The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) (2 page)

“I’ve never seen him so excited about
anything in his life. Yes, if the nun is willing”—Lucy snorted—“and
even if she isn’t. Yes, I think he’ll contact you about buying it
alone.”

“Yes, but… ” Robin shook her head. “It’s so
heartless of him.”

“Apparently he does have a heart.” Looking at
her phone to check the time, Lucy sighed. “What a surprise.”

* * *

Even among adults, Miles was used to looking
over people’s heads. Coaching his kindergarten volleyball clinic,
he was a California redwood in a patch of sorrel. An ent among
hobbits. A frickin’ giant.

Man, he loved Saturday mornings.

“Got it!” A five-year-old girl with long
black hair ran right under the net (without having to duck) and
plowed into him. Before he could react, she bounced off his legs
and fell to the gym floor, her glittering purple Twinkle Toes
sneakers up in the air. The white volleyball she’d been chasing
rolled into the cluster of kids behind him.

Miles bent down and offered a hand. “Way to
go after the ball, Caitlin!” He helped her up and guided her back
to her side of the court. “Next time you gotta stay on your side,
okay sport? But way to move those feet.”

Grinning, he looked over into the stands to
see if Felicia was enjoying the game, but her glossy blond head was
bent over her iPhone. He shrugged it off and got the kids to rotate
positions for the next serve. Or roll, since the little ones
couldn’t usually get it over the net.

“Everett, your serve, sport. Get closer to
the net, that’s it.” Everett swung his arm like Tiger Woods at
tee-off; the ball slipped out of his fingers and bounced past the
stationary feet of three small children frozen in the ready-squat
position. Miles had another ball ready in his hand and tossed it
over. “Here you go, Everett. Now try again from right up here,
dude. That’s a lot of power you’ve got in that swing.”

Everett stepped forward, swung, and the ball
tripped and rolled over the top of the net into Caitlin’s waiting
arms.

Miles clapped. “Way to pay attention,
Caitlin!” Beaming, Caitlin hugged the ball to her chest. “Next time
you go ahead and swing your arms. No need to hold on to it.”

After another five minutes attempting a game,
Miles called a water break, sending off a dozen squealing kids to
the fountain or to their parents. Miles strode over to Felicia, who
was flinching at the noise and wore a skin-tight black and red
tracksuit that showed off her long, lean body. Though she liked to
meet him in Berkeley on Saturday mornings, she usually went for a
run instead of sitting around the clubhouse.

“Morning, honey,” he said, stealing the
Starbucks cup from her hand and taking a sip. “Didn’t expect you
until ten.”

She frowned. “I’d rather you let me buy you
one of your own.”

He swallowed another mouthful of coffee,
handed the cup back to her. “I only wanted a sip.”

“You always say that.”

He leaned down to her ear, lightly touched
her thigh. “Afraid of getting my germs?”

Her leg jerked away and he drew back to study
her face. She looked cool and put-together, her straight hair sleek
along the sides of her narrow face, her soft brown eyes carefully
made up with mascara and something faintly shimmery. She must have
skipped her run altogether, not just finished early.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Stifling his annoyance, he scanned the gym
for aimless balls and children just as his watch beeped. “Got to
get back.”

“Miles, we have to talk.”

The kids were starting to go wild. They liked
to run up and down the bleachers to make them rattle, usually
knocking over the adults’ assorted coffee containers in the
process. “Sure, soon as I’m done here.” He jumped down and jogged
over to the net, calling the kids back for the second half hour of
almost-volleyball.

Arms folded over her chest, Felicia scowled
at him. The coffee cup sat abandoned at her feet.

He shook off his dread and got back to work.
He only had to remind Caitlin six times to stop running under the
net, which was progress, and by the time they were in the
end-of-clinic huddle for a go-team shout, he’d almost forgotten his
angry girlfriend was watching.

No, not watching. Back to her phone.

The kids scattered to their parents and
grandparents and he went around the gym to collect the stray balls.
Fourth through sixth grade boys’ basketball was at noon, but he had
Ronnie coaching that group. He was off until Monday morning, just
like corporate types, which was probably what was annoying Felicia
again—how he wasn’t one.

