Floored Read online

  “Yes, a corporate thing. Now shut your pie hole. We’re staying.” Coco put the broom away, sat at the island, and gestured for me to sit next to her. “Come sit. Are you OK?”

  I lowered myself into the chair. “Yes. No. God, you guys. I know it was just stuff that was taken, but I feel so…violated. And so stupid.”

  “Stop that right now.” Coco tucked a few long, damp strands of hair behind my ear. “You’re not stupid at all. You’re human. Everyone forgets to lock a door now and then. You just had bad luck.”

  “But it’s so creepy, you know?” I glanced out my window. “Someone was out there, maybe watching me, and then maybe he saw me turn off the lights and took a chance on the door.” I shivered. “What if it had been locked? You think he’d have broken in?”

  “I don’t know.” Mia set three glasses out and poured generously. “But I do think you need to get something on those windows. It’s like a fishbowl in here.”

  I grimaced. “That’s what Charlie said.”

  “Charlie the hot cop?” Coco picked up her glass and swirled the ruby liquid around.

  “He’s not that hot.” But my cheeks were tingling with warmth. And maybe my ladyparts.

  “You didn’t think so? God, I did. And he’s not even my type. I like tall and dark, but damn. Those blue eyes. That uniform.”

  “Any guy looks hot in a uniform,” I argued. “I bet he looks totally average in regular clothes.”

  Confession: I did not actually think he’d look average in anything. And in nothing? I bet he was goddamn resplendent.

  But it irritated me to no end that he was buzzing around in my brain like those August wasps that won’t leave you alone, no matter how many times you shoo them off. I’d been burgled, for heaven’s sake. This was no time for buzzing!

  Coco grinned and took a sip of her wine. “He wasn’t wearing a ring, you know. And he left his personal number for you. ”

  “Jeez, Coco, this isn’t the time! Let her breathe a minute.” Thank God for Mia. The voice of reason.

  I flashed her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

  “Plus he was kind of a jerk.” Mia scrunched up her pretty face. “Didn’t he steal your gerbil or something? Is that the guy I’m thinking of? How weird he’s a police officer now.”

  “My hamster,” I clarified, taking a big gulp of wine. “Which he held for five dollars’ ransom. I was too scared to tattle on him so I had to sell my brother all my chocolate Halloween candy to get the five bucks.”

  “What a dick,” Coco said.

  “Totally. He hasn’t changed either.” But now I was thinking about his dick. Thanks, Coco. “He gave me all kinds of crap tonight about how unsafe this place is. Told me I should get a dog or a gun or an alarm because I’m a woman living alone. He kept emphasizing that. A woman living alone. He made me feel like a twenty-eight-year-old spinster!”

  Mia harrumphed. “Asshole.”

  “You’re not a spinster, so just forget that.” Coco waved a hand through the air, dismissing the notion. “For fuck’s sake, you could have anyone you wanted, you’re just too busy to weed out the bottom feeders right now. But I do think you should consider what he said. About getting an alarm, I mean. We have one. Actually, I think Nick has a gun, too.”

  “So do we,” said Mia. “An alarm, not a gun.” She giggled. “Lucas is a lover, not a fighter.”

  “You guys live in Detroit. It’s different.”

  “Maybe. But we’ve never been broken into.” Coco shook her head. “No neighborhood is completely safe, Erin. Look, I grew up around here, and I know it’s safer than most places, but it’s not like it used to be. You should at least consider it. Wouldn’t you feel better?”

  “I guess so.” I brought my hands to my face and rubbed my eyes. “God, I’m so tired. Although I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight.”

  “We’ll stay with you,” Mia said firmly. “We already decided.”

  “You don’t have to do that. What about your husbands?”

  “I don’t have a husband yet.” Coco stuck her chin out. “And if Nick doesn’t quit bugging me about the church thing, I never will.”

  “Church weddings can be beautiful, Coco,” Mia pulled a pad of paper and pen out of her bag. “I don’t know why you’re so against it.”

