Holy hell!
I’ve never thought food, or watching someone eat it for that matter, to be a particularly erotic activity, but I stand corrected.
I’m watching, waiting for Katie to take another bite, when I’m brought back to my own table by a loud, waspish, “Rogan!”
Irritated at the interruption, I bark at Victoria, “What?”
I manage to pull my eyes away from Katie long enough to focus on my ex’s furious expression. “What the hell are you so interested in over there?” She turns in her seat and scans the diner before swiveling back to me. “What? Did you spot Elvis or something? I don’t see what you find so fascinating.”
Even though she had to have seen her, Victoria obviously doesn’t find Katie a noteworthy sight and can’t imagine that I’d find her noteworthy either. I guess Katie has become so adept at being a wallflower that she has others overlooking her, too. I don’t see how. I don’t see how anyone can overlook her wavy auburn hair, her flawless skin, her perfectly round tits, tucked away under a shirt that screams TOUCH ME NOT and makes me want to touch so, so much.
Shiiit!
The strain of my hard-on against my zipper is a better wake-up call than ten pissed-off Victorias. I’m in a public place, for God’s sake. With my vicious ex. Not at all the time to let lurid thoughts of a hot-and-shy little makeup artist get to me. I can wait until tonight. Maybe then I’ll be able to taste what’s been keeping me awake at night.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat and nod toward Victoria’s half-eaten salad. “You done?”
I suppress my sneer. I’d much rather Victoria eat like an actual person than like a starving bird. I’d much rather she eat like Katie. But she’s no Katie. Not by a long shot.
“Yes,” Victoria replies in one petulant syllable.
I throw some bills onto the table. “Good. Let’s get out of here.”
I follow Victoria to the door, sparing one last glance in Katie’s direction. When I find her, her mouth is open and her fork is raised, but she’s not sliding the bite of pie onto her tongue. She’s stopped dead, mid-bite. Frozen. When I see her eyes, I don’t have to ask why she stopped. The wide, hurt orbs are burning right through me.
THIRTEEN
Katie
All afternoon I thought if I could just get home I’d feel better. I thought once I got away from work, away from where it seems I’m surrounded by thoughts and memories of Rogan, that I’d find a little peace. But I was wrong. Now that I’m here, I’m too restless to sit still.
So is that why he didn’t invite me to lunch today? He gave up and decided to go back to more . . . fruitful orchards? Because I feel sure Victoria is as fruitful as they come.
What an asshole!
I pace the living room floor, Dozer’s head moving back and forth with me, like he’s watching a ping-pong tournament. “I knew better, Dozer. I knew better than to believe that he might actually like me. What was I thinking?”
He lets out a short purr at his name, his big yellow eyes riveted to mine.
“You wanna get out of here? How ’bout a walk? We haven’t been to the park in three days. That’s a travesty!” Normally, I walk Dozer every evening if it’s not raining.
Dozer jumps down off the arm of the couch and trots over to me, as though in answer to my question. It seems he’s in favor of a trip to the park. No doubt he’s missed it, too.
I get his leash and my purse and head for the door, hoping that maybe the distraction of a public place will help my poor brain find some rest.
I scoop up Dozer and turn to lock the knob. My eyes fall on the empty wineglass sitting on the table just inside the door. With a rebellious sniff, I slam the door shut, leaving it right where I left it when I got home. Rogan can kiss our little game and any promises I might’ve made him good-bye. He doesn’t need the attentions of a simple girl like me when he’s still getting more than enough from Victoria.
I both seethe and ache just thinking about seeing him at the diner with her. And then I feel just stupid. Stupid for believing that he could be interested in me. Stupid for letting him charm me out of my good sense. And to think that I was actually starting to feel excited about him, about going to work and getting to spend some time with him each morning.
What an idiot! I chastise, wishing that I hadn’t let down my guard with him at all. I guess I just didn’t give him enough credit. He’s a more talented actor than I suspected. He almost had me convinced.
Ten minutes later, Dozer is hooked up to his leash, darting happily from bush to tree, eyes wide and ears alert for any dogs in the vicinity. I pay little attention to the odd looks that get thrown my way when people see me walking my cat on a leash. I’m used to them. I realize it’s far from conventional to walk a cat in a dog park (or anywhere else for that matter), but I’d seen it done before, so I thought I’d try it. Turns out it’s the perfect fix for a cat like Dozer, one who grew up indoors, but likes the outdoors.