“Rocky –”
She shook her head. “No, no way.”
“Roc –”
She leaned in abruptly, her expression turning sharp. “Fuck that.”
He caught her hand and held it firm before shaking it. “Baby, are you insane?”
“No,” she snapped, tugging her hand in his but he held on tighter.
“Sweetcheeks, a guy like that does what he did to a woman like you, I’m not a member of the club but I’m pretty sure it’s a chick requirement to take him to the cleaners.”
“Layne –”
“You don’t do it, other chicks might vote to throw you out of the club.”
Her face cracked and she smiled, her dimple coming out and, seeing it, Layne wished he’d kept his mouth shut at the same time he felt like he’d scored a touchdown to win the game in the last seconds of the Super Bowl.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to get thrown out of the…” she lifted the only hand she had available to her and made air quotation marks, “chick club.”
“Atta girl,” he whispered as he smiled but her face got serious again and her hand dropped.
“I see what you’re saying, Layne but, seriously, you don’t know… it hasn’t been…” She looked over his shoulder then back at him. “I don’t want anything from him.”
He did not like what her words said, he did not like how they made him feel but he liked it even less that she had reason to same them.
He ignored this, decided on a different strategy and advised, “Rocky, you greased some palms to get moved up the waiting list for this place, you shouldn’t waste that investment.”
Her hand clenched his spasmodically and her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“I didn’t grease any palms to get moved up.”
He stared at her then told her, “Not sure that’s against the law, sweetcheeks, but even if it was, I wouldn’t turn you in.”
“I guess it isn’t but I still didn’t do it.”
“Roc, when I was lookin’ into this place, the waiting list was minimum seven months.”
She nodded. “It still is. I’ve been on it for nine.”
He let her hand go and stood, watching her head tilt back to look up at him as he went.
Then he asked, “What?”
She stood too, bringing her body close in front of his. “I’ve been on the waiting list for nine months.”
That meant she’d been intending to leave her husband for nine months.
“You knew he was fucking around on you?” Layne asked.
She shook her head.
“But you been plannin’ on leavin’ him for awhile.”
She nodded her head.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why?” she repeated.
“Yes. Why?”
“Layne, I’m not sure we should –”
“Why?”
“I really don’t want to talk about –”
“Why?”
“Layne!”
He leaned in to get his face close to hers. “Why?” he repeated.
“Why do you want to know?” she shot back, amused Rocky gone, annoyed Rocky in her place.
“Because I do,” he answered.
“Well it really isn’t any of your business.”
“Sorry, sweetcheeks, but we got a long road ahead of us. I’m not gonna stumble onto enough evidence to take Rutledge and whoever is pullin’ his strings down all bound up and wrapped in shiny paper sitting on my island when I walk downstairs to make coffee tomorrow. This means sharing time, sharing space and sharing our lives and it means doin’ it for awhile. While we do it, we actually have to live those lives and your life comes with me pretending to be your man while you’re divorcing another one. He made you a chump, don’t make me one even if what we got is sham.”
Her head jerked back and she took a step up the stairs.
Then she said softly, “I’m not making you a chump.”
“You don’t share, you are. I haven’t been in on your life for awhile, Roc, but you’ve lived in this ‘burg a long time and people know shit. Case in point, my guess would be half the town who are of drinking age know your car was in my drive all night and I can guarantee, due to Tripp thinkin’ you’re one step down from a rock star, that every single kid in your school knows there’s times when he can call you Rocky. But for the last year, I wasn’t a prime recipient for gossip about Raquel Astley so you’re gonna have to fill me in.”
He noticed she’d started to get pissed while he spoke and when he was done, she didn’t hesitate to explain why.
“You know what sucks?” she snapped.
“I know a lotta things that suck,” he returned.
“Well, what sucks the most right now for me is when you make sense. That sucks.”
He couldn’t stop himself, she was so fucking hilarious, he threw his head back and laughed.
What he did stop himself from doing was yanking her in his arms and laughing in her neck.
When he quit laughing, he focused on her to see she was still glaring.
“You gonna share?” he prompted.
“Yes,” she bit off. “But not now. We have a football game to get to.”
“You gonna get this apartment?”
“I don’t know,” she replied irately.
“Sweetcheeks, get the apartment.”
“Layne –”
“Do it,” he prompted.
“Layne!”
“Your attorneys tell you what you got doesn’t allow you to fuck him over so bad he’ll reconsider any relationship he ever thinks of starting, you tell me, baby. I’ll find enough shit on him to make him move to another state.”
She didn’t speak, she just stared at him with her lips parted.
When this lasted awhile, he repeated, “Get the apartment.”
She stayed silent.
So Layne made a decision.
He left her on the stair and walked to the door.
He opened it and the blonde was on her cell phone outside.
She whirled to face him and Layne declared, “She’ll take it.”
“I can’t eat this,” Rocky announced quietly and Layne looked down at her.
They were standing three feet away from the concession stand and he’d just handed her a hotdog and a diet and she was looking like she was either going to heave or bolt.
He knew why she’d lost her appetite.
They’d just walked the length of the field from entrance to concession stand. The game was four minutes in and the ‘dogs were already on the board and, still, Rocky and Layne walking into the game with their arms around each other had diverted the attention of the vast majority of eyes in the bleachers and folks standing at the fence around the field. The parents were looking and the kids were looking and they weren’t being secretive about it.
They also fielded a variety of greetings from giggling girls pulling up the courage to say at the last minute, “Hey, Mrs. Astley,” to full grown men, some of them married fathers, married fathers of kids who probably sat in Rocky’s classroom, giving Rocky the once-over and saying to Layne, “Tanner,” in a way that could easily be read as, “Nice work, dude.”
If that wasn’t enough, Gabby, who always came early so she could sit front row, fifty yard line, had come early so she could sit front row, fifty yard line and she did this by Stew. That meant Rocky and Layne had to walk right in front of her while she glared fire at them both, her face so hard, Layne wouldn’t have been surprised if it shattered.
Nevertheless, he’d tipped his head to them both, keeping his arm firm around Rocky’s stiff shoulders as her fingers dug into his waist and he greeted, “Gabby, Stew,” a greeting which was not returned by either of them, and then he guided Rocky right by.
“It’s fine,” Layne assured her.
“It’s not fine!” she leaned in and hissed. “Did you see Josie?”
Layne felt his brows draw together. “Josie?”