When the last ball was locked up and the net
put away, Miles stood in the middle of the gym with his hands on
his hips and regarded the classic profile of the brooding blonde
staring at the neon exit sign.

Marriage. Another birthday had come and gone;
she was still single; it was all his fault.

He climbed up the bleachers two at a time to
reach her. He sat down beside her and didn’t touch the coffee,
though he was dying for it. “I’ll marry you this weekend,” he said,
kissing her sweet-smelling hair, “if you agree to move into my
place.” She hated his two-bedroom condo in the Mission District of
San Francisco, calling the neighborhood a ghetto. He’d sunk all his
savings and years of sweat equity into it and really didn’t want to
give it up. He knew she’d learn to love it if she gave it a
chance.

She twisted around, tilting her head back to
look down her nose at him. “Excuse me?”

He raised his eyebrows. Managed a grin.
“Kidding?”

She stood up and he had to lurch forward to
grab the Starbucks cup before it tipped over. He got tired of
mopping up spilled coffee under his bleachers.

“I can’t stand talking to you here.” She
tromped down the stairs to the floor. “You’re so childish.”

He didn’t get up. “What’s your problem
now?”

“Oh,
now
. As if I’m the one.”

“Aren’t you?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head at the
ceiling. “I should have waited until we got back to the city, but I
thought it might be easier for you here. See? I’m still putting you
first, thinking of your needs, ignoring what would be best for me.”
She pointed at her chest, drawing his attention to the swell of her
breasts, the shadow of her erect nipples under the thin jacket. She
moved her pointer finger higher, to her face. “Up here, buddy. This
is me, not my tits.”

He got up, jumped down to the floor to close
the doors and drop her coffee in the trash. The last thing his club
needed was some paranoid Berkeley mother walking in on an intimate
conversation. And Felicia could go from G to Mature Audiences Only
in a matter of seconds—one of the things he liked about her. 
“You’re right. This isn’t the place,” he said.

“Fine. I’ll meet you at your hovel. I drove
over.”

He moved to stand in front of the door, his
six-five, two-hundred-forty frame easily blocking her exit. “No.
You started this, let’s finish it.”

She glared up at him, hands on her hips.
“Yes, let’s.”

He waited, but she kept fuming in silence,
and he felt the anger seep out of him. He wasn’t the one who was
pissed off, after all. He was having a perfectly nice day. And it
probably was a mistake to joke about getting married. “What is it,
Felicia?” He softened his expression and stepped toward her. “Let’s
grab breakfast somewhere. I’ll buy you another coffee. Promise I
won’t touch it.”

To his horror, the tough, independent woman
he was starting to think about maybe someday spending the rest of
his life with began to cry. Her glossy lower lip trembling, her
forehead wrinkling in pain, she sank to the floor.

For a long, stunned moment, all he could do
was stare at her hunched over with her face in her hands. What was
wrong with her? In all their three years together, the only time
he’d seen her cry was during a sad movie or after too many glasses
of wine.

“Have you been drinking?”

With a screech, she reached forward and
pounded him on the shins. “You big oaf! Of course I haven’t been
drinking! But if I married you I’d have to!”

Well, that wasn’t what he expected to hear.
He went over to the bottom seat of the bleachers and sat down.
“This isn’t about the coffee, is it?”

She buried her face in her hands and rocked
back and forth.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head but didn’t look up.

“I’ll just wait here, then, until you can
talk.”

Her head popped up, her eyes wide with rage.
“That’s all you can say?”

“What should I say?”

She rolled her eyes in disgust, swiped away
her tears with her sleeve. “Forget it.” She got to her feet. “I
should know better than to expect you to be serious.”

“Felicia… ”

“No, it’s hopeless. You’re never
serious.”

“I’m at work, Felicia.”

“Work! You call this work?” She flung her
hand out dismissively. “Come to the firm sometime, I’ll show you
work.”

He stood up. “That’s what’s bothering you
again? My job?”

She sniffed, walked to the exit. “No,” she
said sadly, shoving the door open. “You could change your job.”

