I kept my eyes on the clipboard as I read off of it, tapping each infraction with my pen. “No illuminated exit signs, blocked egress in back, no fire doors.” I ripped off the realtor’s copy and handed it to her. “You can read the rest.” I strode toward the front exit. I needed to get the hell out of there.
“Who can I talk to about this?” That was Sophie’s voice, calling after me.
“I’m the end of the road,” I answered without turning around. “There’s not enough money in the world to buy your way out of this problem.”
“I wasn’t talking about buying my way out of this problem.” She sounded mad. I paused at the door.
“I know some guys who can come take a look at the place,” the realtor interjected nervously, trying to calm down Sophie. “They’ll give you a fair price.”
“That’s not the problem.” I turned around to explain it in plain terms. “The problem is this is a historic building. You’re not going to be allowed to make the upgrades this place needs so it won’t be a death trap.”
“Is that right?” Anger flashed in Sophie’s eyes as she stared back at me, defiant.
“That’s right.” Why was she acting like I was being a jerk? She was the one about to make a huge mistake. I was helping her out. “Did you not know this is a historic building?”
“Of course I know that!” Her face was getting flushed. She gestured with a hand in the air like I remembered she used to do when she got upset. “I’m not stupid. I’ve already talked with the historical society.”
“Oh, right.” I nodded, remembering her socialite mother. She’d probably chaired the historical society’s annual fundraiser and all Sophie had to do was make a few calls. “You’re using your mother’s connections.”
“What did you say? Using my mother’s connections?” She took a step forward like she was going to slug me, fury coursing through every inch of her body. She was close to me now, close enough to reach out and touch, grab, and shake some sense into her. Or kiss her senseless, leaning her back and devouring her until she started panting, breathless.
“I’m going to head out.” I turned, opened the door and exited the building before my thoughts could bleed into reality.
“I’m buying this store,” she called after me.
“That’s a mistake,” I shouted back as I walked away.
“Yeah, well, it’s my mistake to make.”
I climbed into my truck, revved the engine and pealed out a little too fast. Adrenaline coursed through my limbs and I had to force myself to slow it down, then stop at a crosswalk while an elderly woman walked along with assistance.
What the hell was Sophie doing back on Naugatuck? The girl had all the money in the world and from what I’d heard, she owned the world of ballet. She could go anywhere. Why wasn’t she living it up in New York City or summering on some island off the coast of France?
And what was this about opening a dance school? As if she might be considering moving here permanently? That was a bad idea. That wouldn’t work at all. Anyway, it wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t buy that property. It was a money pit of epic proportions. And even if she did somehow pull off opening up a school, there was no way she’d actually manage it and teach there. Leaving stardom behind at the pinnacle of her career to hole up in some tiny tourist town teaching kids how to plié? I didn’t see that happening.
Unless she’d gotten injured. The thought gave me pause. Sometimes professional athletes got cut down in their prime, suddenly struck with a career-ending injury no surgeon could mend. Was Sophie in pain? Devastated and trying to piece her life back together?
Well so fucking what, I told myself, kicking my truck back into gear. She’d had the world handed to her on a silver platter. A little humility would probably do her good, give her a taste of how the other 99 percent lived. Only she never would get it, not really. The trust fund she laid her head down on every night buffered her from ever experiencing real life, the way the rest of us did.
Fuck. Before the inspection I’d been looking forward to my day off. I had nothing planned, no commitments, my favorite kind of day. Now I wished I was booked solid, or at least at the stationhouse where I’d be so busy it wouldn’t fucking matter who’d walked back into my life unannounced.
Sitting in stop-and-go traffic, my mind wandered. Sophie looked good. Better than I remembered. She still had that rosy bloom in her cheeks, though the color had drained right out of her when she’d first seen me. She’d looked exactly like I’d felt, like a ton of bricks had fallen down out of the sky onto both of our heads.
I headed home. I went for a run at a faster pace and for a longer distance than usual. I made some calls, filling the rest of my afternoon and evening with people to see and places to go. Even on a random Wednesday, during the summer there were always multiple parties from which to choose. I headed out to pick up a friend, then drove out to see a hot girl I’d met last week and her hot friend. We all went out to a beach where other friends were waiting, the girls’ friends, my friends.
The girl, whose name might have been Melissa, asked me to rub lotion on her back. I did it with practiced movements, skimming over her lovely skin slow and sensual. She moaned a little and leaned back into me, showing me exactly how much she enjoyed me touching her. And giving me a clear idea of how much more she wanted me to touch.
She was pretty, ready and willing. She had an easy smile and seemed to have no complexity at all, no backstory of pain, no dark pull at my heartstrings. She was perfect. I should have taken full advantage, finding somewhere for the two of us to indulge in carnal pleasures.
Instead I found myself wandering off and having a chat with a guy I knew who’d just come in from checking his lobster traps. Little known fact: every Massachusetts residence was allowed a non-commercial fishing license to own and operate a maximum of te
n lobster traps. He had a sweet 17 ft. whaler, nothing fancy, perfect for tooling around on days off and he’d caught himself two fat lobsters he and his wife could enjoy. I might have to look into getting a boat like that one day. But the honest truth of it was I still hadn’t 100 percent regained my taste for boating. Almost dying in a freak storm could do that to you.
He offered me a beer and we sat at the back of his truck for a few minutes, shooting the shit. Then Melissa came over wearing nothing but a string bikini on the windswept beach. In the late afternoon, it couldn’t be much more than high of 65 degrees. The girl needed a jacket.
“Aren’t you coming back?” she pouted, dusting sand along the asphalt of the parking lot with her toe.
“In a few minutes,” I assured her with a smile, then went back to drinking my beer. She flounced around, giving her hips an exaggerated sway as she stalked back to the blanket alone.
“That is a fine looking woman,” my buddy observed, watching her go much more attentively than I was.
“You’re welcome to her,” I offered.
“Don’t think the wife would appreciate that much.” He laughed. “Anyway, she’s making potato salad and coleslaw tonight to go with the lobster.” He patted his ample stomach. “I’m not passing that up.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“But I’m an old married man,” he teased, though I knew at the most he was maybe five years older than me. “I’m supposed to be boring. What are you doing passing that up?” He gestured in the direction of Little Miss Pouty.
“Yeah.” I drained my beer and nodded. “I’ll go see about that.”
“You make it sound like a job, man.” He laughed and folded up the back on his truck bed.
“Sometimes it feels like it,” I admitted. Heading home to a nice home-cooked meal with a woman who loved me? That sounded like a pretty good alternative.