Vodka Warrior Page 4

  My eyes must have glazed over right then because I kind of nodded out for a minute there. Of course, I was thinking about Vario and his taut body. He sure seemed to like telling everyone how to eat to get in shape. Maybe he could help poor Dooley tighten up? I could approach him, explain how we would each make some money off the arrangement if we worked together. Then he could stop trying to sue me for his knee damage, and we might mend our fences, so to speak. We could bond over Project Dooley.

  I pictured bonding with Vario. That’s when I spaced out. Wow.

  Okay, so maybe I had liked Vario for more than a minute. Maybe all along I’d had the hots for him, just like Oscar hinted when I dropped by that first day with the cookies. Maybe that’s what lay underneath my hatred, bitterness, and desire for revenge—a deep lust for the sexy he-man next door.

  “Sweet,” Dooley said. When I opened my eyes, my boy was grinning. No trace of the tears, either. “I’ve seen that guy, driving around in that phat Beemer. And the chicks he gets are awesome. He’s the balls. So, you think he’d set me up on a program? Really?”

  I shrugged, which tweaked my shoulder. Ouch. “Can’t hurt to ask. Give me a couple days, then drop by again. I’ll tell you what Mr. Body God has to say on the matter.”

  Dooley sat up as straight as he could manage as an overweight kid in a hammocking beach chair. He cocked his head and opened his mouth, all ready to ask for more. Oh, no you don’t. I already knew what he was going to say, so I stopped him right quick.

  “Don’t press your luck, Dooley. Don’t even ask about the strippers. Let’s just stick to a possible personal trainer arrangement. Go from there.”

  He nodded. Then we split the sparky roach in companionable silence.

  The next morning, however, I woke up in a panic. I wanted to slice off my tongue. What was wrong with me? Why had I promised Dooley something I had no chance of delivering?

  I rolled onto my back, safeguarding my messed up shoulder. I couldn’t afford the recommended treatments, so I would have to live with the pain.

  A metaphor for my freaking life.

  Using the uninjured arm, I placed a foam pillow firmly over my head, blocking out the golden dawn light. A mockingbird sang sweetly of optimism for the future and hope for love. This heightened my discomfort. But within seconds, I was drifting peacefully. Too bad Dooley didn’t need a sleep trainer. I’d become an expert in that subject.

  I smiled to myself, then slept like a dead woman until noon.

  Chapter Five

  Personal Training

  Despite what I’d told my addiction counselor and all my new friends over at the Dusky Beach Community Center’s AA meetings, I still used. That’s what they call it, using. Only I didn’t feel that way. I wasn’t using those cold bottles of beer, my one to four daily indulgences. I was in love with them. And the feeling was mutual. I had thousands of years of Irish tradition to thank for my tendency to indulge in fermented hops. Was I supposed to abandon the national drink of my proud Celtic ancestors? No, I thought not. I’d given up getting soused. No more vodka warrior. Certainly, that was enough sacrifice for one unlucky woman.

  Before I went next door to see Vario about Project Dooley, I fortified myself. Just one, though. An iced mug of discount lager, followed by careful tooth brushing, repeated mouth washing, and a stick of cinnamon gum to be safe. Vodka was much easier to hide. But much more dangerous.

  I dressed in a simple denim skirt and a scalloped pink tee, with flats. No makeup, nothing fancy. And with no plate of home-baked cookies in hand, I marched over to Oscar’s. I just went, fast, before I chickened out and sat around the patio all day feeling shitty about myself.

  Oscar answered the door in his ratty robe and beat-on slippers, his hair sticking up in all directions, electrocution style. He wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, so we were still on good terms. In fact, he’d told me he was glad the strippers had stopped coming by. He’d quickly tired of his roommate’s overloud parties. Maybe the old buzzard was secretly grateful to me for creating that crazy pig-pile in his hot tub.

  Oscar gave me the once-over and greeted me warmly. But he didn’t invite me in.

  “Theresa Tierney! How’s doin’s? How’s the shoulder holdin’ up?”

  “Sort of lousy,” I admitted. The arm was getting stiffer every day, and it hung there like a stale loaf of French bread. “I think I need physical therapy, but my insurance lapsed when my unemployment ran out.”

