He arches a brow. “You mean being the knight in shining armor? Or the way I always manage to get your goat?”
“Both,” I say with a laugh.
He scratches his jaw. “It’s a unique talent, I suppose. Being devilishly charming at all hours, no matter the circumstances.” Then he tugs me in close, roping an arm around me. A very wet arm, soaking my work shirt. “You know I’m just teasing you. You are literally the most delightful person to tease because I never know what you’ll do. Either you look like you want to clobber me, or you laugh and go along with it. Keeps me on my toes.”
I wriggle away from him, eyeing the wet splotches on my blouse. “Devil is indeed the appropriate word.”
“And you’re such an angel?” His green eyes flash me a pointed look.
“You know I’m not.” I shift gears and gesture toward the women’s locker room. “But I need to get to work. I have to complete some of the final paperwork for the new fitness center, and I’m hoping I might be able to borrow your brain tonight. Pretty please?”
He rolls with the topic change. That’s the thing about Oliver and me—we’ve worn so many hats with each other that we exchange them with ease. “My brain is always available for the borrowing. See you after work. Can we go to the Melt My Heart place?” He puts his palms together in a plea, adopting a doe-eyed look that makes me laugh.
“Since when do you like specialty shop franchises you’d normally mock?”
He affects a serious expression. “I’m considering it for my last-meal list.”
“You’re back to that?”
“I was off it for a while, but it amuses me, so I’ve returned to it. Don’t you have things you do that amuse you?”
I tap his nose. “Yes. Talking to you. See you later.”
As I head to the women’s locker room, he says my name. “Summer?”
I turn around.
He raises an arm, leans to the side, and stretches, his muscles glistening as he moves, his abs looking lickable, his torso gleaming, toned and smooth. “Let me know when you find that missing bracelet. I’m sure Mrs. Wilson is terribly worked up over it.”
I rein in a revealing smirk, holding tight to my lie. “Of course.”
He heads to the men’s locker room, and I do not stare at his butt until he leaves my line of sight.
I do not stare at his butt.
I do not . . . oh hell, the man just has a great ass.
Like, Louvre quality.
It’s only exceeded by his commitment to besting me, since he calls out, “Oh, hello there, Mrs. Wilson. Can I help you find your bracelet? What’s that? You left it in my locker? You naughty bird, you.”
2SUMMER
I’m about to leave work that evening when I hear the click of a pair of Mary Janes on the hardwood floors.
The clearing of the most aggrieved throat comes next.
Then the voice, brimming with consternation at all that she finds wrong in the world—in a nutshell, everything. Literally, everything.
Look, it’s not like I disagree. The planet has a lot of knocks against it these days. But, glass half full—a lot is right in the world too.
“Excuse me, Miss Life Enrichment Director.” Roxanne says my title precisely the way such a title should be said—dripping with mockery.
Because seriously?
Couldn’t I simply be the Activities Director? Or, if we need to be cutesy, perhaps Lifestyle Leader?
Nope.
Sunshine Living has gone over-the-top twenty-first-century workplace in dubbing me Life Enrichment Director. The title is almost as mockable as my friend Bethany’s—she’s the Chief Flavor Officer for a small-batch ice cream shop in the Village. I’m as ripe for ribbing as the guy in my building who is a Sales Ninja at an electronics store.
I turn around in the hallway of the assisted living home, flashing Roxanne an I’m ready to listen smile.
I swear the woman gets better with age. Every day she looks more glamorous. Her hair isn’t gray. It’s platinum.
Her face isn’t wrinkled. It’s wise.
And I swear her spine is straighter than her gold-tipped cane with the puma head top.
She stabs her cane against the floor, banging it petulantly. “Summer, I’m bored. Simply, utterly bored.”
I gesture to the activity room fifty feet away, pasting on my cheeriest grin. “Bingo!” I declare, like I’m announcing a room full of puppies to cuddle. “It starts in ten minutes. It’s going to be a rollicking good time,” I say, even as I wish I could strangle the game of bingo.
Bingo is an affront to the very idea of fun and games. I wish I could make a bonfire of every bingo card in existence as an atonement for ever offering it as a pastime.
But bingo is what the boss wants in the Sunshine Living facilities throughout the tristate region, including here on the Upper West Side. “Everyone loves bingo, and no one gets hurt doing it, Summer. Get it going around the clock. Safety first!” he barked when he hired me a year ago.
It’s hard to enrich the lifestyles of residents when you work for the Stickler in Chief, who refuses to implement anything close to fun. Not since a septuagenarian suffered a Siamese-inflicted injury during a field trip to a local cat shelter. In the cat’s defense, everyone knows petting cats is just asking for a scratch.
