The Odd Ballerz (27 page)

“Two rows over,” she said, falling into step beside him. He found her truck and walked around it, looking around the parking lot and at her as she had continued to search for something too.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked after she was safely inside her truck.

“Yes. Thank you,” she said.

“Hey, before I forget, let me call you, that way you’ll have my telephone number. I meant to give it to you the other day, in case I’m running late for practice or an emergency pops up and I need to get in touch with you,” he said.

“Sure,” she said, and rattled off her number.

“I’m going to call you now, so you’ll have my number as well. You can call me if you need to, or want to, for anything, at any time,” he said, smiling.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling too and meeting his eyes. She didn’t know how he knew but she knew he wasn’t fooled, could tell something was up with her.

Aarik watched her truck disappear around the corner before scanning the parking lot for any signs as to what had spooked her. He stood there for a good fifteen minutes and sat in his car for another ten before he felt satisfied enough to leave.

# # #

Z stood beside Jones and her ladders, attired in his usual shorts and t-shirt; no baseball cap today, watching as she finished the last of her squats. “We’re going to speed things up a bit today with your count. We are moving on to jogging. Up and back. Watch me,” he said, and she did, admiring the smoothness of his movements as he made his way down and then back to her, counting aloud as he made short work of the ladder drill.

“That’s the tempo and the speed I want you to maintain going forward,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her.

“Your turn,” he said. She started in with her counting, one, two three, four, as he done a few minutes before, and then back, totally having to concentrate on the backpedaling or else she’d topple over with the increase in speed, concentrating—changes were always a challenge for her. Always.

“Backpedaling is what we’re doing and now that we’ve adding speed, let’s discuss your body’s positioning,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, watching as he moved closer to her side.

“Chest over your knees, hands moving with your feet, pumping,” he said, demonstrating as he talked. “Your speed isn’t that important at this point, so don’t overthink it. It’s only one, two, three, and four,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her. “Now you try,” he said and watched as she did it. “Good,” he said, watching her move. Not bad on the backpedaling, although not as fast as she’d been on the forward jog, he noted.

“Okay, you can keep the slower speed backpedaling for now, since I can see it’s harder for you, but not any slower,” he said, demonstrating again. “Now forward again,” he said, brushing his hand and shooing her forward. She was jogging now as he walked beside her, counting out the pace. It was backward slowly, and then forward fast, and then back slowly; and it went on and on like that until her thighs were burning.

“Two minutes, take a break, grab some water, and then we start again,” he said.

She walked over to her water bottle, not enough energy to even reply. And what she wouldn’t give to go back to the ease of mere walking.

“Let’s go, Jones,” he said, probably two minutes later, watching her drag herself back over to him. “It takes a while to get into shape,” he said. She nodded and took off at his command of “Set, go,” and it was that up and back, jogging until she thought she would fall over. He allowed her to switch to walking eventually, the same up and back, which she did, thoughts of a hot soak when she got home filling her head.

# # #

“Good work today,” he said when she was done and gathering up the equipment, waiting until her gaze found his. “So, Jones, I’m going to take you up on your offer to help me. If you’re still offering,” he said, clearing his throat, as Memphis had folded her arms under her chest, causing it to lift just so. It was a distraction on a good day, and what he wouldn’t do to get his hands on those perfect grapefruit-shaped breasts of hers. He could fall into the space between them and never find his way out. Okay, what was he doing now? He wondered, moving his gaze up to her face. If she noticed anything odd about his staring, she didn’t let on.

“So, I’m opening up a shop, a store front, grand opening scheduled for July twenty-ninth, to coincide with the town’s local art festival. It’s a place I own up in Bastrop. Purchased it not that long after I bought my home. It was too big of a space for me, so I’ve split it down at the middle. I’m renting half of it to a friend, and the other half will be a place for me to sell my work.”

“Oh,” she said, not sure where this was going. “What do you want me to do exactly?”

“Plan the opening for me.”

“Opening to what?”

“My shop.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I didn’t mean something so… when I offered, I meant more organizing at your home, or something like it. This?”

“Is too much for you to handle?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what?” he asked, smiling his barely-there smile.

“Nothing. Are you sure you want me?”

“I am. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure,” he said. “Are you sure?”

“If you are,” she said, eyeing him skeptically while she pulled out her phone, tapping on the key that brought up her calendar. “I know, phones have no place during training, so don’t give me grief about it. Plus we’re done here anyway,” she said pointing to the ladders. “That gives us about six weeks or so,” she said, looking at her dates and back to the subject of his opening.

“Yes,” he said, watching her, pleased by the word
us
for some reason.

“Where is your shop exactly?”

“Downtown Bastrop, in the old historic part of it. I thought we could drive up and see it tomorrow afternoon, after I’ve finished with class and you with my office, unless you have something else to do.”

“Nope, after class I can do.”

“See you in the morning then?” he said, before he turned away, headed to his home.

“Yep,” she said to his retreating back. She collected the ladders and on rubbery legs walked to the utility building to put them away. It was home to her tub and then to bed, and space to give her images of him in the nude that one time free rein, and him staring at her chest earlier, and what was that about? What was this? Wasn’t it kind of a big deal to let someone plan your opening? Maybe she meant more to him than she thought, and just like that, her crush came roaring back to life.

# # #

Saturday morning

Eight fifteen the following morning, Memphis pulled up to Z’s gate. It was locked again. She was earlier than usual; that could be one explanation for its locked status, or he was with Meredith. Whatever, it was none of her business. She only wanted to finish up, more so now that he’d given her a new assignment.

She had a few containers to haul in—she had purchased more to pack up the rest of what she’d designated for storage—and it was a shorter walk to haul them in from the back door. Almost done; all that was left was attacking those three-year-old unopened boxes, which she hoped would be a quick look, see, and toss. She pulled out her phone, where she’d placed the combination into her notes, and went to unlock the gate.

