Hex on the Ex by Rochelle Staab Read Free Book Online Page B

curious. It seems empty in here today.”
    “Too hot to exercise,” he said.
    Tess waved hello as I climbed on the treadmill beside her. “Did you have a good time at the baseball game last night?” she said.
    The baseball game. Right.
My backyard and bedroom romp with Nick blanked my memory of Jarret’s disastrous game, Kyle’s beer shower, and Laycee’s brazen attitude.
    “The Dodgers lost but my family had fun.” I programmed the treadmill and as I began my warm-up, glanced through the cardio room window to the studio in back. “No Gretchen this morning? I saw her at the game.”
    Tess scanned the room. “Huh, she’s not here. I didn’t even notice. That’s a first. Was she with a guy last night? I’m curious who she’s dating.”
    “No guy. She was with one of the female members from here—the streaked blonde who rode the elliptical in front of us Monday morning. I don’t know her name.”
    Tess laughed. “You’ll get to know everyone. Streaked blonde? Maybe you mean Gloria? Did she have an attitude? A little full of herself?”
    “Let’s say she exuded self-confidence. Works out with a trainer with a shaved head?”
    “That’s Gloria. Comes here about three or four times a week. She works in television doing something that requires her I’ll-snub-you-before-you-snub-me defense.”
    “To be fair, I didn’t talk to her much.”
    “Don’t bother,” Tess said. “Gloria wears a nasty vibe like a designer label.”
    I felt honored to be on Tess’s good side. “Another psychic read?”
    “You didn’t pick up on her prickly aura? She doesn’t warm up to women. I’m surprised she and Gretchen are friends.”
    “They seemed like they were having a good time together last night at the game,” I said.
    “Go figure. Did you run into Kyle there?”
    “Literally. I backed into a full cup of beer he held while I talked with Laycee.”
    “So is he dating Miss Atlanta or what? What’s her story?”
    “Lonely housewife.” I cranked up my treadmill speed to avoid answering in depth.
    My late rise set me back a half hour. I finished my workout and shower with an impossible five minutes to make it to Jarret’s before he left at eight for his morning run. But aside from rushing to meet Stan at my house on time, I was in no hurry to see Jarret. Knowing him, he would be hung-over and cranky after drowning his loss on the mound.
    Kyle still hadn’t come to the gym by the time I left. I wondered if he spent the night with Laycee. Wouldn’t surprise me. Both of them were users. Both had agendas. How fitting they found each other. How sad for her husband, who thought she came out to visit me.
    Traffic moving west on Ventura Boulevard crawled alongat a stop and start pace again. I made the turn off Sepulveda Boulevard into Royal Oaks a little past eight-thirty, driving along the deserted streets through the tunnel of trees toward Jarret’s. I turned into his driveway, drove up the hill, and parked at his garage door. Just in case he was home, I rang the front doorbell. No answer.
    I went to the garage and tapped 0118, Jarret’s birthday, on the security keypad. The door rolled up and back, exposing the carless garage. I crossed to the door in back and entered the kitchen.
    His blender pitcher and a glass sat in the sink, both filled with cloudy water and remnants from Jarret’s morning power shake. Two half-empty glass flutes along with two empty bottles of champagne stood at the end of the counter. So the party came home with him last night. I checked myself.
None of my business.
The quarter-folded cardboard box labeled “Liz books—3 of 4” waited for me on the cooking island. I lugged the heavy carton to my car, closed the garage door, and left.
    At the bottom of his driveway, I made a fast left turn past the middle-aged woman walking a tottering black-and-white spaniel along the street. The neighborhood busybody whose name I never remembered. The day Jarret and I moved in, she knocked on our