I can hear it now.
“How did you spend your Valentine’s Day, Bella?”
“At Mickey Patrick’s gym with thirty grown men and a roomful of Lycra, watching my stepdad pound someone into the ground. Gosh, who needs a date?”
“Isn’t Mason the sweetest thing?” Mom holds Dolly’s sleeping son in her arms. “Robbie, can you believe you used to be this small?”
My stepbrother sits between us and nods his head absently.
“How’s my little guy doing?” Dolly stops by for the hundredth time in five minutes. “Are you sure you don’t mind holding him, Jillian? I’ve got to bring in ten more cheesecakes, then I can take him.”
“I’ll help you, Dolly.”
The room goes into a shocked silence as Mickey stands by the door.
Dolly lifts her chin a notch. “Fine. They’re in the Jeep.”
They return carrying handfuls of food, but neither says a word. A few minutes later Pile Driver of Dreams starts.
“It’s down to five wrestlers, America. Your vote tonight will put one more down for the count. This week we begin announcing the elimination at the weekly wrestling matches. So cast your votes this evening, and tune back in tomorrow night as we announce who’s getting a permanent body-slam.”
The show begins to highlight the remaining lady wrestler, and some of us get up to fill our plates. Not surprisingly, most of the men stay planted in front of the TV as they show pieces of Cinnamon’s life. Especially those pieces in the leather bustier. Her boobs are like weapons barely contained in her top. Who needs wrestling moves when you could knock someone out with those?
As a favor to Mom, Dolly agreed to cater the event. She has tables set up with a Mexican food theme. Honestly, I haven’t so much as touched a nacho since my last night at Pancho’s Mexican Villa.
“Just put the cheesecake there.” Dolly points to the few empty spots on the tables.
Across the room little Mason whimpers. Then it crescendos into a full-scale wail. Mom stands up and pats his back. “I’ve tried the bottle. I checked his diaper.” Mason’s tiny arms flail, and his shaky cry even gets the attention of the guys watching Cinnamon.
Mom brings him over to Dolly and places the baby in her arms.
“He’s been so fussy all week, and I haven’t slept in days. I think he has colic.” Dolly says sweet things to Mason in hushed tones.
“Can I try?”
My eyes bug at Mickey’s hesitant request.
Dolly starts to wave him off, but the baby doubles his volume.
“I guess. But be gentle with him.”
“I know, Dolly.”
“Well, it’s been a long time since either one of us has had a baby to hold.” She sucks in her lips like she wants to stop any more words from escaping.
Mickey extends his sinewy arm and places the baby on it like a cradle. He gently rocks Mason, singing a lullaby so low I can’t make out the words. The baby peers up at Mickey but continues to yell.
“Maybe you should give him back to me.” Dolly holds out her arms.
“No.” Mickey continues to rock. “He just wants a different song, don’t you, Mason?”
Mickey starts a new tune, and though I still can’t hear it, I’m mesmerized by his expressive face. And so is Mason. The baby’s volume descends until it’s just a whimper. Then nothing. We all stand there and watch as Mickey rocks and sings Mason to sleep within minutes.
“Thank you.” Dolly studies Mickey’s face for a brief moment, then returns to gazing at her son.
“What was the lullaby you were singing?” I ask as Mickey continues to rock.
“AC/DC.”
A cold blast of air filters though the room as I see Lindy, Matt, and Ruthie come through the door. Budge glances their way, then does a double take. He jumps up to the food tables and butts in next to me.
“Did you invite her?”
I ladle out some queso. “Who?”
“Ruthie, that’s who.” His face burns barn red.
“You invited your friends, and I invited mine.” I glance at his posse of gamer geeks, who are all but drooling at Cinnamon on the screen. Newt’s drink is spilling onto his shirt, and he hasn’t even noticed.
“You could’ve at least warned me.” Budge runs a hand over his stubbly face. “I didn’t even shave.”
I sniff. “You don’t smell. Nothing’s hanging out of your nose. I’d say that’s a pretty good day for you.”
