“Yeah, that’s me,” I mutter.
Her eyes widen. “Wow! We never get famous people in here. Thank God your team won, right? I mean, after—”
I pick up my chopsticks. “Do you mind—”
She sits down. “Can I ask you a question?”
“No.”
“Is it true you died?”
My jaw tics.
Yes, my heart stopped beating. I wasn’t breathing. The used a defibrillator to bring me back. I was in the hospital for a week while they monitored me. My symptoms on the field represented what a “clinical death” can look like. Most experts say that after four minutes of no oxygen to the brain, your cells begin to die as parts of your brain expire: first the temporal lobe, where memories are stored.
I was out for under two minutes.
I’m about to tell her to mind her business when my phone rings.
“May I have some privacy?” I say to her.
“Oh. Sure, yeah. It was worth losing the bet just to meet you. We’ll talk later. I get off at ten.” She winks as she slides a piece of paper across the table with her number written on it. She flounces away, and I crumple the note.
“Hey,” I say to Brody.
“Hallelujah, my big brother is alive! Tell me all the things. Did you figure out your dream?”
I laugh as I picture him in his apartment in Manhattan. He’s probably on his balcony, sipping on a martini and taking in the views of Central Park. I bet he’s wearing slacks and a tweed blazer. His socks will be color coordinated. At twenty-seven, he’s three years younger than me and a replica of our mother with his sandy-blond hair and smile. He inherited her fun and spontaneity, while I got our father’s dark looks.
“I’ve seen coyotes, roadrunners, snakes, and a tarantula as big as my hand. You’d be shitting your pants.”
“Gross. But did you figure out your chat with God when you were dead? I’m picturing His Holiness as Queen Elizabeth in pearls and a powder blue suit.”
“Your God is a British monarch?”
“Isn’t yours?”
I chuckle. “I did find an interesting motel called the Golden Iguana. I’ve stayed in better tents.”
My head tumbles back to the motel. I consider telling him about Emmy. My lips quirk. She ran into my arms like a long-lost girlfriend, and damn her acting was good. I’d been fighting a dizzy spell from the stairwell, and when she launched herself at me, I’d been stunned and a little confused, then angry. I’d assumed she was someone who recognized me and wanted to meet me.
He pulls me back to the present. “How’s the head?”
“Fine.”
He lets out a gusty exhale. “The desert sun has to be killing you. I’m sorry, G.”
I tap my fingers against the side of the coffee cup. “There was a woman. She pulled me into her room.”
“Now we’re talking! Roarrr!”
“Nothing happened.”
“So delicious! Was she hot? Blonde, nice tits?”
Yes. “I didn’t notice.”
“But you felt a tingle in your pants?”
“Jesus. No, Brody.”
“You lie. In case you want to know, I’m twerking in happiness on the balcony right now.”
“She wasn’t my type.”
Yet . . .
My fingers drum the table, thoughts drifting to her heart-shaped face and big green eyes. Her ass in that bikini was luscious. And she’d smelled like sun-kissed skin and vanilla.
Doesn’t matter.
The last thing I need is a hookup.
I can barely take care of myself.
He sighs, clearly disappointed. “At least get some pics of the iguana. Maybe make a vision board. Remember when I made a board for us to move to California?”
“Hmm, you had the Hollywood sign, plus a bunch of hot guys.”
“That’s when Mom figured out I was gay.”
“She hung it in the foyer like it was a Picasso.”
He hums under his breath. “I miss her.”
Same. My hand tightens around the cell, and my throat clogs with banked emotion. Regret pierces me. I adored my mother. She was taken too soon in a skiing accident when I was fifteen, but the pain of losing her never diminishes.
I change the subject. “How’s Cas? Has he found a spot for the gym?” Cas is an ex-MMA fighter and Brody’s spouse.
There’s silence on the other end, and I frown. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
He groans, frustration evident. “We got turned down for the loan. We applied at three different banks and got the same answer. We don’t have the equity.”