How to Misbehave (Short Story) (2 page)

“And if I go into that basement with you, you’re not going to attack me? Compromise my virtue?”

“I’ll call your mother and swear to it if you want.”

He huffed, half a laugh, and his mouth curved into a sideways kind of smirk that lit her panties on fire.

“All right, Amber Clark. Shall we go find ourselves a corner to huddle in?”

By the time Tony’s boots hit the basement floor, he could barely hear the storm. The buzz of the fluorescent lights overpowered the sound of the rain.

They might not even notice the all clear when it went off. If he’d been thinking, he would have brought the radio with him. Or pulled his cell phone out of his truck instead of leaving it lying on the front seat like an idiot.

“You have a cell?” he asked.

“No, sorry.”

“Is there a phone down here?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll look.”

While she was searching around, Tony glanced over the tidy rows of rack shelving. It was a full basement, one he’d been in before several times, but he’d never paid much attention. He’d usually been focused on the electrical box or the ductwork or some other thing he needed to mess with to get a job done.

Now he really looked, impressed with whoever had imposed order on the large space. There were several rows of shelves with neatly stacked and sorted equipment—balls, uniforms, climbing harnesses, pool chemicals and floats—all kinds of stuff.

The building used to belong to the college, but they’d given it to the village of Camelot after they constructed a new athletic center a few years back. Now some rich local had died and left money to pay for the new wing, which would add a studio for aerobics classes, a big workout room, some meeting areas, and another locker room just for families with little kids.

By the time it was done, the center would be twice as nice as the Y in Mount Pleasant, which was where Camelot residents had to go now if they wanted to belong to a gym.

Amber returned, frowning an apology. “No, sorry. No phone down here. I couldn’t even find a jack.”

Tony imagined his father berating him.
You’re always so careless. Didn’t you listen to the weather?

He had, but he’d figured he’d be done and home before the storm hit. Then he got distracted by the unholy mess the electrical guys had left behind. Tony hadn’t wanted the site to stay trashed all weekend long. Stuff like that made the company look bad. He’d picked up, started running the shop vac, and the next thing he knew the siren was going off, and he’d kept her late again.

Kept her from her mother.

His mouth twitched into a smile at the memory of the conversation.

Amber flicked on a bank of switches in the middle of the room, illuminating the back half, and turned around. She stuck her hands in the front pockets of her khakis.

“So,” she said. “How ’bout that weather?”

She was so damn cute, with that face and her ponytail and the whistle around her neck. Not cute like she was trying to be, but cute like she couldn’t help it. Like a baby rabbit. It made him want to follow her around to keep the foxes from eating her up.

Except he was one of the foxes.

“We’re not likely to get hit,” he said. “The radio put us right at the edge of the storm. If it touches down anywhere, it’ll probably be around Brevard.”

“Yeah, I heard that.”

“Don’t suppose you got dinner down here?”

“There’s nothing to eat, sorry.”

“TV/VCR? Deck of cards?”

“Just a bunch of sports equipment. Oh, and we’ve got Youth Theater costumes. We could play dress-up.” She threw him a little smile.

He managed not to tell her he’d rather play doctor. “I’ll be the princess,” he offered, “and you can be the pirate.”

Another smile. She had a dimple. Naturally.

“I think there are some chairs in the back.”

She led him down an aisle of metal shelving to a tower of orange and blue plastic chairs stacked against the far wall. Tony pulled two off the top.

“Ladies’ choice. Blue or orange?”

She took the orange, and they sat. Amber crossed her legs one way, then the other. Crossed her arms. Folded her hands in her lap.

He wondered if she was uncomfortable because she knew about the accident. People got that way. But it didn’t seem to fit, not considering how she went all pink and bashful whenever he walked by.

Could be she was just afraid of him because he was a man, and she was a woman, and here they were, alone.

Only one way to find out.

“So is it the storm you’re afraid of, or is it me?”

“Who says I’m afraid?”

“You can’t sit still.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “We’re in an unusual situation. I’m a little … apprehensive.”

