“So that’s why Moses and Georgia didn’t want to name Kathleen Taglee. I was so hurt.”
She giggled and groaned, which was what I intended.
“Okay. So you say David fits me perfectly. What does David mean?”
“Darling. Beloved.”
“Darling? Beloved? You’ve got to be kidding me!” My voice was wry, twisting the words so I mocked them even as I spoke.
“You are everyone’s darling. Everyone loves you.”
“Hmm. So why don’t you?” Damn. I had to stop doing that.
“Because my name means work,” she replied saucily.
“Work?”
“Yes. That’s what Amelie means. Work.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” I drawled.
“Yes. And Henry means ‘ruler of the home.’ Which he loves and takes very seriously.”
“He would,” I chuckled.
“Speaking of Henry, I need to go.” Amelie sighed.
“I’ll drive you.”
“Nah. You go inside. I want to walk.”
“Amelie—” I protested because I didn’t have time to walk with her and walk all the way back. I needed to get back inside, I needed to see and be seen. I had hands to shake and people to work, and I’d completely ignored my host duties for too long.
“It’s just not safe, Amelie,” I pressed.
“You are not responsible for me, David,” she said gently. “I want to walk. I like to walk. I walked home before I met you, and I’ll be walking after you’re gone.”
I bit back a curse.
“Will you call me or have Henry call me, and let me know you got home all right? Please?” I snapped.
“Sure.” She nodded agreeably. She slid her arms into her coat and freed her hair from the collar, and I watched, my gut churning. I didn’t like her walking home alone at eleven o’clock at night. She straightened her stick and held her empty water bottle out in front of her, obviously wanting me to take it. As I did, my hand brushed hers and we both jumped as if we hadn’t just spent the last hour dancing with our bodies pressed together.
“You know, David. You were wrong.”
“About what?”
“My tells.”
“Your tells?” I was lost.
“There was someone, once,” she said quietly.
I stared at her blankly before realization struck me a heavy blow. Her tells. The night I kissed her. The night I asked her if she was a virgin and told her she lied when she said she wasn’t.
She walked away, stick tapping, calling her goodbyes over her shoulder.
I watched her walk down the street, a sway in her step, like she was still hearing Ray LaMontagne. I swore again and walked swiftly to my truck. She could walk if she wanted. But I was going to make sure she got home. I followed her at a distance, watched as she turned the corner to her street, crawled along until I saw her unlatch her gate, and then I flipped a U-Turn and floored the truck back to the bar. I was so pathetic.
Henry texted me seconds later, telling me she had arrived, just like Millie promised.
Henry: Amelie is home. Her face is sad. Mohammed Ali practiced abstinence up to six weeks before his fights.
I laughed and swore simultaneously. Apparently everyone thought I was a manwhore.
SATURDAY AFTERNOON, HENRY showed up at the gym without Millie. It surprised me a little, as she’d always come with him before, but I shrugged it off, feeling a little twinge of disappointment in my stomach and studiously ignoring it. Her words shot through my mind. There was someone once. I found myself worrying that there was someone again, someone from the school she worked at on Tuesdays, or maybe Robin had set her up again. Millie claimed she hated that, but there was always the exception.
Maybe it was the disappointment or maybe it was habit, but I lingered a little longer in conversation with some of my female fighters, accepted a hug and a smile from Deanna, a cute redhead who I’d taken to dinner once or twice, and spotted a couple female clients on their chest presses, like any good athletic club owner would. Henry glowered at me from the corner mats, where Cory was showing him how to shoot a duck-under.
I wondered if he was just feeling neglected, and took Cory’s place, shooting instructions at Henry and critiquing his form, which was terrible, every time he tried to perform the move. His jaw was tense, his movements jerky, and he seemed close to tears.
“Henry! What’s up, man? We’re just here to learn a few things and look good for the girls. Loosen up,” I teased gently, ruffling his hair.
Henry shoved at my hand and swung on me suddenly, wildly, one fist connecting with my stomach, the other glancing off my jaw.
“Whoa!” I half-laughed, shooting a double-leg and scooping him up across my shoulders, WWE-style. I straightened and roared, like I was Hulk Hogan or The Undertaker, and I spun a thrashing Henry around in exaggerated circles until I realized he was pounding and kicking furiously, and not in a way that indicated he was messing around or having fun. I put him down immediately, my arms steadying his shoulders in case he was dizzy. I felt a little dizzy myself, and tried to clear my head. Henry didn’t let up though.
His face was flushed and his arms were pin-wheeling. I put a hand on his forehead, the way my dad used to do when I was little, my hand palming his head like a basketball, keeping him at arm’s length.
“Henry! Buddy, we’re just playing. Relax.”
If anything, he just doubled his efforts to take me out with his scrawny arms and sharp knees.
“Henry, I outweigh you by a hundred pounds. You can’t fight me, kid!”