Her Last Best Fling (16 page)

Rich nodded, fetching the papers the printer had spat out.
“It’s all very incestuous around here. Must be in the water.”

She held in the questions she was longing to ask, knowing Rich
was the kind of guy who’d tease her mercilessly if she gave him the ammunition.
So is she good, this matchmaker? What sort of guys
might she find for a chick who’s spent the past decade scrapping in
chain-link octagons? Would I look dumb for even asking if she’d want me as a
client?

Steph had grown up an hour’s drive from here. She didn’t know
anyone in Boston, not outside this gym, and didn’t have the first clue how to go
about meeting the kind of men she’d like to date. She was useless at the bar
scene, given what a teetotaler training turned one into, and didn’t relish
taking up tango or speed-dating or going it alone on some freebie personals
site. If she was going to find a boyfriend, she’d do it the right way. Do it
through a service that attracted sophisticated, grown-up men who were looking
for something serious. Spark might be the perfect solution and a worthy expense,
provided she could muster the balls to ask.

“Autograph this,” Rich said, handing her a safety waiver. “And
Mercer’s got tax and payroll forms for you, too, someplace.” He rummaged through
a filing cabinet and Steph read and signed all the papers.

“So, how you settling in?” he asked, relaxing back in the
chair. “You find a place you like?”

She shook her head. “Only a sublet. A nice one, but I have to
find an apartment of my own by March first.”

“Bummer.”

“No, it’s fine. I couldn’t afford this place on my own for more
than a couple months.”

Rich knocked her papers into a tidy stack and slipped them in a
folder. “My girlfriend’s looking for a roommate.”

“Oh yeah?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Bear in mind, I’d be your
neighbor, one floor down.”

Incestuous, indeed. Rich as her coworker, roommate’s boyfriend,
neighbor? That was a
lot
of Rich Estrada. But it was
a better lead than she’d found elsewhere.

“On the plus side,” he went on, scribbling
Need copies
on a Post-it and sticking it to the folder, “you’d
pretty much have the place to yourself.” No doubt. Rich didn’t seem the type to
suffer an empty bed. “Though there may be a surly teenage girl crashing on
Lindsey’s couch all summer,” he added. “I’m paying her little sister’s way to
come train. If and when she graduates high school.”

She smiled at that. “I’d never have pegged you for the
mentoring type.”

“Me neither. Anyhow, we’ll have you over some weekend, and you
girls can see if you mesh. It’s in Lynn. Do you drive?”

“No. I sold my car when I knew I’d be moving to Boston.”

“You could catch a lift with me, when we’re on the same shifts.
Plus there’s the bus and the train.”

“Sounds doable.” Steph wasn’t opposed to a roommate—she’d
shared a million tiny motel rooms with perfect strangers. And she wasn’t really
opposed to living in the same building as Rich. Brash or not, he made her laugh,
and most of the conversations they’d had on the road over low-sodium, fat-free
training meals had been dominated by his laments about missing his Colombian
mother’s cooking. She wouldn’t pass up an invite to an Estrada family
dinner.

“I’ll fix something up,” he said. “Maybe next weekend.”

When he stood, Steph took his lead and they headed back into
the gym.

There was a mid-afternoon lull—no structured sessions, everyone
doing their own thing. Steph wandered around, introducing herself, stepping in
to hold targets or spot the guys working out with weights. Mercer arrived at
four, freeing Rich to head home.

Steph smiled and shook Mercer’s hand. “Hey, boss.”

“Hey yourself, new girl.” He gave her nose only the briefest
double-take. “I guess you didn’t find your right mind and back out, after all.”
Mercer was a good guy. A few years older than her and Rich, with a stern,
no-nonsense face, scarred up from his years as a boxer.

“I like a challenge,” she said.

“Clearly. The next class starts up at five. You need a break?
Grab a snack or a drink or anything?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.” Also wouldn’t hurt to go ahead and ask what
she hadn’t been able to, with Rich. “Your fiancée owns the matchmaking business
upstairs, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She felt herself blushing, which given her complexion meant she
was already red as a brick. “Is it only for business-type people, or...?”

Mercer’s less-scarred eyebrow rose. “You want to join
Spark?”

She bit her lip. “Maybe.”

