Fireside (26 page)

“Lloyd Johnson, right?” Daphne asked, leaning forward. “What was he like?”

“A self-absorbed man-child with symptoms of narcissism—that about sums him up. No idea what I was thinking. I feel like an idiot for believing it would work out.”

“Aren’t you supposed to do that?” Daphne asked. “I mean, if you start a relationship thinking it will never work, then that’s kind of the kiss of death, right?”

“Yes, but this was one of those romances everyone knows is doomed from the start. Everybody except the couple directly involved. I mean, come on. Did anyone think Dennis Rodman and Carmen Electra would last more than five minutes?”

“Dennis and Carmen probably thought so,” Penelope chimed in. “Do we really want to criticize people for believing in love?”

“No, for having poor judgment. Which I freely admit I had, for a long time. I mean, when things are happening fast in a big career like Lloyd’s, you get swept away. It’s like a wave, and you just go with it.”

“I know what we need,” Daphne declared, hurrying toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

It was still hard for Kim to think about what had happened to her old life. She remembered the flashbulbs going off as Lloyd walked the red carpet with the sponsors’ backdrops behind him. She could still hear the shouted questions, feel the rush of excitement at all the attention. She remembered standing off to the side with Lloyd’s other handlers, holding her breath as he responded to question after question the way she’d trained him.

For the most part his performance was as crisp and controlled as his left-handed layup, and as his career flourished, so did their relationship. They were a team, the two of them. They were invincible. There was no stopping them.

Then came the night in question. Her mind flinched from the memory. One day, she would have to face up to what had happened—his tantrum, and the fact that she’d willingly provoked him for the sake of deflating his temper, saving his career. What sort of person did that? Where had her self-respect gone?

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” her mother said. “But I’m also happy for you. I think the Lloyd fiasco will turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”

“This so-called blessing came disguised as a man I thought I loved. A man who publicly dumped and fired me. On camera.” She shuddered, hoping her request that the clip be deleted from YouTube would be honored. “Kind of hard to see that as a blessing.”

“Maybe you’ll see this as a blessing.” Daphne returned with a brown paper sack, from which she took a few limes and a bottle of tequila.

“Excellent,” said Kim. “Think of the money we’ll save on therapy.” She went to the cupboard and got a cutting board and knife, a shaker of salt and three shot glasses.

“Good heavens, I’m not doing tequila shots,” her mother declared.

“You are, too,” Kim insisted.

“You and Daphne enjoy,” she said. “I’ll clean up the mess afterward.”

“You’re not weaseling out of this,” Kim said. She led the way into the sitting room and deftly poured three shots, her movements as neat and controlled as a bartender’s.

Her mother recoiled. “I’ll make myself sick.”

“Not with this,” Daphne assured her. “It’s El Tesoro. Smooth as filtered water, you’ll see.”

“But it has a bite,” Kim added, cutting lime wedges. “Watch and learn, Mother. Watch and learn.” She demonstrated the time-honored ritual of tequila consumption—shake, lick, swallow, bite, grimacing with the lime’s tartness. Finally, she leaned back, smiling as the fiery liquor spread.

Daphne followed suit, dispatching her shot with efficiency and expertise.

“Your turn, Mom,” said Kim.

“But I promised you a girly salad—”

“We’re not hungry,” Daphne said.

“She’s right,” Kim added. “Humor us. Come on, Mom. It’s a bonding experience.”

“All right, but I’m not licking my hand. That’s disgusting.”

“Lick your damn hand. How else will you get the salt to stick? And try to do everything in one fluid movement. The key is not to stop until you’re through.” Kim did another demo, then lined everything up for her mother.

Penelope pursed her lips. Then, working quickly, she licked the back of her hand and added a sprinkle of salt. She took a moment to compose herself. Finally, like a diver about to take the plunge, she tongued the salt, knocked back the tequila shot and chased it with the lime wedge. In compliance with instructions, she smacked her lips, then patted her mouth with a paper napkin.

“There. Are you satisfied?” she asked.

“It’s a good start. You have to do two more,” Kim said.

“Or three,” Daphne added.

