Otterly Scorched

by Tara Sivec

  Probably my legs. I bet they’re now attached to my head.

  My brain is on the verge of exploding at this point while I try to piece together what he’s telling me, while also trying to remember all the words to the rap part in “No Scrubs” by TLC.

  “Cookies!” I shout. “Wait, no, brownies! You brought me brownies. Man, they were delicious. I ate one at the office and one on the drive over. But they took off my legs. I ain’t got no legs, Lieutenant Dan!”

  I’ve never giggled in my entire life, and now I can’t stop giggling.

  “I’m sorry to say I did not leave you brownies. I left you a postcard.”

  “Lies! I got two postcards, and you’re really pretty. Two postcards, from two otters, named Clinkon and Listopher. Lis and Clink. Chrrriiis… and Lincoln,” I finally manage to put together correctly. “They went to the Alamo! Isn’t that fun? I haven’t even been to the Alamo.”

  Dax is still holding my face in his hands, and now he’s trying to distract me by rubbing his thumbs all soft and nice against my cheeks while he also smiles at me with that adorable, soft smile.

  “Okay, so it sounds to me like maybe we each got a postcard in the mail, and they got mixed together. The one I brought over to your house this morning came from Virginia Beach, and I left it on your filing cabinet. I did not get one from Texas. And I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume Davidson reused one of the containers I left behind to store some of his… special brownies, which he also left on the filing cabinet.”

  When Dax finishes, there’s suddenly a womp-womp-womp sound in my brain, and I’m not sure if it’s from all the brain cells I’m currently killing off here today from the brownies, or my dignity dying.

  “Oh no,” I mutter.

  “Oh yes.” Dax laughs again, lowering his voice so only I can hear him. “Your eyes are bloodshot, and your pupils are alarmingly dilated. You’re high as hell right now, sweetheart.”

  For the first time ever, my body feels like it’s melting when he calls me sweetheart.

  Or maybe it really is melting. It’s disappearing like my legs that are now attached to my head that I can’t feel.

  “Care to introduce me to your friend?”

  Dax growls, but his eyes never leave mine. His hands are still holding my face in them, and I glance over his shoulder to see who just spoke.

  Oh shit! Oh my God, it’s his dad! He looks like an older version of Douchebag Dax from five years ago, with his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back with product, wearing an expensive suit and tie. I forgot about his dad! His dad is kind of my boss, if we’re being technical, and the father of the man I just decided to date this morning. And Dax is starting to get annoyed again, and goddammit, why is no one getting me any cheese?

  “I can’t meet your dad when I’m high!” I whisper-yell.

  The humor on Dax’s face and the bark of laughter from Nanci tells me I did not, in fact, whisper this statement.

  “Oh that’s nice. This is the woman you hired to find the otters? Very professional.”

  Dax’s hands immediately drop from my face, the humor vanishing as he whirls away from me to face his dad.

  “Just like I said a half hour ago when I walked in here and found you snooping through my shit, I didn’t ask for your opinion. You can leave any fucking time now,” Dax seethes at his father.

  Even though it takes me a minute to focus my eyes, I can see the tight clench of Dax’s fists down by his sides and the tension in his shoulders while he stands in front of me with his back to me. I need to do something quick to calm him down before this gets out of hand.

  “I wasn’t snooping. I was just… checking on things,” Dax’s dad tells him, while I convince myself I can let go of the tree and I will not plummet off a cliff.

  “Checking to make sure I’m not fucking anything up. You shouldn’t have given me this fucking place if you weren’t going to trust me to run it.”

  Dax and his dad keep going back and forth, and I know I have to let go of this tree before Dax completely loses it and employees overhear, but there’s a cloud in the sky that looks like cheese, and now I want fondue.

  Shit! Focus!

  I don’t even hear the last thing Dax’s dad says to him. The only thing I managed to catch was my name, but it causes Dax to start charging in his direction. My arms immediately let go of the tree, and I stumble forward, quickly getting around and in front of Dax to press my palms against his chest and stop his advance.

