Bachelor Boss

by Sara Ney

  “Humphrey.”

  “What?” She stops stroking the dog long enough to scrunch up her pretty features. “You named your dog Humpy?”

  “No—Humphrey, with a P-H. Why the hell would I name my dog Humpy?”

  Is she out of her mind? Who would do that?

  “’Cause you’re a guy? And guys do stupid shit like that?” It’s not the first time I’ve heard her swear, but I haven’t gotten used to the sound of profanity coming from her lips.

  “Spencer, I must have said his name twenty times now.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to hear you say Humpy.”

  Jezebel, this one. She is no good for me.

  The dog likes it too, because he chooses that moment to stick his nose in her crotch.

  Spencer gasps. “Oh Jesus!” Moves his face with her hands and laughs but backs away, tilting her body away from the dog’s probing nostrils.

  “He has to go out—I’m surprised he hasn’t peed on us.” I shoot the dog a look. “Okay buddy, go get your leash.”

  We wait.

  “He can fetch his own leash? Wow!” Spencer is suitably impressed.

  “Humphrey—get your leash! Go get it!”

  He does not go get it.

  “I’ll be right back. It’s hanging in the kitchen.” I spare a glare for the disobedient dog. “Stay.”

  Obviously he stays.

  As if he’s going anywhere—his new love is hitting all his favorite spots with her pink polished nails: behind his ears and along his neck, beneath his collar.

  Is it possible I’m jealous of the dog?

  Yes.

  I retrieve the leash, attempting to calm the dog so I can snap it to his collar. He’s so excited he’s bouncing on his back legs, a hoppy little jig of anticipation. Hold still, dude, I silently plead, not wanting to lose my patience in front of Spencer.

  Humphrey continues hopping, making it damn near impossible to clasp the silver buckle to his neck. When I finally secure it, I stand, making sure Spencer has all her stuff before we head out.

  “Ready?” I give her a once-over: purse, computer bag.

  “Ready when you are.”

  Everything is great for the first few steps; everyone stays in line, the evening brisk but not unbearably cold. It’s not far to the end of the block, and I consider how close she and I are in proximity.

  Right beneath my nose.

  Humphrey sniffs the sidewalk as he ambles on. Finds a spot and pees.

  Great. “Good dog.”

  He loves the praise.

  “You said you’ve been remodeling for the past two years—what have you done with your place?”

  My brain mentally ticks off the list of renovations I’ve done to my house. “It wasn’t in bad shape. Luckily most of it was original, and you know how uncommon that is. New owners and renters love nothing more than ripping out cool shit and replacing it with crap.”

  Spencer nods like she knows what I’m talking about, so I go on.

  “Let’s see…I started with the floors. Stripped them myself before I moved in and stained them the dark color. Which, in retrospect, I regret—that dark stain shows everything.”

  I shoot a pointed look at the culprit sauntering along in front of me.

  “Floors. New fixtures in the kitchen and all the bathrooms—took me months to find the right ones because I didn’t want anything modern. Uh…I had to replace a few windows that had lead or were rotted. Bathroom tile. Tile in the entry. Last spring, I did the landscaping out front and painted the fence.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Not all of it. I have a few buddies who are handy with a hammer.” Sort of. Brooks Bennett is semi-useful when it comes to do-it-yourself home improvement. Blaine? Not so much, but they showed up when I needed them, and that counts for something.

  “The friends you were with at The Basement?” she questions.

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you been friends with them long?”

  “Since high school.”

  “That’s so great—I have a few friends like that. I met Miranda in college, and I consider her my best friend even if she’s a monster most of the time.”

  I laugh. “How is she a monster? I thought Humphrey was the only one of those around.” The dog glances up, regarding me after hearing his name.

  “She’s loud and really outgoing, so when we’re in public…” Her voice trails off. “I’m not going to approach a group of guys and insert myself into the conversation like she will.”

  “You? Shy?”

  “I didn’t say shy—I’m just not bold like that.”

