“Fine.” He shrugged on the varsity jacket that had cost her $150 last Christmas. She’d skipped lunch for months just to save up for it. “Joey, just think about what we could have—”
“I’ll study with Tommy after practice,” he interrupted.
What could she say to that except a tired old adage? “Slow and steady effort, Joey.”
He hauled open the back door. “I really liked doing the drywall and plumbing and stuff with Dad. With you, too.” He paused long enough for Tracy to realize there was an underlying message there, but then he spun away and the screen door bounced shut behind him. She shifted sideways to watch out the window as he trudged to the bus stop.
How she wished she understood her brother. Some days he seemed so mature, happy with football, focused on being a high-school senior. Then the next moment, he seemed lost, looking to her to provide an answer when she didn’t even know the question. What did he need? What was missing in his life?
She didn’t know, and so she had no choice but to move on with her day. Painting and mopping were on the schedule. Wow. The glamorous life of a landlord. She flashed briefly on tenant 4C. Would he know what was going on with her brother? Did his Tantric religion offer answers to teenage boys, as well as sexual immortality?
Of course not. But the idea had her smiling all the way to the paint store.
WITH ONE FOOT, Tracy stomped on the mop-bucket squeezer. The water drained with a loud splash, then with a practiced whip slap, she obliterated more mud from the hallway. She’d finished painting in record time, and so now she had to do her bit as janitor. Her ancient Discman belted out her favorite mopping music, but nothing lifted her black mood this blustery day.
Then she accidentally swiped across a pair of knock-off Nikes—attached to one tall Chinese tenant—and her heart abruptly started beating pitter-pat. Then she remembered his Tantric class, and her mood darkened in annoyance—at him, at herself, at the whole situation that made the only interesting man she knew a financial risk she couldn’t afford.
“Ah, hell,” she muttered, unsure what she was cursing.
“No worries, Miss Williams,” he said, his smile bringing his Asian charm to the fore. “My clothing has suffered far worse.” His eyes sparkled with part shyness, part devilry, and once again she was reminded why he’d become the object of her fantasies. Everything about him begged her to look deeper. What mysteries lay just beneath his very intriguing exterior?
She yanked down her headphones. “I didn’t see you there.” She bit her lip then and tried not to get lost in his eyes. This was how it always went with him, even when she was prepared. He smiled and she lost all sense of who she was and what she wanted. Most days she simply smiled back. Occasionally she remembered rehearsed speeches. He was always polite, but she never got beyond the shock of wanting to be perfect for him, of feeling completely blindsided by his beauty even when she wasn’t.
Today was no different except that this time her business side kicked in. Instead of little girl Tracy getting lost in his smile, businesswoman Tracy remembered that she had to sell this building. In eleven months, she needed two sets of tuition. So until Mike told her 4C did not have a criminal record, she couldn’t risk being friendly with him. Or making any promises about letting him stay.
“I can’t let you stay here. Not if you’re teaching those classes.”
His face dropped and she abruptly noticed that he looked tired. His skin was less golden, more wan. Backlit as he was by the afternoon sun, she could see that his shoulders were stooped and his head tilted slightly forward.
“I have to teach those classes,” he said. “I cannot survive any other way.”
She shook her head. “You can’t. I’ll have to evict you.” She bit her lip. “Please don’t make me do that.”
Instead of answering, he started rooting through his scarred satchel. “I have something for you.” He pulled out a couple of pristine white pages. “It’s a list of tasks and their market value,” he explained. “The Asian Student Group lists you as a landlord who exchanges work for a lowered rent, but I couldn’t find a table of jobs. I thought if you had one, then you would get more tenants willing to upgrade their units. It also helps prevent arguments about the value of someone’s work.”
She began flipping through the pages and saw an impressive chart listing a whole slew of apartment upgrades starting with painting all the way through to furniture repair. “What,” she quipped, “no plumbing or electrical work?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t have enough time. But I could get you something by tomorrow if you like.”
She stared at him, unaccountable fury building inside her. It was wrong of her—completely and utterly unfair to him. He was being nice. She wasn’t really mad at him, it was more the whole situation: that she had to threaten a man she’d been fantasizing about for months. And yet, she couldn’t manage to say that. “You don’t get it, do you? I can’t have you doing anything illegal here. Nothing that even appears illegal! Nothing that suggests anything illegal!”
She tried to shove the beautifully done pages back at him, but he didn’t move. He simply stared at her with an open, startled expression. “You are angry,” he finally said. “You are never angry.”
She swallowed, not knowing what to say. “You aren’t listening,” she began, but he interrupted her.
“What is happening?” He took a step forward. “What is the real problem?” As he spoke, she felt as if his whole body opened to her, as if he really wanted to know. The sight was so unusual and so needed that she actually lost her breath. God, how she had dreamed of him asking such a question of her. And in her fantasies, she blurted it all out—her financial fears, her brother’s weird moods, her dreams for the future that had been put on hold since that awful day eight years ago. But that was a dream, and this was reality.
There was no way his sympathy was real. They hadn’t progressed beyond simple, awkward flirting before she’d tried to evict him. So she shut her mouth and closed her eyes, reminding herself over and over that everything he offered was fake.
“Thank you for the charts,” she ground out as she shoved them into her back pants pocket. It was too small, so they teetered ridiculously back there, but she refused to fix it. Instead, she dared look him in the eyes again. “Quit teaching those classes.” Then she grabbed the mop handle and prepared to wield it with a criminal vengeance.
“I can help you,” he returned in a soft tone.
Shock made her rear her head back up. What was he talking about, helping her? It couldn’t be with her worries. He didn’t know anything about them. Did he mean the mopping? Or with something else? She didn’t know how to respond except to gape at him. And damn if he didn’t arch a really sexy brow at her that made her think of hot, sweet sex on a cold October day.
“Your chi is chaotic,” he said, as if that explained anything. “Your energy is messed up. I can quiet it. It will make you think more clearly.” He sighed. “Just take my hands. You don’t have to believe.”
He extended his hands—palms up—and waited. She felt no demand in his posture, just a simple offer of help with her chi. Whatever that was. If this was a come-on, it was the strangest one she’d ever experienced, and that alone won him points. Her curiosity was piqued. And she really did feel bad about treating him so rudely. So in the end, she took hold of his hands.
Nothing happened. Well, nothing except an abrupt realization that his hands weren’t cold. Given that the hallway was pretty nippy that was startling enough. But his warmth was a delicious kind of warmth, like rich hot chocolate or a snuggling puppy wrapped in a heated towel. She tried to snort in disdain. Hot cocoa and a puppy? What was she? Twelve years old? And yet…