They set her up for another shot, and then another a few minutes later. She sank back on the sofa with a sigh. “I’m a new woman. It’s nice to know I’m not too old to try something new,” she declared. “My, but that was invigorating.”

“We knew you’d think so.” Kim poured three more shots and saluted Daphne with her glass. “To new perspectives,” she declared.

“Better late than never,” Penelope said, and clinked glasses with Kim.

“Agreed,” Kim said.

“To trying something new,” Daphne said.

“To no more pro athletes,” Kim added, remembering all those shallow, spoiled bullies who expected the moon and then complained when someone handed it to them. Many of them harbored a sense of entitlement that led them to break laws and hearts with equal aplomb. And afterward, to claim they’d been victimized.

Sometimes, however, even intentions spoken aloud were drowned out by something louder—common sense. Even in the midst of a round of tequila, Kim knew it wasn’t enough to declare what she didn’t want. She needed to figure out what she
did
want.

“Isn’t it ironic,” her mother said, “now that you’ve sworn off athletes, you live in a house full of them—Dino, Early and Bo.”

“He is so gorgeous,” Daphne declared, and they didn’t need to ask who “he” was.

“Ask him out,” Kim said with a casual wave of her hand. “As far as we know, he’s unattached.”

“Nah, not my type. He’s a family man, and I’m not into kids.”

Bo, a family man. Perspective was everything, Kim thought.

“Besides,” Daphne added, “he likes you. It’s so obvious.”

“He barely knows me,” Kim protested, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. Getting a guy to like her was no special trick. Through no fault of her own, she’d come endowed with red hair, big boobs and long legs. It didn’t take much else to get some guy’s attention, and that hadn’t changed since junior high.

“He’s totally into you. I predict a romantic fling.”

Kim’s face flushed. She had barely acknowledged the mutual attraction between her and Bo, and she didn’t think anyone had noticed.
It’s so obvious.
Kimberly tried not to feel intrigued by Daphne’s suggestion. “What’s the point of a romantic fling?”

“Geez, girl, it’s only one of the best things in the world.”

“Yes, but the definition of a fling is that it’s quickly over and in the end, you’re…”

“Flung?” her mother suggested.

“Exactly. A fling has an expiration date. And that’s sad.”

“Just because it’s sad to see something end doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy it,” Daphne pointed out. “I’m right. You know I’m right.”

They lost track of the time, getting sillier and forgetting dinner entirely. Bo and Early came home, fresh-faced, their color high from the cold. She tried not to acknowledge what the sight of Bo Crutcher did to her. Tried not to notice her pulse speeding up, her face warming with a blush. That was the tequila, surely.

“Hello, gentlemen,” her mother said. Her attempt at sounding unaffected by the tequila gave both Kim and Daphne a fit of the giggles.

Bo’s gaze flickered over the tequila setup. “Everything all right?” he asked. “Is AJ okay?”

“Of course,” Kim was quick to assure him. “He and Dino had dinner out, then came home and played cribbage—”

“Played what?”

She laughed at the expression on his face. Was there anything more appealing than a man in a state of complete befuddlement? “It’s a board game. And they’ve both gone to bed by now. And we’ve been celebrating.”

“Yeah? What’s the occasion?”

“I’m getting my financial house in order,” her mother informed him. “And learning to do tequila shots. Oh, and Kimberley’s new leaf, we mustn’t forget that.”

“What leaf?” asked Bo.

“My new one,” she declared with an airy wave of her hand. “I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m going to reinvent my career with a better purpose. No more covering up for felons having tantrums in public. No more trying to garner sympathy for guys who just signed a multimillion-dollar contract. No more training guys who never finished their education to sound like Rhodes scholars.” She and Daphne made another toast.

“Go girl,” said Daphne.

“Here’s to no more athletes,” she reiterated. “No more loutish clients, no more making sows’ ears into silk purses.” She sipped her tequila. “I wonder how that phrase came into being. Who would ever look at a sow’s ear and see a purse?”

“Judith Leiber,” said Bo.

Bagwell frowned at Kim. “What have you got against athletes?”

She sent him a wry smile. “How much time do you have?”