  “I’m against it because he and I are liable to burst into a ball of flames if we even go near a Catholic church. We’re divorced, remember? It’s a sin.”

  “Yeah, but you’re only divorced from each other. Seems like you should get a free pass on that.” Mia set the pad in front of me. “Here. Write down everything they took.”

  Coco sniffed. “I don’t think the Catholic Church gives a free pass to anyone. Unless you buy the archdiocese a new rec center or something.”

  “Why does he want a church wedding?” I asked. “I thought you were going to get married in your backyard next summer.” Coco and Nick had recently purchased a beautiful old home in Indian Village and spent all their spare time working on its restoration.

  “We were. But his Italian grandmother is giving him the Catholic Old Lady guilt trip. The All-I-want-is-to-see-one-of-my-grandchildren-get married-in-the-Church nonsense. Basically, we’re crushing an old lady’s dream.” She got off the stool, went to my snack cupboard and rummaged around. “Got barbecue?”

  “No, sorry.”

  She pulled out a bag of sweet potato chips instead. “And then there’s Nick, who decided he doesn’t want to wait until next year. He’s giving me no time whatsoever to plan this thing. And yet he won’t elope.” She sat and crunched angrily.

  “No!” Mia’s hand shot out and flicked Coco’s ear. “No eloping. I will smother you with a pillow in your sleep if you get married again and I’m not there.”

  “Me too,” I added. “No eloping.”

  Coco waved a hand in front of her face and swallowed. “Forget about me. Let’s deal with this. What’s missing?”

  I’d just started to write when a loud knock at the back door made us all jump.

  “Want me to get it?” Mia asked, her eyes nervously flicking toward the door.

  “No.” I got up and set the pen down. “I’m not opening it until I know who it is.” Glancing around for something to use as a weapon, I decided on a butcher knife. Mia and Coco gasped when I pulled it from the block, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Cautiously, I moved for the door, blade raised. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Charlie. I have something for you.”

  I lowered the knife and opened the door. My heart thumped hard, and I decided it was adrenaline, not attraction. Big difference. Big, big, big.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi. It’s only been like five minutes. You checked out the station already?”

  “Not yet. I had to finish my report. I’m heading there now, but I wanted to give you this first.” He held out his hand, which held a twenty dollar bill.

  I stared at it. “What’s that for?”

  “I’m paying you back the money I stole from your lemonade stand. I feel bad about it now.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Now you feel bad about it? Like twenty years later? What’s the extra eight fifty for, interest? Or did you want change?”

  He smiled. “Nah, keep the change.” When I didn’t take it, he tucked it into the pocket of my robe. “Planning to stab me, Red?”

  I looked down at the knife in my hand, then back at him. “I might, if you keep calling me that.”

  He held up his hands. “I come in peace.”

  “Fine. Now go in peace.” I pulled the twenty from my pocket and held it out. “And take this back. I don’t need charity. Give it to St. Jude’s, which is where it was supposed to go in the first place.”

  He dropped his hands. “Take it. It’s yours.” Then he grinned mischievously. “Put it toward a real pair of hand cuffs.”

  I slammed the door in his face. “God, he’s annoying.”

  “What was that all about?” Mia asked. She was pouring a glass
of water into the kitchen herbs I had on the windowsill in little pots that said BLOOM on them. Although in my case they might as well say DIE because for some reason I can never remember to water plants.

  “It was Charlie Dwyer again.” I replaced the knife in the block and touched my cheeks, hoping they weren’t as red as they felt. “He wanted to pay back the money he stole from me almost twenty years ago, of all things.”

  “Oh?” She and Coco exchanged a look, which I decided not to acknowledge. “It’s nice that he’s taking a special interest in you.”

  “He should, as a public safety officer,” I huffed, plunking down on the stool again. I avoided meeting their eyes and picked up the pen. “If they would have caught this guy already, I wouldn’t have been robbed tonight. Number one,” I said loudly, eager to drop the subject, “laptop computer.”