  I’m glad to learn this about her. Miranda seemed fun, but her personality would wear on me after a while if I had to be friends with her.

  The kind of girl who threatens to cut a dude’s nuts off if he hurts her best friend.

  That’s the kind of girl Miranda is: loyal and scary.

  “You three looked pretty comfortable at that bar. Do you go there often?”

  “It’s our spot.”

  “Looked like it.” She pauses, and the sound of leaves rustling fills the air. “For your club meetings?”

  “Yes,” I say absentmindedly. “Shit—no.”

  Spencer laughs again. “Too late. Busted!”

  Fuck.

  “So that’s the deal with the jackets. You have a club? Hmm,” she hums. “Can I guess what kind?”

  “No!” I nearly shout, losing control of the situation. Between Spencer and the dog, my nerves are buzzing. Hormones and testosterone raging. “I mean—no. I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if you guessed, so—leave it alone.” Then, feeling guilty for being harsh, I add, “I’m not trying to be a dick, but we have rules.”

  Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that either.

  No matter—Spencer is never going to bump into Blaine and Brooks again. Hopefully. Unless, of course, she comes back to The Basement, though she didn’t look at all comfortable there, not like her friend Miranda did.

  “You love your rules, don’t you?”

  Not really. They just happen. “Sure.”

  A small bob of understanding. “I get it. I was in a sorority in college.”

  “It’s not like a sorority,” I mutter.

  “Fraternity.”

  “It’s not—we’re not a secret society,” I lie. “Our rules are pretty stupid, just for fun.”

  “Secret rules you can’t talk about.” Her eyes are rolling. “Sounds like a secret society, but what do I know?”

  More than you think, I want to confess.

  You know we wear matching smoking jackets to our meetings.

  You know where our meetings are held.

  You know who the members are.

  You know we have rules.

  You saw me freak out when you tried my jacket on, so you know letting you wear it is not allowed.

  You know we have a secret club.

  “It’s not one of those dumb clubs where everyone vows to stay single, is it?” She laughs loudly, snorting. “That would be the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard of in my entire life.”

  Spencer is kidding around. She has no idea how close to home she’s hitting, and the pit in my stomach drops.

  I feel physically ill.

  Trip on a crack in the concrete at the same time Humphrey stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and we stroll past him until the leash goes taut.

  He isn’t moving.

  Not a good sign, but he takes the heat off of me and Spencer’s conspiracy theories. One point awarded to Humphrey for saving my ass.

  “What’s he doing?” Spencer wonders, cocking her head in Humphrey’s direction.

  “He’s being stubborn.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that is what he does, which is why I’m late for work almost every day.” I stand, engaged in a battle of wills with the dog, a dog who chooses the world’s most inopportune moments to act like an asshole.

  “We’ve gone a block and a
half—I can see my place.” Spencer points down the street. “I’m there, in the middle. The dark gray townhouse.”

  If only we can make it that far without me having to—

  “Does he want you to…” Spencer’s head tilts farther in thought. “It seems like he wants you to carry him.”

  Yes, that’s exactly what the fucker wants. Except I’m not giving in so soon—this late-night deadlock is bullshit, and if I have to carry him on the way back, I’m going to be seriously pissed.

  “How long is he going to stand there like that?” Under the glow of the streetlamp overhead, I can see her trying not to laugh.

  I wouldn’t blame her one bit; this is stupid.

  “He’ll stand there like that until he decides to lie down.” It will be one or the other. “It’s a showdown. We have them a few times a week, usually in the morning.”

  “Does he always want to be carried?”

  “Um, no.” He just wants attention, and if you would stop petting him, maybe he would walk like a normal dog. One who doesn’t insist on staying put, refusing to walk another step farther until I bend down and scoop him up.

  Jesus Christ he’s heavier than a giant bag of dog food.

  “What a goofy dog!” Spencer exclaims.