  “Look at me,” I order, grabbing his face in my hands and turning it toward me when he doesn’t listen.

  When Dax’s eyes are finally on mine, he’s breathing heavy, and I can see he’s biting down on his bottom lip as hard as possible to stop himself from saying anything else to his dad.

  Postcards and bagels on fire, saying yes to a date, and how Dax’s dad will probably give Claws and Effect a one-star review now all swirl around in my head, taking me a few seconds for my stupid pot brownie brain to catch up and remember why I’m holding Dax’s face in my hands.

  Dax can’t beat up his father! Tell him no! Bad!

  “Your beard is really soft and cuddly.” I sigh, running my fingers through Dax’s facial hair.

  He smirks down at me, but his shoulders are still tight with tension, and his eyes flicker back over my shoulder every couple seconds to glare at his father, who is still standing behind us with Nanci, neither one of them saying a word.

  “I’m not worth it,” I try again, my brain suddenly remembering that Dax and his dad were arguing about me and my ability to find the missing otters.

  Before I realize the mistake in my choice of words with Dax and can backtrack, Mr. Trevino’s inability to stay quiet ruins it.

  “See? Even she agrees,” the older man pipes up from behind me.

  If I were anyone else, the angry roar that comes out of Dax would have made me shit my pants, but all it does is move me into action. Knowing I am way too incapacitated to try to trip him and take him down to the ground like I did the first day I saw him again, I do the only other thing I can think of to stop Dax from doing something he might regret.

  With my hands still holding onto Dax’s face, I move up on my tiptoes and yank his head down, crashing his mouth against mine.

  CHAPTER 13

  No, I Don’t Want Your Goat Cheese

  Dax

  Harley’s tongue is in my mouth.

  There’s something I was supposed to be doing, but Harley Blake’s goddamn tongue is in my mouth, and all I can do is wrap my arms around her waist and hug her to me as tightly as possible so this never ends.

  I’ve waited for this moment, and fantasized about this moment, and jerked-off to the idea of this moment for five years. Absolutely nothing prepares me for the reality of having this woman’s body pressed against me and her lips moving against mine.

  What the hell was I supposed to be doing? Wasn’t I mad about something?

  Fuuuck, now she’s sucking on my tongue, and I can’t remember my own name.

  Harley whimpers into my mouth when I deepen the kiss and change angles, one arm banding tighter around her waist and the other moving up so I can run my hand up the back of her neck and clutch a handful of her soft, short, wavy blonde hair in my fist.

  Her tongue swirls around mine. My goddamn knees almost give out, and I just hold on tighter and kiss her harder.

  Fuck, she tastes amazing… like chocolate.

  My dick is going to bust through my jeans in five seconds, and I don’t even care.

  Her hands are still holding tightly to my face, and it’s the hottest thing ever that she’s making sure I stay put and this kiss doesn’t end anytime soon.

  Should I move my hands? It’s too soon to grab her ass, right? Probably too soon.

  Fuck, she’s doing that swirly tongue thing again. I might pass out.

  Harley lets out another soft whimper in my mouth, and I gently suck and nip on her bottom lip before diving in again.

  I’m de
finitely seeing stars now. Can you get a contact high by exchanging bodily fluids? Maybe I’m high. I mean, she does taste like the chocolate brownies she inhaled. Wait… wait a goddamn minute. Jesus Christ, what am I doing? She’s high right now!

  I yank my mouth away from Harley’s and stare down at her, trying to slow my breathing.

  Harley’s eyes are still closed, and staring down at her red, swollen mouth still slightly parted from that kiss is not a wise decision if I want my fucking dick to settle down. I can’t believe I just took advantage of a woman who is high as a kite on edibles. Technically, she kissed me, and I’m going to live on that spank-bank material for the rest of my life, but I shouldn’t have let it go on as long as I did. She’s going to hate herself when this shit wears off, and she’s definitely going to kick my ass.

  Suddenly, a loud scream echoes around us. Harley’s eyes pop open at the sound, and I try not to cry like a little bitch when her hands drop from where they were still holding onto my face.