“How much do you need?” Bo asked. He was so good-looking. When did he get to be so good-looking? Watching him and Early, she decided her troubles didn’t stem from athletes per se. Or even men in general. She simply wanted a new life that didn’t resemble her old life.

“None, because I’m done talking about all that.”

“Good. I came to propose something to you,” he said.

“I’m sorry, did you just say
propose?
You should know better than to throw that word around when a single woman is within earshot.”

“Make that three single women,” her mother reminded them.

“Sorry,” Bo said easily. “Poor choice of words. So does that mean you’re looking to get married?”

“I need to work on getting a date first.” Kim refilled the shot glass.

“Well, then—”

She held up her hand like a shield. “A nice, safe, boring man who knows how to behave himself.”

“Yeah, whatever. But I still have a proposition to make you.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’s a win-win, I swear.”

“That’s right,” Early said. “See, he figured out what he’s going to do about Fame School.”

“That’s right. I’m going to hire someone to work with me right here, so I don’t have to leave AJ.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant,” her mother said, oblivious to the tension straining between them. “That sounds like a fine solution indeed.”

Kim felt a queasy sensation in her gut. She swallowed hard. “You’re going to ask me to do it, aren’t you?”

“Come on, Kim,” Bagwell urged her. “Make an exception for Crutch. He needs you.”

Kim refused to acknowledge the surge of warmth she suddenly felt. “I’ve just spent the evening adjusting to my newfound freedom from my old life. And believe me, a man’s need is not exactly the most powerful motivator in the world.”

Bo crossed the room, took a seat beside her. “This can be about your needs, part of your new leaf.”

“That won’t work,” she said.

“What won’t work?”

“This earnest-and-charming thing you’re doing. I won’t fall for it.”

“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?”

“You dislike him?” Her mother gave her a quizzical look. “I had no idea you disliked him.”

Kim kept glaring at Bo as she answered Penelope. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Nonsense,” said her mother. “Dislike is always personal. You should have mentioned this before he came to stay with us.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she told her mother. “Living with us is the best solution for AJ. I think we can all agree, he’s what’s important here.”

“And he’s the reason I need you,” said Bo, pressing his advantage. “Come on, Kim. What do you say?”

She thought of AJ, and how lost and lonely he looked, and how brave he had to be, separated from his mother. Because of AJ, she only really had one option.

“I need another tequila shot.”

Eighteen

T
he next morning, Kim awakened with a pounding headache…and the kind of what-have-I-done? feeling she used to get back in her sorority days. She reminded herself that people who did tequila shots were expected to do stupid things and say things they didn’t mean. And they were expected to regret them the next day.

Yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t figure out how to regret making the deal with Bo Crutcher. She scowled at herself in the mirror while furiously brushing her teeth. Then she spat into the sink, saying, “You swore off athletes. Now you’re breaking a promise you made to yourself.”

The woman in the mirror looked unrepentant. “I simply placed other people’s needs above my own. And, no, I’m not talking about Bo Crutcher. I’m talking about my mother, who needs the extra income, and AJ, who needs his dad to stick around.”

She raked her fingers through her hair. “And you’re talking to yourself. When did that start?”

A knock at the door startled her. She grabbed a robe but couldn’t find the sash. Clutching it in the front, she opened the door.

“Check your e-mail,” Bo said. He was fresh from the shower, and he hadn’t yet buttoned his shirt. She wondered if that was by design.

The sight of his bare chest made her weak in the knees. “I always check my e-mail,” she said, telling herself to snap out of it. “You don’t have to barge in first thing in the morning to tell me.”

“My agent’s sending you a video interview so you can decide whether or not I need the media training.”

You don’t,
she thought, desperately trying to keep from staring.
You just need to stand there…
She ducked her head to hide a smile. “I’ll take a look.” She glanced up at him, and unlike her, he was making no effort to avoid staring. His frank gaze made her suddenly and achingly aware of the scantiness of the robe. She cleared her throat. “Did you tell AJ about our deal?”

“Yeah, and he’s fine with it. I mean, as good as he can be, considering. He needed to hear that I’m going to do what it takes in order to stick around for him.”