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“Man, massage ranks right up there with sex. That little redhead was all over me. If you’re next, she ain’t got nothing left,” he exclaimed.
Animal. Rory’s hands fisted as he jumped to Vi’s defense. He stood and stepped toward him, keenly aware of his superior height. When in war … “Locker-room talk is off-limits at Peeps.”
A sneer curled the smaller man’s lip. “I’ll talk however I want. Who are you?”
Rory’s jaw flexed. Make my day, creep. “The guy who can revoke your membership.”
When the words registered, the guy brushed past Rory without comment. Yep. A Peeps’ membership mattered. No doubt the guy’s identity revolved around the workout scene. And bragging to anyone who would listen about his massage.
The adrenaline rush subsided, Rory steepled his hands, allowing his breathing to even out. Imagining Vi alone with men of that ilk gnawed on Rory’s insides.
Vi stood in the women’s dressing room door. Rory didn’t know how much she’d witnessed, but the fury in his heart dissolved at the fine lines etched around her mouth. Even her braid drooped. She looked at him, her gaze clouded with emotion.
Their eyes locked. Vi took a step toward him, then hesitated. Every cell in Rory’s body willed her forward. He opened his arms, steeling himself not to move. The last time he wanted to extend comfort, she ran away. Slowly, she took another step toward him. Then another. He refused to break eye contact. I’m right here, babe. When she moved within reach, he gently curled an arm around her and closed the distance. Her resistance crumbling, she wilted against his chest. Her body shuddered, then went still. He rested his chin on her head and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into her ear.
Too soon she pulled away, her thumbs flecking away tears. “He was awful.”
“No more massages for him. What’s his name?” He’d inform the desk there would be no appointment openings for him. Ever. Rory wanted to hold her again but settled for standing close.
Her voice cracked. “After today, I agree. His name is Curtis.”
“Consider it done.” Rory grasped her hand. She didn’t object when he led her over to the waiting area and settled her in the chair he’d vacated. He sat beside her, rubbing her right palm with his thumb.
“Umm.” She rolled her head from side to side. “How did you know?”
“When the guy—” Rory couldn’t bring himself to say his name. “—left the massage room, he mouthed off. His comments weren’t appropriate, so I made sure he won’t do it again.”
Vi snorted. “Curtis is an idiot.”
Rory melted as if butter on a hot pancake when her sky-blue eyes found his. “I’ll be gone for a couple of days. Before I leave, I thought you might need a walk around the lake.”
Her white teeth gleamed in a genuine smile. “You read my mind. I didn’t remember to line up a partner, so your offer is perfect. Thank you.” She stood. The hunched shoulders and dejection from seconds ago had disappeared.
“You’re lining up walking partners?” Rory immediately disliked the idea.
“Well, yes. Since you laid down the don’t-walk-alone edict. Silas walked with me last night.” Vi stretched out her hand to him as if to pull him out of the chair.
Rory extended his hand and let her tug a bit. He stood, rubbing the back of his head as he digested this unwelcome news. “Silas walked with you around the lake?”
Vi raised her brows at him, then pulled on his hand. “Well, what choice did I have? You were out of pocket. Tonight, I was counting on Harry for company. Can we go now?”
Rory’s eyes narrowed at the thought of a goose for protection. However, Vi’s exuberance over a simple walk proved so engaging he let her lead him as they walked to the parking lot. The woman needed a bodyguard in the worst way. He’d sign up for the job in a heartbeat if most of his evenings weren’t already busy with clients. But Silas? The notion thrust Rory into a place far ahead of their current status. What would happen if he pushed their fledgling friendship?
He tapped the hood of her car. “Wait for me in the car when you get out there.”
Her features screwed into an adorable mug as she raised her hand in a mock salute.
His Lexus had barely rolled to a stop before Vi climbed out of her car. Her small, sassy vehicle fit her perfectly. Her hair blew about her face. She secured it with a band, then zipped up her hoodie.
The wind had died at dusk. Traffic from the freeway rushed in the distance. The limbs protruding from gnarly mesquites around the small wannabe backyard stretched outward like bony hands. A few long runners of Augustine grass snaking through the weeds were the only remnant of a formal lawn. The porch light glowed yellow. The smoky campfire smell had vanished.
“I want to walk through the house first,” Vi said, drawing him out of his reverie. “The dust shouldn’t be a problem anymore, and I need to see the damage for myself.” His lingering grief over Manny loosened its grip on her cheerful attitude, and his steps quickened as he followed her up the porch stairs.
“If you decide to proceed with the restoration, these steps need a rail on each side.”
Vi swiveled, her face saucy. “You’ll be the first to know, Mr. Contractor.”
Rory held back a grin. His boots thudded on the pier and beam foundation. Vi’s boot clomped in tempo. He showed her the spongy spots in the flooring and the hollow walls. A smug feeling stole over him. The role of Vi’s go-to contractor swelled his chest. Dare he hope for more?