  “Oh heavens. Fred is loose again,” Nanci says, suddenly reminding me we had a goddamn audience to that kiss, right as our obstinate, sneaky little shit of a screaming goat goes running past us on the walkway, heading toward the back of the sanctuary.

  Unwrapping my tight hold on Harley, I move to her side. When her legs start to wobble, I keep one arm securely around her waist and hold her to me. The only good thing about her being incapacitated right now is that I can still keep touching her without her beating the shit out of me. I’m going to savor it for as long as I can.

  Fred lets out another loud scream as he goes running past, faster than I’ve ever seen him move. Which is quite shocking, since Fred escapes from his pen and runs back to piss off the alpacas at least three times a week.

  “How much pot was in those brownies?” Harley mutters, staring wide-eyed at Fred galloping and screaming down the path.

  “That’s not a hallucination.” I chuckle.

  Too bad the sound comes out like a squeaky choke. We’re standing here talking about a damn screaming goat, when I still haven’t recovered from that kiss. I may never recover. And Harley’s high, thinking she’s seeing things, and probably won’t even remember that kiss when it wears off.

  Fuck!

  “I think it’s best if I go to sleep now,” Harley states. “Don’t let me fall off the cliff. I know it’s around here somewhere.”

  “I’ll get Fred before he riles up the alpacas,” Nanci reassures me as I keep my arm around Harley’s waist and start helping her walk toward the parking lot.

  She rests her head on my shoulder, and I am unsuccessful in stopping myself from sniffing her hair before giving Nanci a smile in thanks as she heads off in the direction where Fred disappeared.

  “Do you need help with anything?”

  I pause at the corner of the otter building, forgetting my dad was even here as soon as Harley pulled my mouth against hers.

  “Not from you.” I glare at him while he stands awkwardly by my open office door with his hands in his suit pants pockets.

  Who the hell wears a designer, three-piece suit to an animal sanctuary? Martin Trevino, that’s who.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I felt as happy as I’d been over the last week and a half. Even when I had to listen to Harley’s dad tell me in explicit detail how he guts a frog for his party boxes while we waited in the emergency room, and even when I had to put Davidson in time-out three different times for throwing temper tantrums while I taught him how to make Kraft Mac n Cheese. Talking to Harley via text, letting her get to know the real me so maybe she’ll give me a shot, and finally feeling like I don’t have to hide who I am around someone makes everything worth it.

  I like cooking. I like baking. I like cleaning, and doing laundry, and organization, and I fucking love Pinterest, okay? I like being domestic, and I like taking care of people, and I don’t give a shit anymore if that makes me sound and look like a pussy. I’m finally doing what makes me happy, with a woman who makes me forget there was ever a time in my life I didn’t feel like this.

  And then I walk into my office, happily texting Harley, to find my dad going through file cabinets and searching through my desk. Everything about The Backyard has been done via email or text. I haven’t seen my father since I left for the army the second time, and he hasn’t bothered to try to see me since I’ve been back home. I remembered all the times he told me to “man the fuck up,” all the times he called me a sissy for wanting to work with animals, and blackmailing me into joining the army not once but twice, and how the first time I saw him again in five years was to find him snooping through my shit. I saw red. It wasn’t until the woman currently snuggled up against my side, whose hair smells like watermelon, came into my line of sight, holding onto a tree for dear life and shouting about her legs, that I lost some of my rage.

  “Dax. Pssst, hey, Dax!” Harley whispers.

  My irritation about my dad asking to help immediately vanishes when I look away from him and down at her bloodshot yet still beautiful blue eyes while we walk.

  “Do you have any sharp cheddar in your pocket?”

  I chuckle as I shake my head at her, moving my feet faster so we can get out to the parking lot, I can get her home, and she can sleep this off.

  It’s totally fine I feel like someone just punched me in the gut again when she rests her head back on my shoulder as we walk and she starts singing a song about cheese.

