my weight. I’m not into handouts. I am much more comfortable reciprocating in some way. So use me; you have me for as long as it takes to train me or I will have to pay you, which I don’t mind doing either. Just let me know your rate. Either way works.”

“Got it and I’ll give it some thought. We should probably wait and see how next week goes before you sign up for more. I might be unable to help you,” he said, carrying their plates over to the sink before he turned around to face her.

“I’ve got work in the studio. I have my first major commission for Sloan Artisan: two major lighting features, and about ten small ones for this new restaurant in downtown Austin. So I might not see you when you leave,” he said.

“I can stop by on my way out if you want me to,” she said.

“It’s okay. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Sure, no problem,” she said, and stood.
Friends. Remember, Jones
. “Thanks again for lunch,” she said, moving toward the door. She waved one final time, before she disappeared.

He stood where she’d left him, leaning against the counter of his kitchen, running her words through his mind, her offer to do more, to help him. And no, he didn’t think she meant where his brain had taken off to. The many scenarios it had come up with; all varying versions of him using her body in some pleasurable way. It was no to her in the shower, or in the pool, and a big no to having her take up permanent residence in his bedroom, available whenever, for whatever. He was sure none of those options were what Jones had in mind; however it was all he could think about.

He paused as he passed the door to his office headed back to his shop. Jones was back at work, earbuds again in her ears, on her knees on the floor, lovely ass pointed up in the air. A lot one could do with an ass like that, he mused. She looked up and smiled and waved. He gave her a nod and then he was gone.

# # #

Sunday

Alex checked her rearview mirror again, checking for a white truck she’d seen, or thought she’d seen, off and on this morning. There was nothing behind her except a sky blue Hyundai Sonata and a red F150 behind it. And this fretting was nothing more than the daily paranoia she lived with. She checked her mirror again. Still nothing. And really, how many white trucks were on the road anyway? Too many to count, that’s how many.

She pulled into her favorite juice place, parking outside of the front door, for the juice to start her day. Green Munster, a mix of kiwi, spinach, kale; all things green, as the name implied, with a scoop of whey powder.

“Hi,” she said to the dude that was always here mornings and knew her order without her having to say a word. So cool, she thought of her new life, this living unafraid—sort of. She paid for her drink and had her card, that kept track of the number of drinks purchased, stamped. Two more and it would be time for her free one, and she liked free. She took a seat in an empty booth while she waited, thinking about the conversation she wanted to have with Z.

M was interested in him, majorly so, and all the warnings she’d given to her sister last night hadn’t diminished that interest at all; hence the need for a Z talk. It wasn’t all M either. During camp she’d caught Z’s gaze turned in her sister’s direction one too many times for her comfort. He was interested too, which was more the problem, in her opinion. That’s what his whispering into her sister’s ear on the field was about and loads of potential trouble lay in that direction.

Nothing hard hitting would be her talk with Z. He’d been affected by last year’s drama way more than he’d let on, maybe even scared away from committing to the long term permanently, just like with her. Ending relationships with crazy people left scars, she knew that fact first hand.

She hadn’t shared that with M, nor had she shared her thoughts on the subject of Meredith ’cause she didn’t want her sister to be the new Meredith either. The new it’s-nothing-serious, just-sex-sometimes. So, yes, a discussion regarding his intentions was in order. It was up to her to keep her sister safe. Memphis had done too much for her not to do the same.

The dude called her name and it was over to the counter to pick up her drink and then out the door and over to Z’s for flag football Sundays. Once a month, old friends of his—and she, the lone woman—gathered for football, followed by great food and hanging out with the fellas. It was a day spent playing and talking football, and shooting the shit with dudes who didn’t mind passing on their knowledge to a female who worshiped the game as much as they did, and who hadn’t flinched when she declared her desire to coach.