  “Hard times, toots. Your boyfriend’s hurtin’, too. Can’t work at the gym no more on account of the knee.” His eyebrows shot up and down, maybe with mirth, maybe from a tic I hadn’t noticed before. “You two hot heads were made for each other.” Okay, so it was mirth.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “May I come in and have a word with Mr. Fumesti?”

  “Your lawyer know youse comin’ around?”

  I shook my head. “This is off the record.” I looked into Oscar’s murky eyes. How did he see out of that filmy gel clouding his corneas? God, it was tough getting old. You lose everything you care about, then you lose the rest.

  “Please, Oscar?” I begged. “I have a proposition for him.”

  Oscar chuckled, but he stepped back and opened the screen door for me. “I bet you do, cookie. All the gals do.”

  Ignoring his pathetic attempt at wit, I thanked my neighbor and stepped into the dark foyer, then followed him down the dusty hall. The place looked even dirtier than the last time I’d come by. I sneezed several times, causing Dolores to jump off the highboy and skitter across the dining room floor.

  Oscar sure moved slow. He barely shuffled along. The hall crawl frayed my nerves, my heart pounding at anvils buried deep inside my ears. What the hell was I thinking? Vario Fumesti had wrecked my life. The man hated my guts. Yet, here I was, in his home, about to ask him if he wanted to work with me on Project Dooley. Trailing Oscar, I made a silent vow not to smoke hemp anymore. It was the kind of vow I knew I’d never keep. But it made me feel a little better for about three seconds.

  “We got us a visitor, Vario,” Oscar warned as he led me through the archway into the sun-splashed kitchen.

  I waited for Oscar to explain my presence, but he didn’t. My head was bowed, in fear or supplication, I wasn’t sure which. Maybe both. The friendly aroma of freshly brewed coffee calmed me, so I looked up. And there he was, sitting at the kitchen table. All he had on was a skimpy pair of gray cotton gym shorts and a deep, hateful frown.

  My heart did the tango while banging on a bongo drum. The body god remained motionless, staring at me, one leg propped on a plastic chair, sweat gleaming on his perfectly manicured chest. His biceps bulged, his triceps bulged, his crotch bulged. Was that another sculpted muscle or was the man happy to see me?

  Swallowing hard against the creeping sensation of dry ice in my throat, I managed a tiny wave. “Hi, Vario,” I cheeped. “How’s the knee?” My voice shook like Jell-O in a stiff breeze. When I fluttered my arm, my triceps jiggled in the same way.

  “I can’t fucken believe you have the oogah to come over here.”

  Oogah?

  “My life is fucked cuzza you. Can’t work out, can’t work. End of story. What the fuck, Theresa?” His eyes were prettier than I’d remembered. Black onyx, sparkling, so very alive.

  “Can I tell you how sorry I am? I’m fucked, too. If that helps,” I mumbled.

  He looked surprised. “Okay, so maybe I instigated a little. Threw parties more often than I would’ve. Just to get you going. You sure fly offa handle fast and furious, Theresa.”

  He snickered. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and the stubble was adorable. Otherwise, I might have gotten angry that he was making fun of my Irish temper.

  Oscar must have seen that violence was unlikely, especially since both of us were injured. He flashed me a conspiratorial wink before shuffling off, leaving us to our stumbling apologies.

  Wait. Was Vario Fumesti apologizing to me?

  “You want a cuppa
coffee? Made it ten minutes ago. Fresh ground Colombian dark roast. Organic, from Trader Joe’s.”

  At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. My weekly shopping rounds consisted of quick runs to Walmart and the late-night liquor store. But, grateful for his civility, I said, “You stay put. I’ll get it.”

  “You bet your cute ass you will. I’m icing the knee, got ten minutes left before I can move again. You got me at a good time, Theresa. Can’t fight back.”

  Cute ass? I felt the blush creep up my neck to my face, so I busied myself at the cupboard, searching the filthy shelves for a clean coffee mug. That wasn’t going to happen, so I rinsed a stained Dunkin’ Donuts cup under hot water, then filled it with coffee.