Miles looked around the gym one more time
before flicking off the lights and following her into the clubhouse
lounge. Past the foosball table, through the glass window of their
tiny office, he could see the back of Ronnie’s shiny head as he
bent over the desk. Felicia circled the pool table, dragging her
fingers along the felt. He flinched, having intimate knowledge of
just how sharp her nails were.

The lounge was empty now but it would be
filled with eleven-year-old boys in about thirty minutes. Whatever
she wanted to hash out, it’d better be quick.

He bent over and picked up a ping-pong ball.
“So, not just my job. What else?”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Fine. We’ll talk on the way home. I’ll tell
Ronnie—”

“No, I mean us.” She scowled at him through
her tears. “I can’t marry you, Miles.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, that
hadn’t been it. She’d been nagging him to get married for… ever.
“All right, we won’t.” He placed the ping-pong ball on the edge of
the pool table. “I was just kidding about eloping anyway.”

Her rage flared again. “See? Oh my God! I
can’t believe you!”

“What’s the matter with me?”

“That’s what I want to know!” She lowered her
voice, slackened her jaw, and slurred her words. “‘I was just
kidding
about eloping. What’s the
problem
?’”

He picked up the ball and squeezed it in his
fist. “That’s a great impersonation of me, Felicia. You must have
spent a long time practicing that.”

“You knew from the start I wanted a family.
You
knew
that.”

“And you knew I was afraid of screwing one
up. I didn’t have the rosy home life you did. Of course I’m more
cautious.”

“But three
years
, Miles? I’m going to
be thirty-three this month. When I was twenty-nine, I thought I had
time to wait for you. But now… ”

“You’d risk having children without knowing
for sure we’d last? You refused to move in with me—”

“Yes! And you refused to move in with
me!”

“You have a studio apartment in Pacific
Heights. I barely fit in the door.”

“Which is why I wanted to look for
another—oh, forget it!”  She threw her hands up. “I was stupid
for thinking a nice guy who seemed to care about kids would be in a
hurry to have some of his own.”

“‘Seem’ to care?” The ping-pong ball in his
palm was now a curved lump of broken plastic. He took a deep breath
and studied the frayed felt of his clubhouse’s fourth-hand pool
table. “I see so many kids whose parents should’ve waited. Who
divorced, or never got married, or work all the time. I can’t be
that kind of parent. I promised myself—”

She made a rude noise. “Excuses, excuses. You
like the kids here because they grow up and move on. You don’t
really want to commit to anybody. Not them, not me. You’re
immature. Emotionally stunted. Willfully obtuse.”

He squeezed the broken plastic harder, but he
kept his voice soft. “Gee, if that’s true, why were you so eager to
marry me?”

She let out a scream through gritted teeth
and jammed her hand into the pool table’s pockets as though looking
for something to hurl at him. Luckily the balls were locked up in
the office with a sign-out sheet.

“Don’t you smirk at me, you giant idiot!” She
snatched up an empty Dr. Pepper bottle out of the recycling bin and
hurled it at his head.

He crossed his arms and let it bounce off his
shoulder. He was starting to get seriously pissed.

She hurled another one, a can of Red Bull,
and he had to turn his head so it only clipped him. This enraged
her, like he knew it would, and she reached into the bin with both
hands and started throwing wildly until Ronnie opened the office
door.

“Dude, you going to clean that up when she’s
done?”

Without taking his eyes off of Felicia, Miles
said, “I’ll handle it.”

Their manly conversation seemed to pierce the
last of her temper. She sank to a striped yellow couch, its
stuffing seeping out of the cushions, and started sobbing
again.

If he hadn’t been so angry he would have gone
over to touch her, try to soothe her, but he wasn’t a saint. He
held himself still, watching her, feeling his heart pound in his
chest and finding some comfort in the fact that he wasn’t driving
to Nevada this weekend.

He shoved the broken ping-pong ball into his
pocket, vaguely aware of pain in his palm. “So, this is the end of
everything between us?”

Swiping her hair out of her face, she got up
and marched out of the building without looking at him again. He
watched her tight ass swing out of sight. A minute later he doubled
over the surface of the pool table to ease his throbbing skull.