Fates' Folly (7 page)

"Good. I won't tell you how disappointed I
felt when I found you in his arms."

"Bo, listen I know you think-"

"Shhh," he said, softly kissing me into
submission. Then, I don't know how much later, he said, "I have to
go. You have company, and I have a meeting. I hadn't even planned
to stop by. I just couldn't leave things as they were. I almost
came back last night."

"You would have found me drunk, sick, or
dead," I said, my thoughts still wasted from his last kiss.

"What?"

One day I'd be able to control my big mouth.
"After you left, I had a couple of chocolate raspberry, rum and
coke floats with snack cakes on the side. I got drunk, and then I
got sick and passed out dead to the world." Literally.

Bo grimaced. "I guess I'm not sorry I missed
that."

"Yeah, it was a blast."

Bo stepped back away from me. He leaned
against the fridge watching me, waiting… for something.

I had to try one more time. "Look, I don't
want any kind of relationship. I know my body responds to you, but
that doesn't mean I want anything other than friendship with you.
You're wasting your time. Even if you managed to get me into bed,
one night of sex is all it would be. Last night was my biological
clock or the full moon or something, not me. I'm not
interested."

Bo tilted his head, giving me a small smile.
"I'm not going anywhere, Myra."

And he left.

I was still leaning heavily against the sink
when Riley walked into the kitchen. "I thought you didn't like
men."

"I don't. I just can't get him to realize
that."

"You might try using your mouth for speaking
instead of-"

"That’s none of your business. Besides, I
thought we were in a hurry to get to San Francisco."

"And I thought you refused to go because of
the pain."

"I've changed my mind. Bring it on." I'd
welcome the pain, anything to help me forget the man whose kisses
made me feel.

We landed
in an apartment building hallway that had definitely seen better
days. I was bent over, pushing my fist into the spot where I
believed my left ovary used to be. "I hate that," I snapped.

"It will get better with time," Riley said,
walking down the gloomy hallway.

"It will hurt less?" I asked, shuffling after
him, still feeling disjointed.

"No, but you get used to it."

"Great, something to look forward to."

Riley stopped in front of a door with 4c in
tarnished brass characters under the peep hole. Considering the
dingy walls, broken light fixtures and scarred, battered door, I
really didn't have high hopes for the apartment's occupant. Riley
knocked on the door, four precise knocks.

We waited. No answer. Riley knocked again,
knock, knock, knock, knock. We waited.

"Maybe he's not home," I suggested.

Riley knocked again. "He's home. And we are
not leaving until he sees us," he announced loudly.

I slid down the wall directly behind Riley
until my butt hit the floor and my legs were stretched out in front
of me. I was so damn tired.

I wondered what germs and microscopic
organisms were in the carpet. If I were to lie down for five
minutes, how many of those organisms would get into my hair?

Would I notice, and could I wash them
out?

I ran my hand across the carpet, ick. I
suppressed a gag while quickly rubbing the sticky, greasy residue
off my fingers and onto my pajama bottoms.

"If he's home but isn't answering the door,
obviously he wants nothing to do with us. Are you sure there is no
one else we can go to for training?"

"It has to be The Trainer
Extraordinaire."

"Did you just say éclair?" I loved
éclairs.

Riley turned around to look at me, pointing
to a sign above the door. Trainer Extraordinaire was engraved on a
gold name plate that hung above the door.

"Thinks highly of himself."

"Zeus awarded him the name plate. After five
consecutive years of the gods taking turns sponsoring him in the
Olympian Trials and winning each time, Bartholomew was given the
name plate and the privilege to never have to compete again. He is
the best."

"Fine, he's the best. He is the most amazing
trainer in the world. However, he is not opening his door. So I say
we skedaddle to the nearest pastry shop on our way home and call on
Mr. Extraordinaire at a much later and, therefore, more convenient
time."

Riley knocked again. "We are not going
anywhere until he agrees to at least see us," he shouted at the
door.

