About Face (Love in the Suburbs Book 1) Page 5

  I beam at him. At least one person from my old life is missing me. I haven’t heard a peep from my girls since the ‘Friday night from hell’. I know they’re busy, but this is ridiculous. Was I this out of touch with friends and family when I was working? I have a sneaking suspicion I was.

  “I’ll let myself out.” The words are barely out of his mouth before Grandma pounces.

  “Don’t you want to stay for lunch? I’m making spaghetti.” Grandma is a firm believer of the old adage – the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

  Behind Grandma’s back, I do a thumbs-down. If he stays for lunch, Grandma will start assuming something’s going on between us. But wait! If she thinks I’m dating my assistant, maybe she’ll stop setting me up with grandsons of her friends. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to suggest he stay as he’s already walking out the door.

  “You’re not deformed!” he shouts as he leaves. I don’t bother responding. He’s delusional. Sweet. But completely delusional.

  Chapter 9

  A lady should never judge a person based on the company he keeps.

  When I walk into the dining room and see the table set with the ‘nice’ china, I growl and stomp my way to the kitchen. Yes, I stomp. You can stomp with crutches. Mostly I’m making a racket banging my crutches around but whatever. I find Grandma pulling a chocolate cake out of the oven. The smell of chocolate hits me, and I almost don’t open my mouth to yell at her. Almost.

  “Grandma,” I call her name when she doesn’t respond to my glaring daggers into her back while she sets the cake on the counter to cool.

  “Oh, Francis. I didn’t see you standing there.” I roll my eyes. Likely story.

  “You’ve got stop with these dates. I—” I don’t get any further.

  “Now, Francis. I just want you to be happy. I want you to have what your grandfather and I have. The love and companionship we’ve shared for decades. Is there something wrong with that?” Wow. I came into this room stomping mad and now I’m slumped down feeling guilty for not having a life mate. My grandma is the master of guilt trips. The Master.

  The doorbell rings. “Go sit down. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” She winks.

  I don’t bother responding to her. There is no response to crazy. I hobble into the dining room and take my seat as Grandpa enters the room with our guest. This one doesn’t look too bad. A bit geeky but geek, or nerd for that matter, has never bothered me. He has curly blond hair and thick black glasses. He’s dressed down in a t-shirt and jeans, but both items are clean.

  He looks at me and smiles. “Hi. I’m Bert. You must be Francis.”

  “Please, call me Frankie.” I reach my hand out to shake his. I don’t get the tingles when our hands meet like I do when a certain physical therapist touches me, but I’m not bothered. I’m not planning on dating anyone anyway. Heck. I’m not planning on staying in this suburb any longer than necessary. Stupid leg.

  Bert pulls his hand back and shoves his hands in his pockets. He stares at the floor and shuffles his feet. “I think I should tell you something.”

  “I’m going to go help your grandmother in the kitchen.” Grandpa escapes as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

  “I’m not single,” Bert confesses while continuing to stare at the carpet.

  Oh good, what a relief. After the last guy ended up being a drug dealer, who knew what Bert was going to confess? “Not a problem. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, but my grandma insists on these dates.”

  “What did you say? You have a girlfriend?”

  Bert’s head flies up and his eyes widen as Grandma comes rushing into the room. I swear the woman has the hearing of a bat. “Um, yes?” He clears his throat and tries again. “Yes, yes, I do.”

  “Alma said you were single.” Alma must be his grandmother.

  “Um…”

  Grandpa walks in carrying a tray of pork chops. “Shall we eat while it’s still hot?” Grandma gives him a look, which would have a lesser man cowering in the corner, but he merely smiles at her as he sets the tray on the table. She huffs but rushes off to the kitchen. She returns with salad and a bowl overflowing with mashed potatoes. I’m not going to be able to fit through the door by the time I can walk.

  It’s quiet while everyone serves themselves. Bert seems perfectly comfortable with the situation, but I’m waiting for Grandma to explode. Alma is never going to hear the end of it if she lied to Grandma about Bert’s relationship status. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when that happens.

