“Does Precious have a hangover? Suck it up. I need a run through the park. Wanna join?”
There’s a long silence, and I picture him in his mammoth bed he special ordered when he renovated his apartment. It looks like something a vampire would sleep in, all dark mahogany and fancy scrolls and tall elaborate posts at the ends. His bedding—as he so lovingly showed us—is black silk damask. The top of the bed has a canopy that matches.
“If we wait until later, it’ll just be crowded and hot.”
He lets out a string of curses. “You got married and I wasn’t even invited, and now you’re waking me up? I’m pissed at you. Tuck shared with me. He confided. It built a bridge between us. We can’t truly connect on the field if you don’t let me into your personal life. Whatever. I haven’t even met this girl. You get me?”
He complained about this in Atlanta during camp. I sat through an offensive strategies class, with him ignoring me. When I said hello at practice, he’d just grunt. His hotel room was next to mine, and usually we’d go to dinner together, but he spent most of his time in the gym where we had our training.
“Ah, stop giving me the cold shoulder, Precious. Would it help if I said, ‘Please go running with me? With a cherry on top?’”
“Fucker. You’d need a million cherries.”
“And maybe we could get some Mexican later? Healthy? I’m thinking fajitas and no tortillas. No chips or cheese dip either.”
“But I love the chips. They crunch so good,” he says on a groan.
“Chips it is. Was that a yes?”
“No.”
“What if I said we’ll go meet Emmy afterwards. She can’t wait to meet you. You know, I gave her your phone number in case she needed a friend to help out with Kian.”
“Of course I’d help her. I’m awesome. Fine! Fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” He hangs up on me.
After our five-mile run and lunch, we head to the bookstore. My heart beats harder with each step that gets us closer. I want to see her face. Those plump, delicious lips.
“Tell me about Emmy. Was it love at first sight, like you told the team, or was it more lust?”
I frown, my train of thought interrupted and fear crowding in when I see a fire truck parked on the curb and firemen milling around outside the bookstore.
I’m about to burst inside and see what’s going on when Jasper grabs my arm in front of the bookstore. “Dude. Check out the window. Your wife is into some kinky shit.”
The mannequins that were there before, a man and woman, have fallen. She’s tipped backward and leans against the wall, her updo hair in disarray, while the male mannequin’s head is shoved under her dress. To add to the scene, one of his arms is on her waist. The book and ring he was holding litter the floor.
Magic lounges on top of the male mannequin’s chest, tail flicking as devious eyes narrow in on me.
“I like this store already,” he calls on a laugh as we enter the store.
I glance around and don’t see fire or smell smoke. I blow out an exhale. Everything looks normal, except that the floors are scuffed up in the rotunda, probably from the firemen.
I stop at the table with the manual typewriter and type a quick message, then move along.
Jane works at the counter as she checks out customers, her blonde hair piled up on her head. The line of people stretch all the way to one of the sitting areas. One woman huffs as she steps from foot to foot. A man grumbles under his breath.
I notice Andrew as he dashes back and forth behind the pastry counter, making coffees and slipping croissants into bags.
Jane gives me a smirk. “Welcome to A Likely Story. It’s a wreck.”
“Still can’t find enough employees?” I ask.
She smiles at a customer as she finishes checking her out. “We’ve lost six total. She’s hired us and two more, and they’re still learning the ropes.”
“What happened to the window out front?”
Jane sighs. “Magic got his claws stuck in the lady mannequin’s dress. No one’s had time to fix it. This entire day has been off-the-charts insane.”
“What else is going on?” I ask.
“Our second cash register went on the fritz, there’s a leak in the basement, a kid got locked in one of the restrooms upstairs this morning, and we had to call the fire department, and Andrew keeps burning pastries. If he burns another batch of cookies, I’m going to stick my foot in his ass.”
Andrew snorts. “Touch me and see what happens.”
“Oh, shut it. Get back to work,” she snips.
He flips her off as he sings the chorus to “You’re So Vain,” by Carly Simon.
She pokes her tongue out at him.
The next woman in line clears her throat. “Excuse me, miss, but I’d like to check out now.”
“So would I,” someone else grouses.
Magic chooses that moment to dash out of the window display and dart between someone’s legs. A small child squeals and chases the cat.
“Holy shit. This place is cool,” Jasper says. “Wahoo!”
I inhale a deep breath. Okay, so things are a bit messy at the store.
“How can I help?” I ask Jane.
She gives me a look. Assessing.
“I don’t think she likes you,” Jasper murmurs.
“She’s coming around,” I say back.
Jane cocks her head toward the kitchen. “Go bake some more cookies. We’re running low, since Emmy gave the firemen several dozen. They’re in the freezer, and directions are on the package. Set the timer, then come back out and work the back of the line. If you don’t know what that means, it means being nice to them and asking if they’ve found everything they wanted.”
Andrew huffs as he turns to the kitchen doors. “Jesus! You’re asking Graham? He’s a football player! Hey, Jasper, nice to meet you. I’m a big fan. You’re fucking awesome.” Andrew glares at his sister. “I’ll do the cookies. You two help Jane by working the crowd. I’m not sure she knows how to be nice to people.”
“Neanderthal,” she says under her breath as he goes into the kitchen.
Jasper leans in on the counter. “Your hero has arrived. What can I do for you, beautiful?”
“Jane, this is Jasper, my quarterback.”
Jasper gives her his killer smile and bats his lashes. “Hey.”
She pushes a two-foot stack of books toward him. “Do you know how to read?”
His charming demeanor vanishes. “Don’t throw shade because I’m a football god. I was cum laude at the University of Southern California”—he reads her name tag as if he’s forgotten her name—“Jane.”
“Congrats,” she says dryly. “Shelve these.”
He picks a few of them up. “Did people change their minds and just leave them here?”
She nods. “Sometimes.”
“I kinda feel sorry for the books that get left behind. Oh, look, here’s one about Romanian folklore. Maybe there’s a section on vampire tales. That’s my kryptonite. I’ll buy that one.” He moves it to the side.