  When I turned around, Vario was staring at me. He let his eyes linger, brushing them across my breasts and down to my thighs. I would have pressed my skirt down, but it was down as far as it went, which wasn’t very far. I sipped my coffee and watched as he licked his lips. His luscious, full, Italian pastry lips. My knees weakened, and I felt my body ooze a little bit.

  Oh-oh.

  “Mind if I sit down?” I asked, clutching the coffee cup and heading for the table. He didn’t answer, so I pulled out a wobbly chair and dropped into it. God, he was a sexy hunk of man meat. No wonder I’d made such a fool of myself. If he kept staring at me like that, I’d surely go carnivore.

  “Why are you still icing your knee?” I asked, nervous, groping for a conversation starter. “It’s been more than a month. Are you in a lot of pain?”

  His stare was dark, but full of something inviting. Desire? Amusement? Attraction?

  “You gotta ice tendonitis. You work it out so it don’t get stiff, then you ice ’er up afterward. You working that shoulder? Lemme see you lift the arm.”

  He watched as I manipulated my dead arm. I could barely reach high enough to touch the back of my own head.

  “Uh oh,” he said. “You got frozen shoulder. You didn’t go to P.T., didja?”

  I shook my head. “No coverage.”

  The hot blush rushed back into my cheeks, so I looked away from his prying eyes. Ruff had been slinking around our feet, and she leaped suddenly into Vario’s lap. The cat stretched out, then pushed her small head at his hand until he petted her sparse gray fur. Slowly, languidly, until the cat purred with contentment. I wanted to purr in his hands, too.

  “You want, I’ll show you some exercises you can do to loosen up the tendon, get it stretched again. Personal training’s my business. I’m not doin’ nothin’ these days, so come by, we’ll work on you.”

  When I thanked him, he shrugged. “Can’t go back to the gym until my knee’s a hundred percent. Management’s orders. Workman’s comp’s good, but I’m bored. Hate sitting around, not my style.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  We smiled at one another. His dark forest eyes invited me in, and I couldn’t help it, I stepped inside. There was a soft breeze blowing, and the air felt cool and full of promise. I sighed, and when the cat purred again, I thought for a second it was me.

  I got up to refill my cup. While at the counter, I arranged my thoughts. Maybe he could show me some exercises, and in trade, I would send him a home client for personal training. Then maybe he could get referrals, build a little business. Was I compensating, trying to get on his good side? Abso-fucken-lutely.

  I turned around. He was staring at me again, but all trace of hostility had been erased from his face. He was staring at me the way I liked to be stared at. The way most women liked to be stared at by men they’re interested in.

  “Vario—” I began.

  “Theresa—” he said at the same time.

  We sized one another up. “You first,” he offered.

  Distracted by his charm, a side of the man I’d never seen before, I wondered why the hell he was being so nice to me. Why didn’t he rip me a new one? Hadn’t I wrecked his leg, his life?

  I sat down again and cleared my throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to run my hands across his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his back. His browned skin looked so smooth, pretty as the coffee in my cup. Sweat dripped down his chest, and he was covered in oil. Was that olive oil, like what he stir-fried his veggies in? Or had he greased himself up to lie in the sun or something? I hadn’t seen him out back, not alone, not sunbathing, but maybe he’d been lying out in the side yard. To avoid running into me. For obvious reasons.

  My mind flashed on an image of Vario, stretched out in the hot sun, buck naked. Whoa.

  I shook my head to clear it, took a sip of the excellent coffee, and said, “Listen. We got off to a real bad start, and I’m sorry. I love Oscar, I know he wouldn’t invite just anybody to move in. You must have some good qualities. I guess I just jumped to conclusions after the strippers, the hot tub parties, Mr. Courtney…”

  Vario had leaned forward to remove the ice pack from his leg. His sweaty, masculine odor wafted into my nostrils. I inhaled it like jasmine perfume. Yum. I hadn’t smelled a hot, sexy male in years. I think I might have swooned a little. My hate had dissolved, and in its place was something resembling desire. Maybe that’s what had triggered the friction between us. I had wanted this hard-bodied man, and he had rejected me.

  Or had he?

  Vario held up the blue plastic wraparound ice pack. “My knee works pretty good when I got it all froze up. What say we walk over to your place. So’s I can see what you see when you’re spying on me and my friends.”

