Chapter 7: Free Wi-Fi

The tiny round table I'm occupying is bumped from the side. The entire piece wobbles before it drops back into place with a clang. Hot chocolate splashes over the side of my white paper cup and spills on the papers beside it. Wonderful.

The offender looks over her shoulder with a quick, "Sorry," sent my way as she shuffles her gigantic purse over her shoulder, jarring another patron on her way out. I'm willing to admit coming to a busy coffee shop on a Saturday morning to try and get some work done may not have been my best idea.

I'm not even by the door, but every few minutes someone bumps my black padded chair or nudges the small table I've precariously balanced all my supplies on. I tried to work at home this morning, but it turns out reading about dog food trends over the last twenty years is as fun as memorizing the US Presidents was in third grade. How could I have resisted the little corner coffee shop with the short black overhang? Plus they have free Wi-Fi.

The cute coffee shop sounded like a great idea at the time, but with an hour before I need to meet my brother, I can get more work done at home. If not, my trending reports could help me catch a nap. At least I know what to do the next time I have a case of insomnia. I start to gather up the now wet paper and other supplies I'd scattered around, sticking them in my brown leather bag. I've barely vacated my seat before someone swoops in and claims the abandoned space.

I stroll down Van Ness, window shopping at all the stores lining the street. It doesn't take long before I start wondering what Finn is doing today. Is he sitting in his own little coffee shop this afternoon? Where do gamers hang out?

The closer I get to home the more the streets start to fill with people as they shop their afternoon away. The tourists are easy to pick out with their shorts and thin summer shirts. They hug themselves to conserve heat as they walk in the brisk San Francisco air. Ben's promised me I'll grow used to the tepid temperatures the bay experiences year round, but for now I'm wrapped in a fleece. I'm a Southern California girl at heart. I'm not sure if I'll ever consider seventy to be summer.

I stop on the way home and pick up a few necessities, but I make sure not to overbuy. I learned my lesson earlier this week. Red wine goes with pizza right? With no time to chill a bottle, I don't have another option. So we'll have to make do. Knowing Ben, he'll be waiting for me at my apartment even though it's early. We made plans to watch the game together and for some unknown reason he always forces me to watch the pregame material as well.

Today's game against the Rockies is an important one. It's the third in the three-game series. The Giants have won both games over the last two days, but more importantly Ben and I have a bet. We've been betting against opposing teams for as long as I remember. This time he has $10 on the Rockies and I have his help hanging pictures if the Giants sweep them. Most of the time I don't care what team I bet on. It is more important to bet against Ben, but I'm not looking forward to hanging pictures. The Giants need to win today. With their current record against the Rockies, it's a sure bet.

Sure enough as I clear the door to my lobby, Ben is stretched out in one of the pleather chairs next to the mailbox wall. He sits, his jean-clad legs propped out in front of him. The black long sleeve t-shirt with "Not your homeboy" in white lettering across the front gives him an imposing feel. Dark tinted aviator lenses rest on top of his dark brown hair and don't soften his appearance. Even out of uniform, Ben has this way about him. He screams authority. Today is no different.

Ben stands as he sees me, "It took you long enough. This lobby smells wet." Our matching dark brown eyes take in the lobby together.

"I had to stop for refreshments," I reply holding up the bottle of red wine, "and I'm not sure wet can have an odor." The lobby does seem to have a particular smell to it, but I can't put my finger on it. Maybe wet. Not that I'd ever admit that to Ben.

"Whatever. This place stinks. You should bring an air freshener down with you," he says and then follows me up the stairs. "Of course, I wouldn't have had to sit around festering in the stench if I had a key to your place."

His big black duffle hits me on the leg as we make our way up the stairs. I hadn't noticed he had it with him when I walked in. Observation isn't my strong point. I would make a horrible detective.

"Why do you have a bag with you? Did Rebecca kick you out?" I decide to ignore his other complaints.

"Why would you think that? Rebecca and I are fine. I'm working a long shift so I'll leave right from your place after the game." He runs his hand through his hair displacing the slight waves, another shared sibling feature.

We round the third floor and I decide to respond before the walk leaves me breathless, "You can't leave until you pay up on your bet after the Rockies lose. You need to hang up my pictures first. I have them all ready for you. Did you bring a hammer?" I start our pregame smack talk.

"I brought the hammer, but I'm not going to need it. I hope you stopped at an ATM because you're buying my lunch tomorrow," he taunts, not even winded. Stupid in shape police people.

I unlock my apartment and listen to Ben rant about the necessities of an older brother protecting his sister and why it means he needs a key and pass code to my place. My wine is placed on the kitchen counter while Ben takes a wooden-handled hammer from his bag and tosses it on the coffee table in front of the television. It hits the wood with a thud and I wince hoping it didn't cause a dent. Most of the pieces in here came with the place and I'd like to get a deposit back one day.

"Let it go, Ben. You are not getting a key to my place." I've already given one to Rebecca and Marissa for emergencies, but Ben does not need to know. He'd be checking up on me all the time. The man has no sibling boundaries. I grab his bag from him and head to my bedroom so he can't continue the argument.

"Pen, did you order pizza to go with this fancy wine?" He hollers at me from the living room.

I change into my favorite grey sweats and an orange San Francisco Giants t-shirt. Because of our past, Ben and I both have attire featuring almost every major league team to be worn on the occasions we bet on them. Our one withstanding loyalty is our mutual Southern California college team. We're proud Warriors and have a truce on all college sports.

Back in the living room, Ben has poured a glass of wine for me and stolen a can of soda for himself. He takes up a side of my sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table. The pregame announcers drone on in the background.

"No, I haven't ordered pizza yet. I need to figure out who delivers here. I'll search and then we can pick closer to game time." I position myself on the opposite side of the sofa, my legs stretched in his direction. One foot goes to his lap and my toes wiggle at him.

"You can start on my foot rub at any time. You still owe me from our last game."

Ben throws me a look, but picks up my foot and begins to rub. It's heavenly. I'm sure one of Rebecca's main reasons for marrying my overprotective brother had to do with his ability to give a good foot rub. The last few minutes of the pregame show trickle by as I relax and enjoy the pampering. I'm about to switch feet on Ben when a knock at the door stills us both.

"Did you order the pizza?" I ask, thinking maybe he's surprised me.

Ben pushes my feet from his lap and stands. "No, so let me get it. You don't know what kind of freak it could be." His protective brother mode is in full overdrive.

"Ben, there's a keypad." As soon as the irritated words leave my mouth, my brain catches up. There's only one other person who knows the code and wouldn't use the buzzer in the lobby first. Finn. I jump up to try and beat Ben, but he's already turning the knob.

Finn is tall, but Ben meets him at eye level. Why am I surrounded by tall people? Ben doesn't open the door all the way. Rather he braces himself against the frame, "Can I help you?" Ben uses his best suspicious cop voice.

"Oh. Um. I was here for Aspen." Finn answers on the other side of the door. He looks confused by the entire situation, a large white square box with a pizza sketched on the sides rests in his arms. I squeeze past Ben and push him out of the way. The whole scenario gives me flashbacks to high school.

"Finn!" I say with a little too much excitement. "I didn't think I'd see you today."

"You know this guy?" Ben points a thumb in Finn's direction.