  And if my ears are working properly, it sounds like she’s singing it to the tune of “No Scrubs” by TLC. Why does she have to be so adorable at a time like this?

  “A cheese is a cheese that thinks he’s fly, and is also known as a… ched-dar,” she sings, giggling her way through it.

  Even if she does remember what happened, and even if she doesn’t kick me in the balls, she’ll probably just pretend like it didn’t happen. Like she did about the night we first met at McCallahan’s.

  This is gonna be super fun for me.

  When we finally make it to Harley’s car, I pause by the passenger door, my arm still around her waist as I hold my other hand palm up in front of her.

  “Keys, please.”

  She’s staring very intently at my mouth, and while my dick has decided she’s doing it because she’s thinking about that kiss and wanting to do it again, my brain knows it’s probably because she cannot understand the words coming out of my mouth.

  “Can you please… give me the keys… to your car,” I say, speaking very slowly and enunciating every word while she continues to stare at my mouth.

  “Your facial hair is surprisingly soft and tickly,” she mutters, finally looking up at my eyes while she digs into the front pocket of her tattered jean shorts, fishing out her keys.

  “Uhhh… beard oil. I use beard oil. It’s what I use. On the daily.”

  Jesus, get it together, man! Stop looking at her swollen lips and remembering that kiss!

  Harley’s still staring at me, trying to tug the keys out of her tight shorts, and she tugs so hard they finally come flying out of her pocket and onto the pavement a few feet away.

  “No, I don’t want your goat cheese. No, I don’t wanna give you mine,” Harley sings as she turns away from me and bends down to retrieve her keys.

  “Fuuuck me,” I mutter, my eyes glued to her ass when she bends at the damn waist instead of bending at the knees to save my sanity.

  Not only was it a balm to the soul to have my office door flung open during a heated argument with my dad to see Harley’s gorgeous face, but it was a boost to my libido to see one of her long, toned legs in those shorts wrapped around the trunk of the tree right along with her arms.

  Now she’s bending over in front of me with that perfect ass in tiny jean shorts on full display, and her bare, gorgeous long legs I want wrapped around my waist, and that kiss is still running through my head. I only have so much fucking willpower, man!

  My hands are clenched so hard into fists at my sides so I don’t reach out
and grab her ass that I’m surprised my fingernails don’t draw blood in my palms. Harley finally pops back up and turns around to hand me her keys, and I start listing baseball facts in my head as I take them from her hand, quickly unlock her doors, and help her get in the passenger seat.

  “Dax! Yoohoo, Dax!”

  When I hear Nanci yelling, I hand Harley the keys so she can start the engine, closing her in the car before turning away. Nanci is walking at a clipped pace toward me across the parking lot, the older woman wearing her usual uniform of a silk blouse tucked into dress slacks, with her favorite pair of pearls around her neck. I got pissed at my dad for being dressed up at the sanctuary, when this woman comes to work looking like she’s going to church every day.

  I have got to calm down.

  Nanci and I get to each other when I’m a few feet away from the car, and I hear the engine purr to life behind me.

  “Harley, I brought you something!” Nanci says loudly toward the car, holding a white-and-orange can up and waving it around before addressing me. “Ryan was able to grab Fred at the dog kennel, and I was able to grab a can of Easy Cheese. Good thing it’s nail cutting day.”

  Nanci is holding a can of the spray cheese we keep stocked out at the dog kennel. Squeeze a little cheese onto a popsicle stick, and you can distract a dog for a very long time to give them shots or cut their nails.

  “Look, Harley, cheese!” Nanci shouts again.

  Harley’s eyes widen through the passenger door window when she sees what Nanci has for her. She jerks forward, the sound and sight of her forehead connecting with the closed window making Nanci and I wince and audibly groan in sympathy for her.

  “Oh my. I should have anticipated that would happen,” Nanci says apologetically, both of us rushing back to the car as Harley finds the window button and lowers the glass.

  “That really hurt!” she complains when I bend down, removing her hand from her head so I can check the damage, trying really, really hard not to laugh.