  I’d like to sit on his lap.

  I forced myself to concentrate, gripping the penis—ahem, the pencil—way harder than necessary. After I wrote down everything the burglar took and its replacement value, we searched for alarms on Mia’s iPad. It looked like the least expensive option would be to have my cable company put in a wireless system. But it would add to my cable bill each month, and I was on a really tight butt—tight budget, tight budget—right now. (Jesus, what was the matter with me? Could there be a more inappropriate time to be thinking about Charlie Dwyer’s ass?)

  Where was I? Budget. Right.

  “God, why did I have to make that big announcement about new flooring?” I moaned. “I told everyone I’d have a brand new surface in the downstairs room by Christmas.”

  “People will understand.” Coco rubbed my back. “These things happen.”

  I stared at the list. “You guys. I have to say something out loud.”

  I want to ride Charlie Dwyer like a deranged cowgirl.

  “Go ahead, honey.”

  I took a deep breath. Shooed the wasp away. “I’m scared I did the wrong thing taking over that studio.”

  “Why?” Mia asked. “Are the kids driving you crazy?”

  “It’s not the kids so much as the mothers. It’s stuff that has nothing to do with actual dancing, either. It’s jealousy and resentment and she-said-this and she-said-that and threatening to leave if I don’t put so-and-so in this number or partner her with him or bring in this particular choreographer…nothing but drama.”

  “Are they really that bad?” Mia looked surprised.

  “Yes.” I took another drink. If only I had some way to relieve the stress…for example, taking out my frustration on Charlie Dwyer’s cock.

  “I don’t know how you stand it,” Coco said, taking another handful of chips. “Dance moms sound as bad as brides.”

  “At least you can be done with a bride once her wedding is over. I’m stuck with these mothers for years unless I tell them to take a hike.”

  “So tell them to take a hike.” Mia shrugged, as if it were that easy.

  “I can’t. If one of my competitive dancers leaves, more will follow. The loudmouth ones have a lot of influence.” I dropped my forehead to the cool marble. “I’m a smaller studio as it is, and it’s hard to compete with the big powerhouses that have a thousand kids and five huge rooms and mega bucks. I have to deal with them. But I have to stop taking their phone calls at night.” And do something else with my time, like…. No! Stop it! No more Charlie Dwyer thoughts. You can’t escape into a fantasy this time. You have actual problems here. Face them.

  “They have your phone number?”

  In my mind, I grabbed a fly swatter, knocked the wasp to the ground and stomped on it.

  When I was sure it was dead, I picked my head up and nodded miserably. “I gave it out last year as part of this whole Better Communication campaign. Told them to call me with questions or concerns at any time.”

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Mia asked, her eyes wide.

  I groaned. “I wasn’t. I had no idea what I was in for—now they email me and text me and call me twenty-four seven with all their complaints. Tonight a mom caught me in the parking lot to tell me that her daughter can’t be at the mandatory choreography session tomorrow because she’s going to an audition for a ketchup commercial. Ketchup!” I yelled, as if it were ketchup’s fault. “Yesterday I would have said ‘OK, fine’ but today I summoned all my courage and told her she’s out of the piece if she can’t make it.”

  “Good for you,” cheered Mia. “You’re too nice. Except to your plants.” She glanced at my windowsill.

  “Look, I have bigger problems than my plants, OK?” I said miserably. “There’s a leak in the studio ceiling, the paint is peeling in the lobby, and the wood floor in the downstairs studio is totally warped. The entire place needs a very expensive makeover.” My voice was shaking by now, my throat tight. “And I knew that when I took over and totally planned to take care of it. But I’ve been so busy with the day-to-day management and teaching, I haven’t had time to get to all that.” Tears spilled over, and I pressed my fingertips to my eyes.

  I kind of wanted the wasp back.

  “Erin, you don’t have to do all this alone. We can help you,” Mia said.

  “Of course we can,” Coco added. “I wish you’d have said something before.”