She parked outside the back door, in between his truck and Meredith’s, and used the same combination to access the key to the back door. She stepped inside minutes later, listening for sounds that would indicate someone was awake. She could smell the scent of coffee, but otherwise it was quiet.

She closed the door behind her and headed to the office, the soles of her tennis-clad feet, keeping her trek inside silent. She entered his office and turned on the lights before she made her way over to his desk, now clean of anything paper, as was most of his office. She’d had done a good job, she thought, patting herself on the back.

“What the hell,” she said aloud, jumping at the sound of someone’s scream. Okay, it wasn’t that kind of scream, not like running across a zombie or something. No, this was a different type of scream, more of a high-pitched moan.

She’d moved closer to the wall, to what she thought was the likely source: Z’s bedroom or his bath; both were located on the other side of this wall. She placed her ear to it and listened. She could make out faint sounds of a female, and was she moaning? She heard laughter next, followed the low rumble of a male’s voice, and then it stopped, replaced by a long, loud, and heartfelt moan.

She stood leaning against the wall, listening as the moans increased in number and in volume, followed by more rumblings of Z’s voice again. Who else could it be? She couldn’t make out words. More moans, short staccato ones, all female, apparently reaching a peak; a crescendo of sound was what it was, breaking, and then silence. She should go. She would go, she thought, no way did she want to be found in his office with her ear pressed against the wall listening as he made love to someone other than her, but where to go? Outside. She had those storage containers to bring and now was the perfect time to do so.

She reached for her purse, found her phone and her earbuds, and plugged them in, found a playlist and turned up the volume, drowning out anything but her music. She laughed at herself, mixed in with wondering what the hell kind of trick had he used to pull that response from a woman, followed by where could she find one like him for herself, as he was so clearly occupied. It had been too long, she thought, as she opened his back door. Yes, she could stand a little bit of whatever that was, relegating her crush back into the closet.

# # #

Memphis pulled out of her parking space behind Z’s home later on that afternoon. His class was over and she was done for the morning too. She’d gotten into her first set of moving boxes. One more weekend and she would be finished. There had been no invitation to lunch today from Z, just a shower and then he was standing by the door asking if she were ready to leave for Bastrop. They were headed there now to see his storefront, the first step in planning the opening for it and him.

She waved one final time to Meredith, who was laid out by the pool, bare-backed and browning under the Texas sun. Tired, she guessed. Z must be a lot, she thought, watching his truck speed off down the highway in front of her. In a hurry he was. He drove one of those the hulking monster trucks, the kind that scared her a little when she encountered them at night, speeding up to her bumper, all in a hurry, loaded down with those big-assed bars in the front and an extended cab, seating for the whole family, with those side view mirrors that could see around all of that bigness.

His was white, and he drove it impatiently fast. She followed along behind much more slowly. She sold insurance and knew firsthand the outcome that came from impatiently fast. He would disappear out in front of her for a while, until it must have occurred to him that she was no longer trailing him, at which time he slowed down until she caught up, and it took a few times of this dance before he eventually got the message or gave up, whatever; but he slowed down, and she was able to keep up with him from then on.

Bastrop was a nice small town, not that far from Austin. Thirty minutes or more would take you from the south side of downtown, up Highway 71 east, down past the new airport. The old Bergstrom air force base had been turned into the city’s main airport and it was so much better than when it was actually located in the heart of the city, ’cause depending on where you lived, you couldn’t hear yourself think as the airplanes flew overhead.

Bastrop was known for its agribusiness ties, farm and ranching supplies, and of course oil and gas. It wouldn’t be Texas without the oil and gas, and now shale, the new oil and gas. Quaint, she thought, of the town, turning on to Highway 21, noticing the old bridge that ran alongside the highway, used for walking—or perhaps strolling would be a more apt word choice for what people did—enjoying the sights of the Colorado River.

She drove past the two cool buildings sitting on the banks, with their kayaks ready for rental by those that wanted an up-close and personal meeting with the river. She’d been here before but not often. Her dealings had been west of here, between Bastrop and the smaller town of Elgin, which were where most of the wildfires had occurred.

She made the turn onto Main Street, driving behind him still, and into the historic part of the city. Brick, red and worn, adorned the façades of most of the buildings that belonged to this area, with its no parking allowed on the streets signs.

It was another five minutes of looking for parking before eventually finding a lot nearby.

“You’re a slow driver,” he said, standing beside her car, waiting for her to get out.

“I’m a cautious driver,” she said.

They made their way across the street and one block over, quiet between them, before they arrived at what must be his shop. It was wedged in between a bank to the left and a coffee shop to the right.

“This is your place?” she asked.

“Yep, my half. The coffee shop is my friend’s half,” he said, holding the door open for her. B
EANS AND
T
HINGS
read the sign, painted in red, that hung above the door and was the name for this rectangular-shaped, one-story room, with tall ceilings, large front windows, and a wooden bench out front. Comfy and folksy, Memphis thought of the building’s external façade, so like the rest of the buildings on the block.

Cement for the floor, red brick for the walls, worn in places in both cement and walls was the inside, which looked a lot like the outside, she thought. There were tables, square-shaped, with chairs around them, mostly empty. “Coffee bar and small kitchen are located at the rear,” he whispered into her ear. His voice this close to her did so many wonderful things to her insides.

A tall woman stood behind the counter watching them, or it was more like she was watching Z She had done a quick cursory scan of Memphis before moving back over to Z. She was pretty and slim, his type she concluded, an exact duplicate of Meredith.

“You must be Jones,” the young woman said, walking over to meet them.