  “Goofy is not how I would describe him,” I pant, already out of breath. Thank God her place is right freaking there. In a few minutes I’ll be able to put the dog down. “Last week he pretended to have a limp.”

  “He did not!”

  “Yup. He dragged his hind quarters down the sidewalk like his back leg was broken, like a stray in a tourist town.” Goofy does not begin to describe this dog.

  Humphrey luxuriates in having my arms wrapped around him, head held high as if he is front and center in a parade, one starring him, with people there to view him and only him.

  Such a showboating spectacle.

  He takes the opportunity to let out a howl of pleasure, alerting anyone within earshot of his presence.

  “Shh, no,” I tell him sternly. “Do you want me to put you down?”

  He stops bleating like the town crier.

  “That dog is…really something else.” Spencer giggles. “I would offer to babysit for him if you ever go out of town, but honestly, I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it.”

  “Believe me, we’ve gone through a whole roster of babysitters. There is only one person he listens to, and it isn’t me. Her name is Stacy and she’s eighteen. She must smell like bacon and chicken cutlets, because he adores her and listens to everything she says.”

  “Why do you sound so annoyed?”

  “Because it annoys me that he doesn’t give a shit about anything I say.”

  “Does he know you’re the boss? You’re the leader of his pack.”

  I shoot her an irritated look. “You think I haven’t taken him to obedience classes? Literally nothing works for this dog. He does. Not. Give. A. Shit. I mean, look at him!” I try to hoist the dog higher to illustrate my point, but he’s overweight and I’m afraid I’ll drop him.

  “Maybe if you didn’t pick him up every time he wanted to be picked up…” Spencer starts.

  I silence her with my narrowed stare, the dog and I now panting in unison.

  Spencer puts up her hands in mock retreat. “Okay, okay, I’m only saying. Sorry.” Nothing can hide the grin on her pretty face. “He does look like a chunky handful. Literally.”

  Ha fucking ha. But he is. “It feels like he weighs a million pounds.”

  “You must be strong though if you can carry all that weight so many blocks,” Spencer demurs, bowing her head and burying her face in the collar of her shirt, flirting.

  That’s what she’s doing, isn’t it? Flirting? Shit. It’s been so long since a woman has been coy with me, I barely know what it looks like anymore.

  I set the dog down, much to his ire. He grunts unhappily but forgets to be stubborn when he discovers a new bush to sniff and explore.

  Good, he’s distracted.

  Gripping his lead, I stuff my hands in my pockets as Spencer hesitates on the steps up to her door.

  “Is this whole place yours?” I ask, curious.

  “No, it’s actually an apartment. I’m the top.”

  The top.

  My mind goes into the gutter, picturing her on top. Of me.

  “It’s cute,” she says. “Expensive, but cute.”

  “Bet it’s no fun when you have groceries.” I know I don’t enjoy having to haul shit in, and my kitchen is on the first floor of my brownstone, not up three stories of narrow stairs.

  “It’s not fun, even when I don’t have groceries. Moving in was terrible. Luckily it came half furnished—granted, the couch is shitty. I’ve only fallen through it once, though, so that’s a plus.”

  Why are we standing here, making idle chitchat? It’s not exactly warm and toasty outside, and my hands are getting cold even though they’re stuffed in my pockets. Spencer is rambling about her apartment, the fact that she couldn’t move a new sofa in unless it went through a window. She rambles about…birds?

  She’s adorable, and I consider what I would do if we had been drinking tonight, what I would do if I had liquid courage. Would I lean in to kiss her?

  Whoa, Phillip, way to get ahead of yourself. Calm down, boy, you are not putting your lips on her—not tonight.

  Humphrey is the only lucky bastard who will have that honor.

  Nonetheless, my eyes stray to her mouth as she speaks, the glossy lipstick or lip balm or whatever that is that’s shiny as a spotlight and drawing my eyes there. They move, bottom lip plump, her teeth occasionally pulling on it.

  Is she nervous? She doesn’t look nervous…

  Not Spencer. Of the two of us, she’s the one who is always in control. Calm, cute, collected.