Budge looks to Ruthie, who’s chatting with my mom. He looks back to me. “I—I . . . Bella, this may come as a huge surprise, but as much as I talk about chicks, I’m actually not very, um, good with them.”
“No?”
“Yeah, I know. I really haven’t had all that much experience.”
“Shocking.” I throw on some jalapeños. “Well, here’s a tip.
Girls do not find talk of vortexes and bump-mapping the least bit romantic.”
He shakes his head. “You and your kind are like from another planet. What do I talk about?”
“You’ve been to her house a few times. What did you talk about then?”
“She did all the talking. I just worked on the computer.”
“Talk to her about her bike. Her church. Her . . . addiction to hair products. Just be yourself. Look what you have in common— school, um . . . and school.” I wave at Lindy and Matt. “Hey, Budge, does Newt need a date for prom?”
“I guess. Newt said he was waiting for this girl to be his date, but I don’t know that it worked out. I do know he’s not going without a date.”
“Send him over to the food table.”
Across the room my mom calls out a greeting as my editor slides through the entryway. “Luke!”
“Your boss is here.” Budge snorts and walks back to Newt and his friends.
Luke high-fives and fist-pounds all the guys. He’s become a regular, and I can’t figure out if I like that or not.
As he walks toward me, I can’t help but admire his slightly faded jeans and the steel gray Henley that lightly clings to the muscles beneath.
I mentally shake myself. Focus on the fajitas.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he deadpans.
“Yeah, sorry you’re here.” I hand him a plate. “And not at a candlelit dinner for two.”
“This is exactly where I want to be.” His frown is slight. “I wouldn’t want to miss this.”
I feel like our conversation just forked in two different directions. In lieu of a response, I move on down the food table.
Newt chooses that moment to stomp over, his Vans heavy on the concrete. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, Newt, I was wondering if you’d be interested in escorting my friend Lindy to prom.” I point in her direction.
“Is she the one in the pink sparkles and mustache?”
“No, he’s Betty the Bulldozer.”
Newt squints behind his glasses. “Does he wrestle in those heels?”
I grab Newt’s chin and angle his head toward Lindy.
“Ohh.” He nods. “Uh-huh.”
That’s his only response? How about, thank you. She’s so much hotter than any other girl I could get on my own. “Are you interested?”
“I don’t know. I do want to go to prom . . .”
“What’s not to know? Do you already have a prom date?”
“I might have an option.”
“Prom’s in six weeks. Do you have a date yet or not?”
He scuffs the toe of his shoe. “I guess not.”
“Do you have transportation?”
“I should by then. I gotta get my mom’s car fixed.”
“Tux?”
“I’ll get one.”
“Lindy has a strict no-hands, no-alochol policy. Can you adhere to that? Raise your right hand and repeat after me: no kissy, no drinkie.”
“I got it, Bella.”
“And don’t you get anywhere near her vortex.”
With a glowing blush, Newt all but races back to his seat.
Luke coughs to cover a laugh. “What was that about? He looked like he was about to cry.”
“Just business.”
“Want to go to the basketball game with me on Saturday?”
I drop the ice tongs. “Game? Go? Together?” Dear God, please anoint me with the power of complete sentences.
“Yeah, Anna Deason said she tried to call you tonight. She got some threatening e-mails.”
I was on the phone with Hunter after school. “E-mails like Ruthie’s? Doctored pictures?”
“No, as in telling her that if she doesn’t drop out of the prom queen race, she’ll be sorry. Two nights ago she was at a game and her shoes got stolen. Could be just coincidence, but I thought we’d go to the game and watch her cheer. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”
One of the ever-present camera guys darts across the room and trains his lens on me. These guys are like roaches. They’re everywhere and impossible to get rid of. I turn around and give him my back. Which puts me right up in Luke’s space.
“Yeah, I’d love to go with you. Er, I mean, love to go to the game. But I kind of need a ride.”
“Still don’t have an alternator?”
“My mom’s making me pay for it myself.” I see his lips twitch.
“Summer Fresh is looking for part-time help.”
“Oh, wouldn’t you just love for me to be elbow deep in panty liners. Well, no thanks. There is nothing that will make me work there.”