I thought again about letting my body fall
down to the carpet. Riley knocked again. I watched a large roach
crawl across the floor by my leg. I jumped up to stand next to the
door.

"Good grief, Riley, this is ridiculous! You
probably don't know this about me which isn't surprising
considering I've only known you for less than twenty-four hours,
but I have no patience. None whatsoever, but especially not when
waiting in a disgusting hallway listening to you systematically
knock on this damn door."

Riley, giving me a mock bow stepped
aside.

I pounded on the door. "Hey asshole, how
about you stop being a yellow-belly pussy, and open the damn
door!"

I stopped pounding. No answer. Riley sighed,
leaning against the wall beside the door.

I stuck my head against the door and the
casing where it would open and in my most menacing voice I said,
"If you don't open this fucking door right now I'm going to scream
up and down this hall that you’re my baby's daddy, and I think you
gave me syphilis and herpes and-"

The door swung open. A tall -probably over
six feet- leanly muscled man stood in the doorway. He was dressed
in black super skinny jeans and an equally tight, short sleeve
white polo. His skin was the same color as his shirt and heavily
freckled. His hair, bright red and slicked back, revealed perfectly
plucked eyebrows, both arched over large brown eyes that, in a
strange way, balanced the super skinny mustache that outlined his
top lip.

"Do you kiss your mother with that Mouth?" he
sneered.

"Yes, I did. Who the hell do you think taught
me my colorful vocabulary?"

He raised one red eyebrow. I've always been
suspicious of anyone capable of singular eyebrow arching.

“It’s like you’re an oversized Opie
Cunningham,” I said

He curled his top lip in disgust.

“Who thinks he's French,” I added.

Before Mr. Extraordinaire could respond,
Riley reached around me, opened the door wider and pushed me
through.

Books -lots and lots of books- greeted me. I
should say shelves of books- they lined the walls below and above
the two large windows and pretty much everywhere in-between. Where
there weren't shelves, the furniture acted as substitute, with
books stacked on every available surface and crammed into every
available space.

"Somebody's a reader," I muttered to
myself.

Giant Opie looked down at me, his top lip
curled in disgust again. "A man is known by the books he reads.
Ralph Waldo Emerson."

"The more you read, the more things you will
know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go. Dr.
Seuss." Jackass.

"Bartholomew," Riley said in greeting,
walking past me to stand in between The Trainer Extraordinaire and
myself.

"Caisus," Bartholomew said, with a regal head
nod. "What did I do to deserve this mongrel pounding at my
door?"

"Mongrel? Listen here you freakishly tall,
red-headed bastard-"

I'm not sure what I had planned to do, but
just as I stepped around Riley, he pulled me back against him,
turned me so my left side was practically one with his chest and
tucked me under his arm.

It took him less than five seconds. His voice
never wavered, nor was there any other indication that he had just
rendered me completely immobile and was still holding me in place
as he answered Bartholomew’s insulting question. "We've known each
other too long for theatrics, old friend. You know exactly why we
are here," Riley said.

"Why me? Really Caisus, I think I've earned
the right to only accept the elite for my tutelage, and you bring
me…" he gestured to me, "this."

I really didn't like this guy. "I really
don't like you," I grumbled into Riley’s chest.

I was so pissed. I didn’t appreciate being
held like a disobedient child while the Jackass Extraordinaire
insulted me. I tried again to break Riley’s hold when suddenly he
let go.

I did not miss my opportunity. I gave Riley a
quick elbow in the stomach and swung a fist at Bartholomew's ribs.
He blocked my hand. I kicked. He blocked my foot. I stomped on his
toe and kicked his shin. At least, that was my intention. He moved
his foot out of the way and grabbed mine, flipping me so that I
landed hard, very hard, on my ass.

"I really, really don't like you," I
growled.

Bartholomew ignored me, nodding at Riley,
holding out his hand. "I'll do it," he said.

I stood up. "I don't want you to," I said,
now whining because my bum really hurt.

"Thank you," Riley said, shaking
Bartholomew’s hand.