  The dog whines (nothing new there), and she glances down, face transformed by her smile. Spencer squats, showering Humphrey with attention.

  “What, are you bored? Huh? Are we boring you with all our talk?” She pets and scratches brown fur. “Thank you for walking me home, Humphrey. Be a good boy and walk home without having to be carried, yes, be a good boy. Such a good boy,” she croons. “Pretty pretty puppy.”

  He hasn’t been a puppy in three years, having just turned five. I chuckle at the thought of what a goddamn asshole he was as a pup.

  When she rises, her hand grips the wrought iron stair rail; it’s rusted and could use a good sandblasting. Definitely needs a coat of paint.

  I stare at Spencer’s fingers so long she wiggles them so I’ll lift my gaze. She takes a step back, up the stairs. One. Then another.

  I’m compelled to do the same. Something about not seeing her all the way to the door feels ungentlemanly—or that’s what I’ll tell myself in the morning—so I follow all the way to the top, Humphrey lagging behind, leash slack between us, dragging on the ground.

  “You didn’t have to ride home with me, or walk me here, for that matter,” Spencer says, turning at the top once she reaches the door.

  “It wasn’t a big deal. Maybe we should start carpooling every day.” Ha ha. I’m only partially joking, and now that I’ve said the words out loud, the idea of it takes root in my brain, sprouting. Shit. I should not be making plans to spend more time with her—nothing good would come of it. She would get too attached and I’d have to let her down easy.

  I should be pushing her away.

  Spencer’s brows go up, disbelieving. “Did you just suggest we ride to work together?”

  “No.”

  “Yes you did.” She pats me on the arm. “Aww, that was sweet. You like me.”

  I do fucking like her.

  Her hand on my bicep blazes through my wool coat and I glance down at it, those long fingers. The pink nails.

  “What’s that look for?” She wants to know, removing her hand.

  “What look?”

  “You look strange all of a sudden, like…”

  I think she’s going to tell m
e I look distant. Or confused. Or tired.

  “…you have to shit yourself.” Pretty Spencer with the potty mouth laughs. “Constipated.”

  Gee. Thanks.

  “Don’t make that face—I’m only teasing.” She giggles again, the sound filling the night. “Don’t you like being teased, Phillip?”

  Jesus, the tone of her voice. I doubt she’s intentionally trying to sound sexy, but she does, and it’s doing shit to the dick in my pants.

  I clear my throat.

  She clears hers. “So. Anyway. Thanks for bringing me home.”

  “No problem.”

  “You don’t actually want to carpool in the morning, do you?”

  “Maybe not tomorrow. I have a thing.”

  A thing? Way to think quick on your feet, Phillip—it doesn’t sound at all like you’re backpedaling.

  “It’s fine, I get it.” She lets me off the hook. “And it’s our last day together! We should celebrate.”

  Celebrate something I’m not looking forward to? I don’t think so.

  “What?”

  “Huh?”

  “You just said, Celebrate something I’m not looking forward to?”

  “I said that out loud?” Shit, I’m losing my touch.

  “Yes, you said that out loud. Wow, Phillip, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t think you liked me liked me.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I joke even as the knot in my stomach tightens.

  “I won’t lord it over you. Mostly because I’m not going to see you after tomorrow.” Her smile goes from jovial to a bit morose. “Anyway. You should get that beast of a mutt home so you’re not up all night hanging out with him.”

  We both look down at Humphrey. He’s sitting on the concrete stoop watching the street. Content.

  “He’ll be exhausted by the time we get to my place.”

  “Yeah right—you’re going to have to carry him.”

  Negative. No way is that going to happen. I’m the boss, not the damn dog.

  “Tonight was fun,” I relent, against my better judgment.

  “It was.”

  “Alright, well…” I hesitate. Then, because I’m a fucking idiot and the brain in my skull has been rattled loose, I lean down and brush my lips across her cheek, kissing her goodbye.