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Brielle tried to remember the last time she’d really talked to Pembroke. It’d been about Daniel. When things had gotten bad, she hadn’t run to Lilac and Gavin—she knew they wouldn’t be sympathetic, that there would be too many told-you-sos. So Brielle pulled up Pembroke’s profile and DMed her about her day.
Chapter Four
Archer hadn’t been alonewith a woman so close to his age in years. He hadn’t been alone with a woman so beautiful in forever. (And no, he wasn’t going to count his mother, no matter what others said.) That first older cleaner he’d had when his mother had signed him up for the service had made things awkward enough, but to suddenly send him someone who looked like she’d stepped off the pages of a perfume ad (well, despite the cat hair and the cheesy attire) without even warning him? His life was always a joke, but it never failed to surprise him just how many ways life could mess with him.
And now he’d just made her cry. He’d made a grown woman he barely knew cry. (She’d tried to hide it, but he could see those striking dark brown eyes glistening as she left.) What was he, a ten-year-old bully?
He sat in his hallway a long time after that, cradling his chin in one hand he leaned on his wheelchair armrest, his half-affixed brace forgotten. His phone buzzed a few times—had enough time really passed that he’d be missed already? He’d given himself half an hour to get to the park on the north side of the complex that only took him five minutes to wheel to on a good day—but he didn’t dig it out of his pocket to look at it.
He couldn’t get those glistening eyes out of his mind.
She wasnotwhat he’d been expecting when he’d opened the door. He’d thought he’d find that Deena woman with excuses that she’d lost her key, he’d pictured the headache of having to have another one made—or more likely, asking his mother to have one made. He’d made itquite clearto her last week that he wasn’t to be disturbed while he was working, that it messed with his concentration. If he’d had to ask his mother to get another key made, he’d have had to see her before Sunday. Either that or he’d have had to keep letting Deena in all week, tearing himself from his art, wheeling all the way to the front door to be gawked at by the help like some oddity. Although he supposed he could have left the door unlocked for her. Who cared if some thief walked in? He had nothing he cared about for them to take. So long as he locked it before his mother came on Sunday, she wouldn’t even know and they wouldn’t have to argue about it.
That had all gone through his head before he’d torn open the door to find a key mere centimeters from his face. Mere seconds from making him half-blind on top of everything else.
But the woman holding the key was absolutely the last thing he’d expected to see.
He’d noticed the cat hair almost right away—but he couldn’t help it. She’d looked about to pop out of that gaudy shirt with the atrociously stupid design—not that she had the biggest breasts he’d ever seen, but with her top practically acting like a second skin, it was hard not to be drawn to the pair of breasts just about eye height for him. He’d had to stifle a laugh to discover they were covered in white and brown fur—a cleaning woman who could use some cleaning? He’d had to shake his head to clear his mind of the images of himself in the bathroomcleaningthe poor woman he’d just met.
Jesus, how did any straight man do it? Spend more than a few seconds around a woman like that without losing track of everything else he had to do?
He’d tried to do his best to keep it all professional, although he’d found it difficult to have the conversation he’d had almost immediately with Deena—to be as quiet as she could be and to keep questions to a minimum. He didn’t want to speak with this one more than necessary, to say something wrong. To—God—invite questions about what he was doing.
Thanks to movie blockbusters and all that, many women these days were cool with comics. To a point. It was one thing to see a bunch of real-life hunks on the giant silver screen once every few months and quite another to collect comics—to bea partof the industry. He’d had enough teasing from girls like her all his life. He’d been into comics since before it was hip—had, somehow, with more help from his parents and social services than he’d like to accept, made a meager living out of it.
Few people knew what a rare accomplishment that was. Few women in the dating pool would think it was a big deal at all. They’d more likely view it as a negative.
But who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to be dating anyone. He didn’t need to be dating anyone. The only benefit of dating someone would be to shut his mother up whenever she talked about introducing him to the daughter of a woman she’d met in the grocery store or suggested he mingle more with people “like him” to meet a woman “like him” who’d understand. How him havingsomeonewould help put her “mind at ease.”
He had nothing against dating a woman with a disability, but it was the way his mother phrased it that made it so unappealing to him.
Although he wondered if his mother would be so “at ease” if he started dating “the hired help.” He didn’t even know why she insisted they come every day—was he really that much of a pig? Sure, he let things go a few days when he had a deadline approaching, but if it weren’t for Pauline complaining about it once or twice to his mother when she called to check in—because Pauline was a private duty nurse, and Archer’s parents were footing the bill, so apparently that made it okay to share information about him like he was a five-year-old child—he was sure his mother wouldn’t have been struck with the idea to hire a cleaning service. “Pauline isn’t there to pick up after you, you know!” she’d said. “Besides, with how little you get out, would it kill you to have more than Pauline’s and my faces to see throughout the week?”
Archer pointed out that he had two-times-a-week basketball games with the guys, but that wasn’t good enough, apparently.
Speaking of, his phone was now ringing instead of buzzing.That’s no good.Only one personcalledhim. Everyone else texted.
Sure enough, he saw the call from “Mother” and let it keep ringing until his main screen popped back up. He swiped aside some texts from Jayden about where he was at, how they were starting without him, how they were getting worried—holy crap, it was an hour after he was supposed to be there; he’d beensitting in his hallway thinking about a cleaning woman for an hour and a half. Then the phone rang again.
He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. If he didn’t answer now, she’d show up. He was in for an earful either way, but it was better when it at least wasn’t face-to-face.
“Yes, Mother?” he said, the too-smooth-innocence he injected into his voice at odds with the frustration of the day boiling inside him.
“Why didn’t you answer my call?!”
It was just half a minute ago. My god, woman.“You know I play basketball on Tuesdays.”
“So I’m meant toassume, but I got a call here just a minute ago that you hadn’t showed up and you hadn’t let any of them know you weren’t coming, and I just about had a heart attack! I—oh, watch it!”
I’m going to kill Jayden. I’m a ten-minute walk away. If you’re that worried, why don’t you come check on me before youcall my mother?Jayden wouldn’t even have had his mother’s number if she hadn’t insisted on coming to the park for a couple of their informal games and handed her number out to every single player there, urging them to call her if anything ever went horribly awry. He’d wanted to melt into his chair and take the chair with him through the asphalt into hell. Archer put the phone on speaker and started picking up odd noises from the call. Honking and a repetitive clicking. Like a turn signal. “Are you on the phone while driving?”
“No—yes—I wouldn’t be normally!” At least she had enough sense not to pretend she wasn’t being hypocritical for long. “But you didn’t let me know you’d be skipping your game—”
“There was no reason why I’dhave to!”
“But when I get acall like thatand you don’t even answer!”
Archer cradled his head in his hand. “Okay. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry you got a call like that. I’m sorry my friend worried you. I’m sorry I didn’t let him know not to be worried.”