He threw her a grin. “Don’t go busting out the big words on me.”

“Oh, sorry. It means—”

“It’s okay, I know that one. Fancy word for ‘afraid.’ ”

This smile was shy and fleeting. “Yeah.”

“I’m pretty harmless. We should play Twenty Questions or something. Truth or Dare. Get to know each other.”

Her eyes widened, and then she started to cough. The coughing got the best of her. She had to cover her mouth with her hand and double over, giving Tony a view of her slim back.

The polo shirt was made of thin, smooth cotton, and one of her bra straps was twisted, making a knot beneath the material. What kind of bra did Amber wear? Plain white cotton? Black lace?

He could ask her, but she might pass out.

When she sat up, her eyes were red-rimmed, the lashes all clumped together. No smeared mascara, though. No makeup.

She didn’t need it. Not with that olive skin, those big eyes in her sweet face, and that mouth that gave him way too many dirty ideas.

She’s a nice girl. Probably looking for a husband
.

Not for you
.

Tony rubbed his palms together. “So how’d you get this job?”

“I just applied for it. After college. I mean, I worked at the desk for a while, and then I applied for this job.”

“Did you want to be a … whatever you are?”

“Program director.”

“You in charge of everything—who uses the gym when and what time the pool is open and that big Halloween party and all that?”

“More or less. I did my degree in sports management, and this was kind of what there was, if I didn’t want to move. It was either this or be, like, a high school coach, and I’d have to be a teacher for that.”

“You didn’t want to be a teacher?”

“No.”

“See, I’d have guessed that was right up your alley. Bet you got straight A’s in school.”

Her expression soured.

“You did, didn’t you?” he asked. “Honor roll and everything.”

A nod.

“And you went to college. Where’d you go, OSU?”

“No, to the Naz.”

“You’re a Nazzie?”

The Nazarene college in Mount Pleasant was for serious Christians. The students weren’t even allowed to dance, much less kiss.

She was even more of a bunny than he’d thought.

She shrugged. “It’s close by, and they gave me a good scholarship. I’m not really … I’m a Catholic. Or I used to be.”

“Me, too.”

“I guessed, with a name like Tony Mazzara.”

And then she looked down at the floor, and he replayed the conversation, trying to figure out what he’d said to spook her this time.

No idea.

“So you used to be Catholic, and you’re only sort of a Nazzie. What does that make you now?”

“A great disappointment to my mother?”

“Ah, you’re nothing but trouble these days, huh?”

She snorted, still inspecting her toes. “Hardly. But I don’t go to mass twice a week, and I’m not married yet, so she’s not sure what to do with me anymore.”

“That does sound disreputable—working seven to five, driving that little yellow car around, doing lines of cocaine in the bathroom.”

Her head snapped up.

“What, no cocaine?” he asked.

“I don’t even drink.”

“Bet you bring a different man around the apartment every weekend.”

There came that blush. “Not so much.”

“You got a boyfriend?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t.”

Leaning back, he braced his arms behind his head. He stretched his legs out in front of him, propping one boot on top of the other, because he wanted her to look at him. Patrick gave him flak about the way she stared, but Tony liked how she looked at him. She made him feel big.

He needed to stop playing with her, but by the time her wide brown eyes finished meandering their way up his legs, past his crotch, and over his chest, he was feeling so bulletproof, he couldn’t resist. “Honey, somebody’s got to teach you how to misbehave. You’re doing it all wrong.”

Tony was thoroughly enjoying her dismayed expression when the lights went out.

Blackness fell, sudden and complete. It took a second for Amber to get her mental bearings.

The power had gone out.

Fantastic
.

Now she was alone in the dark with an unreasonably sexy man who thought she was Mother Teresa.

Somebody’s got to teach you how to misbehave
.

She’d wanted to ask,
How about you?

But of course she’d said nothing. She didn’t know how to say stuff like that.

It was a trap, being good. You trapped yourself, and then even when you unlocked the door and walked out of the cage, you still
felt
trapped.

She sighed.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Some people don’t like the dark.”