  This caught me off guard. But he was emanating a kind of friendly warmth. A no hard feelings, just between neighbors sort of attitude. Plus, there was chemistry in the test tube and it had started to bubble up. I sure felt it. Did he?

  So I nodded. Why not? I rinsed out our cups in the scratched up sink, dried them with a dirty dish towel, and set them back in the cupboard. When I turned around, he was standing right in front of me.

  “Good java,” I said, my voice quavering a little.

  He was taller than me, and so much broader it was funny. I could imagine him hugging me so tight I lost myself in there. In the deep woods of the embrace of this odd, animalistic, yet oh so charismatic man.

  “You lucky, I’ll be making you a pot tomorrow morning at seven,” he said. “Over to your place.” The gleam in his eye was as primal as that of a tiger prowling for his evening meal.

  My blood, which had recently contented itself to power around my body in a normal rhythm, shot through my arteries like a bullet through whipped cream. This was seduction by an expert, one so confident in his attractiveness he could assume I would soon be sleeping with him. Even though he’d fucked up my life. And, I had to admit to myself, even though I’d fucked up his. What in god’s name would our lovemaking be like?

  “You are quite the confident man,” I said, leading the way out of the kitchen. I turned around in the foyer to watch him come down the hall. His limp slowed him down, but it was minor, and this imperfection added to his overall sexiness.

  Quickly, I opened the front door and stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. The sky was cloudless, the air still and humid. No palms swayed, no breezes cooled my skin. I could feel the sweat drip down my sides. Oh, my god, I was heating up like I’d stepped into a furnace. Some of that was South Florida, but the majority was due to Vario. I fanned myself with one hand. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be in lust.

  Was this really happening? Could he possibly be interested in me? Oh. My. God.

  I hurried down the steps and stood at the bottom, waiting for him to come to the door and yell out how it had all been a joke. How he would never sleep with an old, ugly, drunken hag like me. How he hated me for what I’d done to him and how he would sue my scrawny ass until I had to go live in downtown Miami in a cardboard box.

  Instead, he stepped out the front door and looked down at me. A smile twitched at the corners of those lovely lips of his. “Your hair, Theresa,” he said. “It looks like black cherry soda. Fucken awesome in this light.”
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  My heart melted, pooling in my loins. The heart of a poet lodged in that alpha body? He could have me. No, wait. Let me rephrase that. He already had me. I was all Vario’s.

  I couldn’t wait to get him over to my house, where I would kiss his tender knee until he made me stop. Then I would make every other part of him feel better, too.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t close the screen door fast enough behind him. Dolores darted out, scooting through Vario’s legs. I watched in horror as my body god stumbled sideways and tried, in vain, to catch himself. He teetered for a minute until the weak knee gave way beneath his muscled bulk. Then he fell off the steps into what used to be a bougainvillea hedge but was now a scrambled mass of dried, thorny brambles. He screamed, then bounced off the mangled bushes and onto the hard ground below.

  “Motherfuckers!” he yelped.

  When I rushed over to help, Vario was on his back in the dirt where the fakahatchee, and the lawn before it, had dried up. His handsome face was contorted in pain, his luscious skin bleeding, scraped, and torn in patches from forehead to thighs. When I reached down to help him up, he waved me away with a deep scowl.

  “I hate to say this, lady. But I think you might be bad luck.”

  He stood up slowly, groaning a little, and gave me an undecipherable look. I wanted to take him in my arms, help him inside, clean and bandage his wounds. I wanted to kiss him and pet him and make love to him until he forgot how much pain I’d caused him. But I was way too afraid to touch him. The man was miles away. He’d always been out of my league, and all it seemed I could do was make him suffer for that. I’d caused enough problems for the two of us. Time to take myself out of the poor guy’s life.

  So I turned around without a word and hustled off to my house, more mortified than I’d been when I crashed the hot tub orgy. Well, maybe not as embarrassed as I was that night, but about a thousand times more disappointed.

  Chapter Six

  Warriors

  When Dooley dropped by the next afternoon after school, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d screwed up his chances with Vario. So I gave him a list of things to do before his first training session. What I hadn’t found online, I made up on the spot. Dooley sat on the couch beside me taking notes, writing everything down word for word. I felt a little guilty, but what else could I do?