  “Now, young man.” I chuckle. Bert is not young by anyone’s measure except Grandma’s. Based on his receding hairline and the white tinting his beard, I’m guessing he’s somewhere in his late thirties if not older. “What’s this about you having a girlfriend?”

  Bert, who just stuffed a huge portion of pork chop into his mouth, chokes but holds his hand up when Grandma stands and pulls her arm back as if to whack him on the back. He takes a drink of water and manages to swallow his food. “My grandmother Alma doesn’t approve of my relationship.”

  “Why not?” Grandma asks as she sits down. “Are you a homosexual? Do you need me to talk to Alma? She should know better in this day and age than to discriminate against you gays.”

  Bert starts choking all over again. This time on mere air. When he gets control of himself, he shakes his head. “Um, no. I’m not gay. I have a girlfriend,” he explains making sure to emphasize ‘girl’.

  “Why doesn’t she approve of your relationship?” I ask before Grandma can start on some other inane theory.

  “My girlfriend is in prison.”

  My eyes widen at his answer. I can honestly admit of the dozen scenarios running through my head – drug dealer, too young, single mother – ‘girlfriend in prison’ never entered the realm of possibilities. “What’s she in for?” His lips turn down at my question. “What? Is it not proper etiquette to ask?” Like I care. I will find out what crimes his girlfriend committed.

  He shrugs. “I guess I can tell you as you’ll probably never meet Shayla. She was arrested for intent to distribute drugs.”

  My mouth gapes open. “Your girlfriend is a drug dealer?”

  Bert’s eyes narrow on me. “No, she is not. She has a problem with addiction for which she’s being treated.”

  Sure, she’s not. “Does she get treatment in prison?”

  “She’s going to NA.”

  I nod. NA is better than nothing I guess, although I wouldn’t be surprised if she was ordered to attend NA as part of her sentence. Wow. These blind dates are making me cynical. I take a bite of pork chop as I consider my next question. “How did you two meet?”

  “Online.”

  “Like online dating before she went to prison or…” I trail off when I see him shaking his head.

  “No, I met her on this website for dating prisoners.” There’s a website for dating prisoners? People, who are not in prison purposefully choose to find a prisoner to date? Fascinating. I have to find this website. Maybe his girlfriend is still listed on there.

  “But you have met her in person, right?”

  “Of course.” Bert smiles. “I drive down to the prison about once a month to visit her.”

  I lean forward and whisper. “Can you like touch each other and kiss and stuff when you visit?” Is it rude to ask someone if they can have sex with their prisoner girlfriend at the dinner table? I sneak a peek at Grandma whose mouth is hanging open as she stares at Bert. Okay, probably not best to ask about sex then.

  Bert’s face goes nuclear red. Even the tips of his ears are red. It’s kind of adorable. “Not really. But she’s out soon…” The implication is clear. He can’t wait to do the horizontal mumbo jumbo with his prisoner girlfriend.

  Grandma clears her throat and stops any further questions of which I have about a gazillion. I’ve never met anyone who dated a prisoner before. I don’t think I even know anyone who’s been to jail, let alone prison. I’m intrigued.

  �
��What about in the meantime?” Grandma asks.

  “In the meantime? What do you mean?” Bert asks, but I have a sneaking suspicion where Grandma is going with this line of inquiry and I don’t like it one bit.

  “Don’t you need some female companionship since your girl is … um …. unavailable?”

  Oh my god! Is my grandma trying to pimp me out? No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I refuse to believe it.

  “Actually,” Bert starts before I have a chance to figure out a way to head Grandma off at the pass. “Shayla is my fiancé. We’re getting married as soon as she’s out.”

  My mouth drops open. This is like one of those episodes from reality television. Not that I would know from personal experience or anything. I never watch reality television. Sometimes my television accidentally gets stuck on a channel, which just happens to be showing reality programs. Sounds believable, right?

  “Congratulations,” I say when the silence in the room becomes deafening.

  “Does Alma know about this?” Grandma demands. Poor Alma. I don’t want to be in her shoes when Grandma gets ahold of her.