I turned to Riley. "Why can't you do it?”

"Bartholomew is the best," he said.

I frowned.

"Better than me," he said.

"True," Bartholomew said.

"He won't do a good job. He doesn't even like
me," I said, feeling a little panicked. I did not want to be left
with Barty the red headed Frenchman.

"I always do a good job. Like has nothing to
do with it. However, I do think I will enjoy training you,"
Bartholomew said, with a smile that was so creepy it made my skin
crawl.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this, but
why?"

"Watching you fall on your ass was highly
entertaining, and I have a feeling you'll be doing it often."

I thought about calling him a number of foul
names, giving him the finger, or my patented don't-mess-with-me
glare, which always worked well on high school students, but it was
no use. Bartholomew out matched me in wit- and probably intellect-
not to mention he'd probably throw me on my ass again.

"Fine. But you'll have to work around my
school schedule, and though Friday is the last day for students, I
still have two more weeks of post planning."

Bartholomew gave me a look of disdain.

He said to Riley, "I'll get my appointment
book."

I watched Bartholomew disappear through a
doorway. All of a sudden the apartment felt stuffy, and I felt too
tired to stand. I moved a stack of books off a little settee and
sat. I looked over at Riley who was intently staring at his feet. I
wondered if he was disappointed in me, then I mentally slapped
myself for the thought. Why the hell did I care what Riley, who –I
shouldn't have had to remind myself- I'd only known for less than a
day, thought of me? I was about to continue with my silent
self-admonishment when I realized the corners of Riley's mouth were
turned up. The bastard was smiling.

"What the hell do you think is so funny?" I
asked.

Riley looked up at me, a full smile spread
across his face. "Let's just say I'm congratulating myself."

"On what?"

He didn't get to answer because Bartholomew
walked back in carrying a glittering purple book.

"Nice organizer," I said.

"Let's see," he said, ignoring my comment.
"Except for personal grooming appointments, it appears that my
schedule is free for the most part, so…I'll just pencil you in,
T.T... Monday through Friday at four and Saturday and Sunday at
ten. "

"Are you insane? That's every day! I don't
get home from school until four, and what the hell does T.T. stand
for?"

"Quit bouncing, I obtained that piece of
furniture in 1696, and though it survived the French revolution, I
don't know if it can withstand your girth."

I leaned back until I heard a distinctly
satisfying creak. "No problem Barty. What did T. T. stand for
again?" I said, using my sugary sweet southern bell voice.

Barty smiled his creepy smile again. "Trailer
trash."

I stood up, one step away from wiping the
smug smile off Barty's face when Riley threw his arm around me and
forced me to the door.

"Thank you, Bartholomew," he said, as he
pushed me into the hall.

"My pleasure," Barty said. "See you tomorrow
T.T." I heard him coo before he closed his door.

Riley dragged me further down the hall. I
jerked my arm out of his grasp.

"Why didn't you let me at least try to get in
a good kick or punch? It's not like you didn't let me go at him
earlier, knowing what I was going to do."

"It wouldn't have served any purpose, other
than proving to you that Barty was capable, and considering your
lack of fighting ability, that wasn't really needed."

"So why did you let me attack him the first
time?"

Riley grinned. I had a feeling I wasn't going
to like his answer.

"Because we need him, he really is the best,
and I was counting on your special ability to interest an otherwise
bored Bartholomew into taking you on."

"What ability?"

Riley faced me, taking my hands in his.
"We're going to shift now," he said.

"What ability?" I asked.

If possible his smile grew wider. "Ahh, Myra.
Your ability, I've begun to discover- your gift actually- is being
a major pain in the ass."

And then we shifted home.

I ate some cookies,
drank a glass of milk and tottered into my bedroom. I was
practically crawling into my bed before I realized two things. One,
I was no longer wearing shoes- I had lost my mismatched flip flops
somewhere between the Underworld, San Francisco and home- and two,
I had not addressed the where will Riley sleep question.