The Right Fit

Chapter 12

And it was the or part that kept him up the rest of the night, thinking of her full breasts and wet mouth. And then again in the shower the next morning. And then right before the game tonight.

He couldn’t remember being so easily turned on.

The more he thought about having sex with her, the more insatiable his need. She was unlike any woman he’d been with, completely without any expectations. And the way her voice cut through him when he made her come.

Mon Dieu.

There was something in her tone that brought him to attention and put him at ease at the same time. She was a mystery. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her. In fact, sitting there in the locker room, Antony felt pressure build under his jock strap. He started to untie his skates, taking an exaggerated amount of time to

loosen the laces.

“Best game, buddy!” There was a slap on Antony’s shoulder. Luca loomed over him, a towel wrapped around his waist. His Saint Sebastian medallion rested against his chest. “Fantastic goal, buddy. Real good job.” He leaned down, making the medallion swing outward. “Good timing, too.”

“Gym time finally paying off,” Antony said, trying not to grin too widely. In truth, it was the best game he’d had in a long time. Everything was clear to him; the angles, the potential plays—he never missed the puck. Everything was in slow motion, except him. He was flying.

“No, not gym,” Luca said. “Something else. Something—” He let the sentence drop, then he picked up his medallion, and kissed it.

Antony rolled his eyes. Luca was always looking for a divine reason for anything he couldn’t explain.

“Maybe I just got lucky,” Antony said.

Luca snapped his fingers. “Yes, buddy. You’ve got a good luck charm.”

“Yo, Laurent!”

Antony sighed, wishing he had a better nickname. “Oui?”

Chase Stanford, all six feet and blonde surfer kid from Los Angeles, came over and retrieved the jock strap he’d thrown earlier. “Little Luca’s got a point. My old man told me that Babe Ruth always wore his socks inside out. And that ‘the great one’ kissed his stick before every game.”

“Sorry your dad is a stupid dad,” Luca said.

“Point is,”—Chase continued—“think about what you’ve done differently in prep this time and that’s your new pre-game routine. Stick to it and you’ll be golden, dude.”

“Golden?” Antony repeated. He wasn’t picturing gold, he was picturing red hair. But how could he contact her? He didn’t remember her address, all the apartments along that stretch looked the same.

“Figure it out fast, buddy,” Luca said, lowering his voice. “We hit ice again, tomorrow night.”

Chase fired his jock strap at another player making them drop their cell phone. “Heads up, loser!” he roared.

Luca rolled his eyes, but Antony felt a huge lightbulb go off above his head.

He smiled, knowing exactly how to find his belle rousse, his good luck charm.

****

Maxine tossed her coat onto the antique sofa in the corner of Carmine’s. The morning light created a soft glow inside. There was a new rack of outfits still in the plastic wrap from the dry cleaners. She began to pull off the flimsy transparent coverings, letting them fall to the floor in a crinkly pile.

Carmine didn’t believe in organizing the store, he wanted customers to browse around, hunt for the dress that was right for them instead of zeroing in on a pre- selected size or color.

Maxine thought the tiny consignment store on Kincourt Street was underutilized. Carmine had a treasure trove of clothes and accessories, but he kept everything scattered, plus he hardly charged what they were worth. He often let his customers leave with a promise to pay him later.

“Hi, honey,” he appeared through a curtain of beads, an electric cigarette in his grip. “Truly, that Judy Garland was gorgeous!”

Maxine moved a gray pantsuit to the nearest rack. She smoothed her hand down the lapel, appreciating the black velvet detailing. She peeked at the size and sighed disappointedly. “How many times have you watched Meet Me in St. Louis?” she asked, turning toward the doorway that led to a small sitting room where Carmine kept his DVD collection of musicals and what seemed to be an unending supply of peppermints and cigarettes, although since his cancer scare two years ago he only smoked electric cigarettes now.

He went behind the counter. The glass case displayed jewelry and various bits of sparkle that came in sometimes. He once told Maxine he’d found a diamond ring in a clutch purse. She’d always found those stories romantic, but lately, everything had a tinge of callous reality.

“Over twenty times, I’m sure,” he replied. “Although I stop watching after the Christmas scene, I find it goes downhill from there.” Carmine took a drag off his cigarette, studying her.

Maxine had been helping at the shop for over three years. She’d drop in whenever she felt like it, and in return he gave her a special discount on anything she bought.

“So?” he nettled, leaning his elbows on the counter. The display light gave his wrinkled face a subtle radiance. “Are you going to take the green dress? I noticed you didn’t bring it back with you.”

“I wore it to a club the other night,” she said straight faced. “It was…okay.”

His eyes brightened, pleased with the surprise. “And did the dress have a good time?”

“It needs to go to the dry cleaners.”

Carmine raised his thin white eyebrows at her and grinned. “That sounds promising.”

Maxine busied herself, trying to push down the complex feelings of guilt and anger she’d been trying to decipher since her mystery lover escaped out the bathroom window. She decided to keep the phone unplugged, unsure what to say if thewife or even ursexslave called again.

How can one guy have a wife and a mistress and pull off a one night stand?

Then a dead weight hit Maxine. She’d had no idea Johnny was seeing someone else—even in her own bed. Her heart crumpled. She looked at her watch, five hours and thirty-two minutes since she last thought of Johnny.

A new record.

“Honey?” Carmine had come from around the glass counter and put a hand on the garment she’d been staring at for the last five minutes. “That black Ralph Lauren won’t fit,” he said. “Here.” He whipped through the hangers and pulled out a flared skirt with herringbone detail. He held the hanger up to her. “Perfect. Pair it with the wide leather wrap belt you got last week. You have a black sweater set, right? I know you do. You wore it a few weeks ago.”

Maxine snapped out of her trance. But instead of the skirt, she took the black dress to the fitting rooms. After she tugged and pulled, the zipper would only go halfway up. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered what the hell she was doing? Why did she even care if she looked sexy?

Because he might show up again, said the small voice inside her.