  I stare at Bert and run a finger across my throat indicating he should not answer Grandma’s question. He scrunches his nose at me. I keep running my finger across my throat while mouthing no. He looks even more confused.

  “Did anyone catch the White Sox game last night?” Grandpa chimes in. Bless him. He certainly didn’t catch the game last night as he doesn’t like the White Sox. Grandpa is a diehard Cubs fan. Grandma huffs but allows her husband to change the subject to sports. I’m sure this is not the end of the conversation, though. Alma will totally be getting an earful.

  Bert has barely finished his gigantic piece of chocolate cake when he stands. “Thank you for a lovely evening. It was nice meeting you, Frankie.” He smiles at me. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Grandpa grunts before standing and following him out. He has no intention of seeing Bert out. He’s escaping. He knows I’m dying to give Grandma my two cents worth. He is not wrong. As soon as I hear the front door shut, I start in on Grandma. “Can we stop with the dating now? It’s obviously not working.”

  Grandma nods. “I agree. I didn’t realize my friends had such terrible grandchildren.” She shakes her head. “No, we need to think about internet dating. I’ll ask my friends if anyone has any experience.”

  My mouth drops open and I do a fine impression of a fish out of water as she stands and walks out. “I’m not signing up for online dating,” I shout at her retreating form. I swear I hear her sing we’ll see. I stare at my leg. “Come on, leg,” I tell it. “You need to heal fast. Otherwise, I’m going to find myself a sister wife.” Since I’ve never learned to share, that scenario has disaster written all over it.

  Chapter 10

  A lady should be demure but never self-critical.

  Brodie doesn’t bother saying hello before he starts in on me the next day at physical therapy. “Are you going to give 125% today?”

  “Well, hello to you too.” I wait until he nods his greeting before continuing, “And it’s still impossible to give more than 100%.” No matter how fine your therapist is, I think as I try not to stare at his chest and the shirt straining against his muscles. It’s not weird I’m jealous of his shirt. Not weird at all.

  He grunts in annoyance, and I have to hide a smile. It’s entirely too easy to rile the man up. Teasing him is quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes. Brodie crosses his arms over his chest and waits for me to give him a serious answer.

  “Since I’d rather be here giving a physically impossible 125% than at home with another date with one of my grandma’s friends’ grandchildren, I’ll give whatever percentage you want me to.”

  He raises his eyebrow and waits for an explanation. Not going to happen. But then an idea hits me. A smile spreads across my face.

  “Wait! I’m not going to give 125%. Heck, I’m not going to give 100%. Then, I’ll have to come to PT three days a week. I’ll get out of the house more and Grandma will think my recovery isn’t going well. She’ll be forced to be understanding when I complain I can’t handle any more dates.” Yep, the one and only reason I want to see Brodie three days a week is to get out of the lame dates Grandma sets me up with. No other reason at all.

  Brodie holds his hands up. “Whoa there. Back up. Start again. What in the world are you talking about? Your grandma’s grandchildren? Isn’t that you?”

  I giggle. He looks cute when his face is scrunched in confusion. “Grandma’s friends’ grandchildren.”

  “Let me get this straight. Your grandma is setting you up with the grandchildren of her friends?”

  “Yep,” I nod. “Which isn’t the bad part. Nope. The bad part is her friends have horrible grandchildren.” Horrible might be a slight exaggeration.

  “Like horrible how?” Brodie asks as he motions for me to start my first exercise.

  I straighten my leg as far as I can and start counting. Brodie shakes his head and reaches over to push my leg a little straighter. I bite my tongue before I can stick it out at him and start to count to ten as quickly as possible. I practically shout ten before allowing my muscles to relax and answer his question. “The first guy lived at home with his mom and didn’t approve of me as I wouldn’t have time to take care of the children if I kept my job in the city. But I needed to keep my job in the city as he was an ‘artist’. An artist who paints houses.” I snicker. “Dude didn’t approve of me. He’s thirty-eight and lives at home, but I was the problem.”

