AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I can pay you $50. It’s not much, but—”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ve done a lot for me. It’s the least I can do.” Courtney had done more than a lot—she’d comped Gia’s gym membership for a year, outfitted her in high-tech clothes, and given her a purpose outside of working for income. She’d given her a work ethic around personal satisfaction. Work for the sake of seeing results.
“Wow, Gia. I appreciate it so much. It’s Saturday from ten to noon. We provide lunch—bring it in from the taco place on the corner. They make good carnitas and their own tortillas and the kids love the quesadillas.” Courtney was off and running again, providing more information than required. Gia wondered if she did that with everyone. Or was she nervous? She didn’t seem like a nervous type. “Okay, I won’t keep you. I know Caleb was disappointed I pulled you away. Go on back to what you were doing. And thanks again.” Courtney waved Gia out of the office.
“Sure. See you for practice tomorrow night.”
“Right! And Gia—”
“Yeah?”
“You look great—I noticed the definition in your traps. Keep it up.”
Gia thanked her coach for noticing, while reminding herself it wasn’t weird for someone to praise the hard work she’d done. She was, after all, doing the work. Lifting the weights. Eating the dirt-flavored shakes. Skipping the donuts. So why did itfeelweird?
???
Roxi’s Mini Cooper was parked in front of a pastel blue mid-century, flat-roofed home on a street full of mid-century, flat-roofed homes. The sidewalks were wide and houses low—it was one single story home after another, all flanked with cacti and palm trees and front yards made of rocks. The cornflower blue sky and puffy clouds that had presided all day were giving way to the low light of dusk—magic hour.
Gia tugged on the hem of her button-front top—the only one she owned, and a recent name-brand find at the thrift store run by the Church of Christ. Winter, whatever that looked like in the desert, was coming. It was time to move beyond tank tops and cutoffs. On the concrete stoop she stood, hair still damp from a quick post-gym shower. She held a large bottle of sparkling water in one hand and smoothed her hair with the other. What was that feeling in the pit of her stomach? The butterflies were congregating as her finger hovered above the doorbell. The neighbor’s windchime added a soundtrack of calm to decidedly not-calm feelings in her body.
“Hola,” Roxi greeted when Gia pressed the bell. “I wondered how long you were going to stand there.”
“Hi. How did you—?” Gia looked over her shoulder.
Roxi pointed to the small video camera above the doorbell and grinned. “Wanna come in, or just keep standing?”
That was embarrassing.
Gia ran through her memory while pretending to be unflustered as they hugged. Raspberries. Had she done anything embarrassing, besides straightening her hair and outfit? “Nice house. I see why you wouldn’t want to let this go.”
Just beyond the entry was a large, open kitchen with an eat-in bar and a stew pot simmering over a gas flame. To the right, a family room was decorated with just enough furniture, just enough accessories. This wasn’t at all what Gia envisioned when she thought of Roxi’s home. She imagined rock star flair—bold colors, the mismatched furniture of two people living separate lives in the same space. Maybe a Mexican blanket hung as wall art opposite whatever art Savannah liked. Instead, she found herself in a sleek and tastefully appointed home that could’ve belonged to any middle-aged straight couple in town. Not that there was anything wrong with tastefully appointed homes belonging to straight couples. But this didn’t seem likeRoxi. It was—generic.
“Yeah, it’s so comfortable here. And the neighborhood is quiet. Plus, let me show you the backyard.”
“There’s a backyard?”
“¡Sí! Con una piscina.Here—” Roxi slid open a tinted glass door to reveal what she meant bypiscina. She had a swimming pool.
“Holy crap—why are you just now telling me you have a pool? And damn, Rox. This place is sweet.”
So much for convincing Roxi to be her roommate again. That possible topic was filed back into the “not happening” folder as soon as there was a pool.
“Didn’t seem important.”
“Right.” Gia bent and tested the water. It was heated. Damn, again.
“Yeah, it’s a nice place and we’ve lived here so long it’s home, you know? We’re getting it for a steal—so don’t tell anyone! It’s barely more than your place.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You have an entire house for what I pay for that shoebox? With a pool?!”
“Like I said, don’t tell anyone.” Roxi smiled and shoved her hands into the pockets of her sundress. “Wanna see the rest?”
The tour was light, jovial even. Roxi told stories of where they’d acquired framed posters that lined the hall. How she’d snuck backstage at a Ricky Martin concert to get a poster signed and almost been taken to jail. Her cop connection saved her then, too. Just as it always did. Knowing people since you were five had its advantages. Roxi chattered; Gia nodded.
When they entered Roxi’s room, she told of gluing acoustic tiles to the ceiling so she could sing, and peeling adhesive off her fingers for days. She didn’t realize it was permanent. But it was worth it, Roxi said, for the better sound. Sometimes she recorded, but mostly, she just liked to sing. It made her feel less alone and reminded her that life was more than driving little people to and from the same location day after day.
“How come you’ve never sung for me?” Gia asked, slouching onto the edge of Roxi’s bed. Her room was decorated more as expected. A brightly patterned duvet cover draped the bed, topped with more pillows than necessary. Stacks of records filled a short bookshelf—probably hair bands and ‘90s grunge. Roxi’s room was the smaller of the two, but she’d managed to fit a queen-sized bed and dresser and squeezed a karaoke machine into the corner. She’d pinned a life-sized cutout of JLo behind the door.