“Good for you. I’m not sure what the exact criteria are, but
you can go up and ask Jenna yourself. I know her last appointment’s already done
for the day.”

“What? Right now?”

“We’re going out of town for a few days on Friday, so no time
like the present.”

“But looking like this?” She waved to indicate her bra and
shorts, the hair at her temples and nape curled with sweat. Lord knew what her
tender nose might be looking like by now.

“Ah. Maybe throw on some warm-ups. But she knows what a mess we
are, on the clock. Don’t worry about that.”

Maybe not, but after Steph changed into yoga pants and a
zip-up, she splashed her face with water and wrapped her hair in a bandanna. On
the way out she made eye contact with the electrician, who was installing some
device by the exit.

“Looks better,” Patrick offered brightly, gesturing at his own
nose.

Damn it, he was good-looking. Had this been five years ago,
Steph would’ve already succumbed to a terminal crush on him, dolt or not.

He’s been sent to test you
,
with his big arms and blue eyes and stubble, and his tool
belt all slung around his hips. Ooh, his hips.
But she’d dated this
man before—over and over and over—and it never worked out. It’d be the dating
definition of insanity to fall again, expecting different results. The time had
come to start picking with her brain, instead of...other parts.

She glanced at his project.

“New security system,” he explained proudly. “State-of-the-art.
No more keys, same as in the foyer.”

“Great.”

“It’s so fancy I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing.”

“That’s very reassuring.”

“Not really my specialty, but hey—any work’s good work in this
economy, right?”

“Right.” She made for the doors, sidestepping the tools and
plaster chunks cluttering the floor.

“Hang on, let me—”

He tugged at a tangle of thick orange extension cord, just in
time to catch Steph’s ankle and send her stumbling to her knees and elbows, the
meat of her hand slamming into the claw-end of a hammer.

She swore as the pain bolted through her wrist and arm, jerking
away as Patrick tried to help her up. “Don’t.”

He hovered awkwardly as she made it to her feet. “I’m so
sorry.”

“I’m getting really tired of hearing you say that.”

“Sorry,” he repeated, oblivious as ever.

Steph studied the damage, blood beading along a nasty scrape on
her palm.

“Oh shit,” Patrick said. “Lemme find you something to—”

“I’m fine.”

But Patrick fished in his pockets and found a crumpled, if
clean, Dunkin’ Donuts napkin, offering it to her.

You are... You are just so exactly who you
are, aren’t you?

Good ol’ Pat from Boston or Brockton or Woburn, with his
electrician’s license and steel toes and his daily stop at the Dunkin’
drive-through. She took the napkin, wrapping it around her cut and skirting the
mess. She didn’t dare stay in this man’s orbit another second. He’d probably
manage to set her hair on fire.

He called, “Sorry, Stacy.”

“It’s
Steph,
” she shot back.

“Sorry.”

She jogged up the steps, imagining running into her dream man
as he left Spark. Tall, with dark hair, crisply pressed shirt, warm smile,
smelling of oak.

And her with a swollen nose, bleeding hand, dressed for a jog
and stinking of the effort.
Please let there be no men
around.

She was in luck. Through the tall windows that faced the
stylish foyer, she spied only a woman at a desk, typing on a laptop. She’d
caught sight of Rich’s girlfriend on a previous visit to Boston—she had dark
blond hair, so this brunette must be Jenna.

Steph approached the open door, more anxious than she’d ever
felt stepping into the ring. She knocked timidly on the frame.

Jenna glanced up. “Hello!” She stood and rounded her desk,
dressed in a smart skirt and tall boots, all shiny bangs and pink cheeks and
white teeth. “Welcome to Spark. How can I help you?” If she was weirded out by a
sweaty woman showing up in her threshold with no appointment and a bloody napkin
in her fist, she hid it shockingly well.

“Hi, I’m Steph Healy. I just started working downstairs.”

“I figured that had to be you. I’m Jenna. I own Spark, and I’m
engaged to Mercer.”

“So I hear.”

Jenna went in for a shake but Steph kept her hands clasped,
letting Jenna see the napkin. “Little mishap.”

“Oh goodness.” Jenna frowned and grabbed a water bottle off her
desk, wetting a tissue. “Give it here.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Steph crumpled the napkin and
offered her palm.

