The Right Fit

Chapter 36

“You got us tickets to tonight’s game and VIP passes?” Stuart’s eyes were the size of the cappuccino mug in his hand, now shaking and threatening to spill on the long table they’d managed to snag mid-Saturday morning at Jimmy’s Coffee. Westley sat beside him in his usual t-shirt and V-neck sweater combo, staring at her, unbelieving.

Maxine nodded, her smile so wide it hurt her face. She handed over the tickets Antony had left on her bedside table that morning. Still sleepy, she only remembered the light kiss on the cheek before he had to leave for work.

It had been over a week since their two-day sleepover love extravaganza at his apartment. Maxine couldn’t remember a time of such adoring devotedness.

Even now, in Jimmy’s Coffee sitting at the long table with the cushioned benches on either side, Maxine was nothing but exuberant and bright-eyed. Antony had infused her with a tangible brilliance. She was certain stars would tumble from her hair if she shook it out.

“How did you get these?” Westley brought the tickets to his nose as if looking for the flaw that would indicate a prank.

“Antony,” Rose answered, her tone flat. She was still wearing her outdoor scarf.

“Your new fella?” Stuart smiled at Maxine. “I love him. I don’t even know him and I love him.”

“Wait until you see him.” Maxine sighed, wrapping her hands around her mint tea. She was wearing one of

her more glamorous pieces, a leopard print sweater with a faux fur collar. A headband of vintage brooches completed the look. Lately, Maxine was happy to stand out.

“How can someone get tickets this quickly?” Westley scratched the side of his head, a dark brown piece of hair stuck up behind his ear. “It’s against Boston! Do you know how many people would kill to get these?”

Rose sneezed into her sleeve. She brought out a tissue and blew her nose.

“You’re so fancy,” Stuart said. He broke off a piece of bacon cheddar scone and popped it in his mouth. “How’s the local crime scene these days?”

“Sleazy.” She coughed. “Like always.” She eyed the tickets as Westley handed them to Stuart.

Maxine’s mood deflated, she sensed what was coming. “Spare me the lecture, Rose,” she said. “You’ve already planted enough suggestions on the walk here to make your opinion clear.”

Stuart quirked an eyebrow. “Which is?”

Rose brought her hot chocolate up to her reddened nose. “I think it’s a little suspicious that someone so young is part owner of a business that has five main operations in the greater Toronto area.”

“What business?” Westley asked.

“Ace Towing,” Rose said. His eyebrows went up in surprise. “Exactly,” she said, tapping a finger on the table. “And how did he come by those VIP passes? I checked with the guys from the sports section and they say even scalpers can’t get those for less than a few thousand a seat.”

“Hold on.” Stuart put the tickets on the table. “How young?”

Maxine grinned madly. “Twenty-five!”

“Holy shit,” Stuart said. “He’s younger than you! You’re such a cougar.” He gave her a high five over the table. “How’s the sex?”

Westley shot him a look. “Really?” Maxine felt her cheeks warm.

“Anyway,” Rose huffed. “Maxine needs to be careful; she’s still fragile from Johnny.”

“And I’m sitting right beside you. Antony surprised me with those last night, saying a regular client couldn’t make the game.” She turned to Stuart. “Apparently this guy knows a guy who knows another guy…or something.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Rose blew into her steaming mug. “Somebody in the mafia.”

“Who cares?” Stuart interjected. “We’re seeing Toronto play Boston tonight! I hope we beat those bastards.”

A few heads turned in the direction of their table. They all nodded solemnly and raised their mugs, like a secret camaraderie, declaring vengeance.

Maxine studied her younger brother across the table. His furrowed brow reminded her of the way her dad used to look when he was uncertain. “Hey,” she said, nudging him under the table with her boot. “Antony got those for you. He’s looking forward to meeting you tonight.”

Westley’s expression relaxed and he looked younger again. “I know I’ll like him,” he said. “He

makes you smile. That’s all that matters.”

“Jesus, that was beautiful,” Stuart said, putting an arm around Westley’s shoulders.

Maxine spent the rest of the morning in a pleasant daze, waltzing around her apartment, enchanted with every little task. Making her bed, brushing her teeth, laying out her outfit for the game tonight—black wool flared skirt, long red cardigan with the polka dot belt, oversized silk scarf and her favorite gold hoop earrings—and even cleaning the caked salt off her boots. She was a smitten kitten, as her mother would say.

She was in love, deep.

Then Antony sent her a text making sure she would be at the game tonight. He had his own ticket and would meet her there.

Was this really happening? She smiled at the text.

It scared her when she thought about it for too long. Her rebound experience wasn’t supposed to be like this. Antony was supposed to be a mindless romp in bed, someone to give her back her confidence, Crosby had promised.

But the whirlwind romance of it all! His insistence was unparalleled, his appetite for her insatiable. Would it always be like this? She didn’t think she could live with such constant passion…well, maybe every second night.

Then he texted her saying he might be late—work was extra busy today, he’d have to stay longer than expected.

And then an hour later, while she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, half way through curling her hair into long waves, he texted saying he’d miss the beginning for certain, but he promised he would be there. Make sure not to forget the VIP passes, he added with an exclamation mark.

Maxine stared at the last text and a vague notion of doubt creeped through darkening the anticipation.

She dialed his cell phone but it went straight to his messages. She drummed her nails on the bathroom sink, picked up the phone again, and looked up the various numbers for ACE Towing.

This is stupid, she told herself as the other end of the line began to ring, but once the idea had surfaced from her subconscious, she realized it had been lurking there for some time, probably since the first time she saw him in that greasy ball cap.

The person who answered was gruff and sounded bored. They had no one working at that garage with the name Antony Laurent. Unfazed, but sensitive to the fine hairs on the back of her neck that had started to lift, Maxine called the other four locations, asking the same question. “Is Antony working today? May I speak with him?”

“No one by that name.” She heard the same sentence four times over. She paced the hallway between her bedroom and her kitchen, half her hair curled, the phone in one hand, the curling iron in the other, trying to reason with her imagination. The most logical explanation was that as an owner, no one thought of Antony as an employee.

But he told you he was working late, a small voice in the back of her head kept answering.

The afternoon light faded. Maxine turned on a lamp, she’d bitten the red polish off her right thumb nail. When Westley and Stuart arrived, they looked at her sweat pants and long sweater she’d been wearing while getting ready.

Stuart had on a t-shirt with Toronto’s blue maple leaf logo and black leather jacket and jeans. “I can’t sit with you dressed like that. And please tell me you’re wearing a hat,” he said, pointing to her half-curled hair.

“Let’s go,” Maxine said numbly, grabbing her long coat from the rack.

With Westley and Stuart leading the way through the crowds entering the Air Canada Centre, Maxine stared at their backs as questions and suspicions tumbled in front of her vision like squiggly floaters.

Antony did not work for Ace Towing.

He was young and had plenty of disposable income.

He traveled to the States often.

And that injury to his face? Maybe a split lip from a fall, but not a black eye. Plus his knuckles had been injured as well.

And that’s when she knew for certain, he’d been in a fight.

He’s not a mechanic or part owner of anything. He’s not who he says he is.