His voice didn’t sound right. It sounded as if it was pushing back against the weight of something, but that didn’t make any sense. Tony moved around the construction site like he owned all of Mount Pleasant and half the village of Camelot. He was never this … strained.

“You wouldn’t be one of those people, would you?”

She tried to give the question a teasing lilt, but it didn’t quite fly, and then it didn’t matter, because he said, “I might be.”

Tony Mazzara, the Italian Stallion, was afraid of the dark.

She let it sink in for a moment, because it had such a long way to sink.

Part of her wanted to smile at the irony, but it was really bad news for him. The basement wasn’t just dim, it was pitch-black. An ocean of dark. There were no windows, and a heavy door at the top of the stairs blocked any light that might have filtered down.
Poor Tony
.

“Is there a flashlight down here, you think?” he asked.

“Not that I know of. How much of a problem is this for you, exactly? Like, you’re not a big fan of the dark, or worse than that?”

“I’m not going to flip out and start smashing things.”

“Okay. Good.”

But he didn’t sound good, now that she was listening. She could hear him breathing, fast
and shallow, as if he might be flipping out. Plus, would he even have admitted being afraid of the dark if he had only a minor aversion to it? Probably not. He was a man. Her younger brother, Caleb, would never admit to being afraid of worms, even though he’d passed out when he had to dissect one in high school.

She needed to help Tony get his mind off the situation, but she wasn’t sure what to say. They were stuck in a basement together in the dark, in a tornado, and he was possibly having a panic attack. What next, zombies?

She said the first nonsense that popped into her head. “You think this is what Y2K is going to be like?” January 1, 2000, was still months off, but she’d seen a “personal survival guide” at the bookstore last week. “Everybody huddled in the dark, fretting about the end of the world?”

“Nah. I think Y2K is a bunch of crap.”

“My mother is obsessed with it. She reads every article in the newspaper, and when it comes on the news, she’s always like, ‘Turn it up! This is important!’ ”

“Your mother sounds like a trip.”

Her mother was controlling, difficult, and uptight. But really lovely, if you could get past all that. “She’s unique.”

“You live with her?”

“No, I have an apartment.”

“Oh, right. You said that.”

“But she lives nearby,” Amber confessed. “My parents own the complex, so they have a big apartment above the office.”

If he interpreted this to mean she was a loser who’d never properly left home, he was kind enough not to say so.

“My mom’s having her New Year’s party like she always does,” he said. “All my family, plus the aunts and uncles and cousins. She figures if the lights go out and airplanes start crashing, at least there’ll be champagne.”

“Maybe we won’t even survive that long. Maybe this is actually the apocalypse, getting a jump on us. By the time New Year’s rolls around, the world will be empty, anyway.”

“If this is the apocalypse, where are the horsemen? They’re supposed to have fiery swords. Then it wouldn’t be so fucking
dark
.”

“You could ask to borrow a fiery sword to use for a flashlight,” she suggested.

“Yeah. ‘Excuse me, sir? I know you’re probably going to lop my head off with that thing in a minute, but in the meantime, could I hold it, you think?’ ”

She smiled. “Maybe he wouldn’t let you have the sword, but there’d probably be a flaming T-shirt or something he could spare.”

“You’re making out like the horsemen of the apocalypse are going to be nice guys. I’m not sure that’s the way it works.”

“Good point,” she said. “You’ll have to find an angel.”

“Those won’t be hard to track down. They’ll be here for you.”

“I doubt it. I never go to mass anymore.”

“They’re going to bring you a fancy chair to ride up to heaven in. A what-do-you-call-it, like in Vietnam movies? Where somebody pulls you through the streets?”

“A palanquin?”

Another huff of laughter. “I’ve never even heard of that. Whatever it’s called, you’re getting one.”

He snapped his fingers. “A rickshaw. You’re getting a rickshaw.”

“I’m not sure I want a rickshaw.”

“Doesn’t matter. Rickshaws aren’t optional. But look, if you haven’t left in your rickshaw yet when the Devil shows up and starts listing all my sins, you might consider sticking around to defend me.”