“Ouch,” Jenna said, dabbing at the scrape. “If this is Mercer’s
fault I’ll be chewing him out. Your first day and already you’re all banged
up.”

“I had a run-in with one of the contractors.”

Jenna fished in her purse and tore open a Band-Aid. It wouldn’t
last long once Steph was gloved and working out, but she politely let Jenna
fuss.

“He’s the reason I got this, too,” Steph said, pointing at her
nose.

“That was quite a run-in.”

“They were separate incidents.”

Jenna’s eyes widened.

“He’s not a very good contractor,” Steph offered.

“Apparently not.” Jenna tossed the bandage wrapper and leaned
on the edge of her desk, waving at a nearby chair. Steph sat.

“It’s so good to meet you,” Jenna said. “Mercer’s been wringing
his hands for months, convinced you were going to change your mind.”

Steph smiled. “He told me. But I like it down there.” Dangerous
electricians aside.

Another woman appeared then—Rich’s girlfriend, Steph was nearly
positive.

“This is Steph, from downstairs,” Jenna said.

“Oh right! Welcome to the building.” She came forward for a
shake. “I’m Lindsey. Is your nose okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Nice to meet you.”

Lindsey wore slacks and a deep purple sweater over a dress
shirt. This seemed to bode well. Both Mercer and Rich had managed to land
themselves polished, professional partners, despite their vocations. She stole a
quick glance at the engagement ring twinkling on Jenna’s finger, and some hybrid
of jealousy and hope sparked in her belly.

“Just here to say hello?” Jenna asked. “We must look really
dull compared to the action downstairs.”

Steph shrugged. “Feels like I’ve been living in gyms the past
ten years.” She gave the office and its modern furnishings an appreciative scan.
“This is exotic, trust me.”

“Rich said you’re from Mass,” Lindsey said, sitting on her
desk.

“Worcester.”

“Nice. I’m from Springfield. Jenna’s a California transplant,
but even she was technically born here.”

“It’s hard to stay away.” Steph had traveled all over—South
America and Europe, Asia and Australia, and until a couple years ago, she’d
thought she’d never settle in New England. Then some instinct had kicked in,
like a salmon getting called back up the river. “I just moved to Fort Point.”
She liked her temporary neighborhood, a collection of old factories and brick
office buildings straddling the border of Boston and South Boston, only ten
minutes’ walk. Twelve if the icy headwind off the harbor was really blowing.

“You just retired from fighting, right?” Lindsey asked.

“Yup, all done.” Steph seized the segue. “I got sick of all the
traveling. I’m ready to get rooted somewhere. Settle down.”

“Nice.”

“Rich said you’re looking for a roommate.”

Lindsey nodded. “I am. I feel stupid paying rent for a
two-bedroom when I’m hardly ever there. You in the market?”

“Yeah. Rich said I should come over some weekend, see if it’s a
good fit...?”

“Great! Beats wading through the weirdos I might find
online.”

Excellent. One bit of matchmaking accomplished. Now, how to
broach the second? Thankfully, Jenna wasted no time in steering them there.

“Do you have a boyfriend here?” she asked, eyes wide and
eager.

“No. But I’d like to find one. Or at least get back into
dating, now that I’ll finally be in the same city for more than a couple weeks
at a time.”

“Well,” said Lindsey. “
We
can help
with that.”

But Jenna’s smile had faltered. She didn’t seem to agree.

“I wanted to ask how Spark works. And how much it costs, all
that sort of stuff?” Steph held her breath.

Jenna nibbled her lip.

“It’s okay,” Steph said, wanting to offer her a polite out. “If
you’re not taking new clients, or...”

“It’s not that. I just honestly don’t know if I’m allowed to
let you join.”

Steph’s heart sank. She knew she should have changed. She was
probably wrecking Jenna’s swanky cachet by even sitting here.

“Technically you’re my employee, since I own the gym,” Jenna
explained.

“Oh.” That was a small relief. Though still a let-down.

“Would you let
me
join the gym?”
Lindsey asked Jenna.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” She frowned. “I’ll have
to call the head office. But if it’s kosher, of course I’d be happy to have
you.”

Steph’s mood brightened. “I wasn’t sure if... I know Spark is
for professional types.”