So. Long(27)
I prop my hands on my hips and count to five. “See? He doesn’t listen to you.”
Adam does one of those impossible two-fingers-in-the-mouth whistles. It echoes through the neighborhood. “Spike!”
The jingle of his dog tags precedes him. He trots around the corner of the house. When he stops, he looks from Adam to me and back. His floppy ears perk up.
Adam gestures to him as though he’s presenting me with a gift. “See?”
“I have to admit, he did come running. And he’d be absolutely majestic if it weren’t for the torn piece of paper hanging from the corner of his mouth. That would be a remnant of my dinner’s bag.”
Spike sits on his haunches and cocks his head to the side, as though he doesn’t have a clue what I might be talking about. He probably doesn’t, but it’s obvious that he thinks he’s in some sort of hot water. His big brown eyes implore leniency.
Adam, points to his front entry. “Get inside, you crazy mutt. You aren’t helping me here.”
Spike tucks his bobbed tail and leaves as much room as possible between him and me as he skirts the porch and darts inside.
He opens his door again. “Come on in. I’ll throw on some jeans and take you for something to eat, since my dog had your dinner—again.”
NINE
I stay rooted to my spot.
Do I go? Should I? What about keeping my distance?
He stops a few feet in and turns back. “You coming in?”
I hesitate at the threshold. “It’s not a date?”
“Do you want it to be a date? It could be a date if you want it to. I’m not opposed to that.”
I chew the inside of my bottom lip.
He’s not opposed?
“I doubt you’re opposed to anything that might get you a piece of ass.” I sound less than sure, even to myself.
His brows rise. “Okay then. Not a date. Just me taking you out to get a bite to eat—nothing more.”
My stomach squeezes. “Yup. Nothing more.”
“I’m gonna go change. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
I come inside as Adam heads toward his bedroom.
The last time I was in this house, Adam held me like I meant something to him, then the next morning, he told someone that a pussy is a pussy, referring to mine. The memory of the shame that ran through me in that moment shores up my determination to keep him at arm’s length, though part of me would love to wrap that arm around him instead.
No. I’m a grown woman. I can have dinner and conversation with a good looking guy—a well-built guy, at least—and I can do those things without tripping into infatuation or love or whatever.
I sit on the recliner to wait.
Well, Adam’s definitely not an interior designer.
A bump at the side of the chair alerts me to Spike’s presence. Belly on the carpet, he crawls around from behind me, along the side of my seat. When he gets to the front corner, he looks up at me, puppy-dog eyes in full effect.
I whisper, “What do you want, thief?”
He lets out a low whine and claws his way around to the front of the recliner. His gaze never leaves me as he pushes forward and nudges the side of my leg with his cold nose. His tongue darts out and he licks my ankle.
I let out a sigh. “You’re a mess, you know that?”
He lays his head on his front paws, still watching me, issuing another little whimper.
“That’s his way of apologizing for being a butt-head.” Adam walks into the living room, pulling a black t-shirt over his head and covering the parts I like to look at the most.
Probably for the best.
“Oh? That’s an apology?” I run my fingers over Spike’s velvet ears, letting him know he’s forgiven. “Well, I guess that’s more than I ever get from my little terrorist. Chloe just assumes I’ll love her no matter how rotten she is.”
“The difference between dogs and cats. That’s why I chose a dog.”
“Well, I happen to love cats. Thank you very much.”
He grabs his keys from the hook screwed into the wall next to the door. “Well, I do love some pussy.”
I throw my hands up. “Oh, forget it. I’m having a rotten day. I’ll go home and gnaw on a granola bar.”
“I changed clothes and everything. I’m taking you out.” He ushers me into the car.
Adam turns up the air conditioner to cool things off.
He adjusts the vents. “Is this all right? Not too cold on you?”
“Too cold? Oh, the air? No. This is fine. Thanks for asking.”
He brushes the back of my hand with his knuckle. “I’ll always ask.”
That’s the second time he’s done that.
I turn toward the window to hide. Adam’s ability to touch my heart with the smallest gestures may end up being my undoing. My nose twitches as the sting of tears pricks behind my eyes. I sniff and shake it off.