The Trouble With Quarterbacks

I’ve always liked her. Like the others, she’s never late. She smiles and thanks me profusely whenever I hand Briggs off, though we never chat much beyond that. I always took it to mean she was busy and didn’t want to dally, but now I realize there might be a language barrier. She’s got a heavy Eastern European accent and is mighty confused when I try to explain to her who the money is for.

“Briggs has got an uncle, Logan. Have you met him?”

“No no.” Then she smiles, trying to make up for her lack of English with politeness.

“Right. Er, well…maybe Briggs can help you get this envelope to him?” I try to shove it toward her, and she looks down at it like it’s coated in radioactive green goop.

“Not good idea. You keep.”

“I can’t. You see, it’s money—a lot of money.”

I open it and flash her the bills, and she steps away quickly. Then she does the sign of the cross, gathers Briggs close to her side, and takes off down the hall.

Right, well, bloody good that did me.

That money burns a hole in my pocket the entire way from work to the market. Kat and Yasmine are already in the flat by the time I make it back home. I’ve got loads of healthy veggies and pasta to make for dinner, though I know we’ll only ruin it with dessert afterward, but at least we’ll have tried to give our bodies something nutritious, right?

“Get off your lazy arses and help me!” I groan under the weight of all the heaping sacks.

“Right right, we’re coming,” Yasmine says, getting up rather slowly, as if she’s got ninety-year-old bones in her trim twenty-something body.

I threaten to aim a tomato at her head, and that puts a bit of pep in her step. We unload the groceries together then clear the bags. My purse is on the counter, and sticking out of it is the envelope I was meant to hand off today.

“Briggs’ nanny wouldn’t take it,” I explain when they look at me questioningly. “I tried, though in the end I think she thought I was the devil or something.”

Yasmine and Kat exchange a private glance. Yasmine’s eyebrows waggle in my direction, and Kat shakes her head forcefully. Yasmine’s eyebrows get a bit more aggressive, and then she adds in a pointed hand gesture as well. Kat’s jaw locks as she intently shakes her head once again.

“Will someone just tell me what’s going on?” I huff, rather annoyed.

“Yes, Kat, why don’t you tell Candace about all the phone calls you’ve fielded today?”

My heart leaps into my throat, but then I chide myself and play it off as a bit of reflux instead of excitement. I did have a rather big cup of tea after lunch.

“Logan’s phoned twice.”

My heart does this silly little happy dance before I convince myself it’s no big deal.

“And?” I ask, unloading some apples. “Did you answer?”

“Not the first time.”

My breath hitches. “What do you mean, not the first time?”

“Well he was being quite persistent, you know. As I said, he phoned again, and I didn’t want my mobile just ringing off the hook all day. He seemed rather eager to get in touch with you, so I answered the second time and he was awfully nice. Sounded so bloody hot, too, so I thought it’d be no big deal to give him your number.”

And then, as if on cue, my mobile rings.Chapter FiveCandaceI don’t answer it. I know that makes me the most cowardly coward on the face of the earth, but I felt like real crap yesterday and I hate that feeling. I’ve got a pretty good life going with my friends and my jobs; I don’t need Logan Matthews coming in here and making me feel less than.

But maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to ignore his call. I sort of thought he’d try again at least—up until now, he’s seemed to be a pretty persistent bloke—but after that ignored call, he falls off the face of the earth completely.

No calls to Kat. No calls to my mobile either. Nothing.

A week passes in which I don’t hear from him at all.

I do suffer through talk of him at school, though. Briggs goes on and on about a fun outing they had over the weekend. We got pizza and ice cream and he took me to this arcade and he won me this huge stuffed panda and pandas are my favorite animal now and Logan is my favorite uncle but he’s also my only uncle and—at this point I was massaging my temples, praying my headache would dissipate on its own.

I have no choice. I can’t call him, not after everything that’s transpired. It’s too far gone, at least that’s how I feel until he shows up Wednesday afternoon to pick up Briggs from school. I’m a real mess, hair tucked up in a messy bun, red dress half concealed behind a paint-stained smock. I’m chatting with a nanny about early dismissal on Friday when Logan walks up behind her and pauses, waiting his turn at the door.