  “Thanks, but I know you guys are busy. You’ve got houses to renovate and weddings to plan and husbands and fiancés and grandmothers to manage, not to mention a business to run.” I sat up a little taller. “Actually, you know what? It helps just to talk about it.” I did feel a little better now that I finally admitted to someone that owning a dance studio wasn’t entirely the dream job I’d thought it would be.

  “We are never too busy to help you,” said Mia, commandeering the pen and paper from me. “Now let’s make a to-do list for you. It’s easier to face a lot of work if you have a plan. You should start by hanging those shades in here. Tomorrow.” She looked down at me pointedly.

  “OK.” I emptied my wine glass and set it down. “I think I need a drill.”

  “We have a drill. I’ll ask Lucas where it is.”

  “So do we,” Coco added. Then she grinned. “Or you could call that cop. He looks like he’d be handy with a drill.”

  Yes! Drill me, Charlie Dwyer. Hard!

  “No way.” I shook my head. “Charlie Dwyer will do no drilling in this house. Ever.” Coco took a sip of her wine, looking at me over the top of the glass as if she knew better.

  Confession: Part of me hoped she did. Certain parts, anyway.

  #

  When the wine bottle was empty, we rinsed our glasses, double-checked the locks again, and went upstairs. Mia and Coco took the guest room, which held the trundle sleigh bed from my childhood room, and I went to my room to get them some comfortable clothes to sleep in.

  On my way I ducked into the bathroom to grab the Box and Naughty Rabbit from under the sink. Not that Mia or Coco would be so shocked if they saw those things, but they were much more open about sex than I was. They talked freely about doing things I’d only fantasized about.

  And I fantasized a lot.

  It wasn’t that I hadn’t had good sex—I had. At least I thought I had. It’s just that I’d dated such nice guys. Guys my mother adored and whose mothers adored me, said what a sweet girl I was. Guys who treated me like gold. Guys who would never steal a hamster or hold up a lemonade stand. Guys who would pretend they hadn’t seen the fuzzy handcuffs in the bathroom.

  Gentlemen.

  But I could never bring myself to be totally honest with a gentleman about the things I wanted sexually. I felt like it would be too shocking, like maybe if they knew the things in my head, they’d think I wasn’t the girl they (and their mothers) believed me to be.

  And to be honest, I’d never experienced any of the insane chemistry I saw between Coco and Nick or Mia and Lucas, so holding back hadn’t been that difficult. Now, this could be because one boyfriend came out shortly after our relationship fizzled, and the other decided to join the priesthood. (I’m n
ot even kidding. Those were my two serious relationships—a gay man and a priest.) Anyway, it would be nice to find someone with that spark.

  Until then, there was work to be done, there was late-night wine with friends, and there was Charlie Dwyer and the Naughty Rabbit.

  Damn it—I meant Brad Pitt. There was Brad Pitt and the Naughty Rabbit.

  Although next time, I might put him in uniform.

  He had to have been a cop in something, right?

  On Saturday I had six straight hours of classes and rehearsals, starting at nine AM. By three in the afternoon, I was tired and hoarse, but feeling surprisingly positive about life. The dancer with the ketchup commercial had shown up today, I’d managed to come in and rush out the back door without running into any parents, and thanks to Mia, I had a manageable plan of attack for getting the studio in shape and amping up the security at my townhouse. Just having a plan and people willing to help lowered my stress level considerably.

  On my way home, I noticed the gas gauge on my car was low—so low the light was on. Thankfully, I’d stuck the twenty from Charlie in my pocket this morning. I’d be able to put a few gallons in, and that would at least get me through until Monday, when my new credit cards were supposed to arrive. I pulled into a Mobil station and pumped some gas, and while I was in line waiting to pay, I heard a deep voice behind me.

  “Excuse me, miss. Are you driving without a license?”

  I turned around to find Charlie Dwyer behind me, dressed in jeans and a gray sweater. (I can confirm he looked way, way above average in regular clothes.)