  Brodie points to my leg, and I force myself to start the next exercise. This time I plant my foot flat on the table and bend my knee as far as it will go before I start counting. Once again, he’s not happy with my efforts. He moves to the front of the table and pushes my foot inward closer to my bottom. I grit my teeth to stop the scream of pain his move causes and inhale deeply through my nose before starting to count.

  As soon as I reach ten, I straighten my leg and start talking again. “Then, there was the guy who wanted to steal my painkillers.” Brodie’s jaw clenches, and I wave my hand. “It’s fine. He didn’t get anything.” No way was anyone coming close to my happy pills.

  I do one more exercise before explaining my most recent date. So much for not giving him the details. “Last night it was Bert who is not merely dating a woman in prison but is engaged to her.”

  His eyes widen. “How does that work? Do they…?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know!” I giggle. “And no, unfortunately for Bert and Shalya, no conjugal visits allowed.”

  “Did you talk to your grandma? Ask her to stop setting you up?”

  “Of course, I did. But she’s crazy. Now, she wants me to start online dating. I won’t be surprised if I come home to discover she’s started a profile for me. I hope she realizes some of those dating websites are not for finding a partner but for finding a bit of ‘companionship’. Hubba hubba.”

  Brodie tilts his head back and laughs. I can’t help but watch. Normally, the man is beautiful, but when he laughs? Then, he’s out-of-this-world gorgeous. I remind myself he’s laughing at me and swallow my sigh.

  We go through several more stretching exercises before speaking again. I don’t know why Brodie’s quiet, but personally I’m trying not to scream in pain. Stretching exercises sounds gentle, doesn’t it? Well, they aren’t. Nope. These stretches are exercises in torture. Brodie explained my leg needs to have a larger range of motion before I can even think about putting weight on it. I listen since he’s the expert. And then, I go home and curse him to kingdom come while I reach for the pain meds.

  “What are you going to do?” I look at him in confusion. Pain is radiating through my leg. I have no idea what we were discussing before the torture began. “About your grandma?”

  I shrug. “What can I do? I need to stay with my grandparents until I can manage three flights of stairs. Three!” My apartment seemed like such a great bargain when I moved in. Of course, climbing th
ree flights of stairs was a no-brainer then. Although I’ve worked up to hopping up and down a few stairs using my crutches, I’ve yet to conquer an entire flight of stairs. Three flights might as well be Mt. Everest.

  My eyes widen as an idea starts to form in my head. Grandma would lay off if I had a boyfriend, wouldn’t she? I smile at Brodie. “I have an idea.” He merely raises an eyebrow in response. “You can pretend to be my boyfriend. I’m sure my grandma would love you.” She’ll also make a ton of embarrassing remarks, but dealing with embarrassment is part and parcel of living with Grandma. At some point, I’ll become immune. I hope.

  “Nope.” Brodie shakes his head. “I’m not going to fake date you.”

  I deflate and my shoulder slumps. Oh well, it was a good idea for the entire five seconds it lasted.

  “But I will take you out on a date. A real date.”

  I wrinkle my nose as I stare at him. “Why would you want to date me? All I’ve done is bitch and moan since the moment you met me.” Plus he’s downright gorgeous and way out of my league, but there’s no reason to remind him of those facts.

  Brodie chuckles. “You’re not too bad. You have no idea the things I’ve seen.”

  I’m sure he’s had clients who are way more grumpy than me. Still, me bitching and moaning does not make an attractive package, which reminds me, “I’m also ugly.”

  He growls and a muscle in his jaw ticks. “You are not ugly.”

  “Um, hello!” I point to my right cheek, which is, as usual, covered with a bandage. And then, just in case he hasn’t gotten the point yet, I point to my mangled leg.

  He pulls my hand away from my leg. “I told you – scars can be beautiful.”

  I snort. “Yeah, no. On men, maybe. On a woman? On her face? No way. No how.”

  “Do you agree beauty is in the eye of the beholder?”

  I narrow my eyes at him and refuse to answer as it’s obvious where he’s headed with this line of inquiry and I don’t like it one darn bit.