“I forgive you, buddy. You might not realize this now, but you and me? We’re gonna be super bros. Let’s pound it out.” Emery held out a fist, and much to my surprise, Peter gently headbutted it.
And damn if that didn’t make him even sexier.
It was going to be a long couple of weeks.
CHAPTER 4
EMERY
I canceled dinner with my sister.
The variety of issues Estelle’s cats had was tricky, and I needed to brainstorm. Not only would I have to individualize my strategies, but I would also need to work with the prospective owners once the cats found homes to make sure they were adjusting to the move.
It probably would’ve been easier if this had been a hoarding problem.
Estelle wasn’t mentally unstable—she just had a really big heart. She’d completely rearranged her life for these animals. Hell, she bolted a damn sink to the bedroom wall for Carol.
She hadn’t just provided a suitable living environment. She’d created a home. And yes, there was a big difference between the two.
Sifting through my notes from the day, I looked at the star next to Cindy’s name. Fortunately, I already had plans for her.
Me: How do you feel about Lizzie having a cat?
Nikki: Seriously Emery?
Me: Yes, seriously.
Nikki: We told her no pets until she’s old enough to take care of it.
Me: She’s old enough. And you might change your mind once you see Cindy. Come tomorrow and just meet her.
Nikki: Ugh. Okay, but don’t tell Lizzie we’re there to adopt. I don’t want her getting her hopes up. Will we have to be on the show?
I had a feeling she was going to ask that. Steve would have a conniption fit if I made him stop filming, especially for the first successful adoption.
Me: I’m afraid there might not be any way around it. I won’t let them interview Lizzie, but they might want you to say a few things.
Nikki: That’s fine.
Next on the list: Peter. I didn’t want him going apeshit tomorrow while my niece was around. Luckily, I had local resources to help me.
There was a guy in the vet med department at the university who specialized in calming cats without using conventional sedatives. Evan was wicked smart, and I believed he was going to change veterinary medicine someday. The clinic I used to work at had been in contact with him on a regular basis, and I still kept his number on hand just for these special occasions.
Me: Hey, man. I know this is short notice, but I’m in the area and I need something to make this cat chill out.
He responded right away.
Evan: What are you dealing with? Anxiety or aggression?
Me: Aggression, mostly. But it could be stemming from anxiety.
Evan: Ok. Swing by the lab tomorrow around 7am. I’ll have something for you.
I had just set my phone down on the small dining table when I spied Estelle walking across the parking lot, her blond hair glowing under the tall lamppost.
Before I could second-guess what I was doing, I was cracking the window and yelling, “Hey, Estelle!”
Smooth move, ass-wipe.
She stopped and waved.
Trying to recover from my unrefined attempt to talk to the hottest woman ever, I exited the RV. In a fitted black leather jacket and knee-high fuck-me boots, Estelle looked even more badass than earlier as she spun her keyring around her finger.
“Where are you going?” I asked, panting from trying to get to her so fast. God, I was only making things worse.
Grinning, she motioned toward the pink Jeep Wrangler ten feet away. “I’m heading to Target. The cats are getting low on food, and believe me, you don’t want to be around them if they’ve missed breakfast.”
I laughed and shuffled my feet. “Gotcha. Okay, well, I just wanted to say hi…”
You awkward son of a bitch.
“Do you want to come with me?” she offered, kindly throwing me a bone. “That is, if you need anything…”
“I could use some beer.” I was already nodding my head before she could finish her sentence. Never mind the fact that the RV was already stocked with every kind of beverage a guy could possibly want.
I fell into step beside her. The fuck-me heels made a distinct clack on the concrete with every step as she made her way around to the driver’s side.
“I hope you don’t mind a windy ride,” she said as we got in. “I like driving with the top off if weather allows, and it’s a nice night.”
It was a perfect night. The sky was clear, showcasing the stars and the nearly full moon. At almost seventy degrees, the air felt good. The black interior of the vehicle looked old, but clean. Judging from the faded leather seats, my guess was she left the top off a lot.
“What happens if it rains?” I asked.
She grinned. “I get wet.”
Holy mother of fuck.
Biting my lip to the point of pain, I had to look away while I willed my instant erection to go away. Rain. She was talking about rain. I asked an innocent question and got an equally innocent answer. When did I become such an uncontrollable pervert?
Clearing my throat, I tried to distract myself by flicking the bobble head cat stuck to the dash. “Cute.”
“Thanks. Buckle up.” Smirking, she pulled her seatbelt across her chest. “How about some music?” She opened the middle console and shuffled through some CDs. “What do you like?”
“Anything, really.”
After starting the ignition, she put a disk in the player and pressed a few buttons. “Hot in Herre” by Nelly came on.
“Hold onto your tits,” Estelle announced before jamming the vehicle into reverse.
Any amusement I had over the fact that she said tits died as soon as we started moving. The tires squealed as we tore out of the parking lot, and I gripped the roll bar so hard my knuckles turned white.
When we got out onto the road, she cranked the music up to deafening levels while haphazardly weaving through traffic.
I glanced at the speedometer and noticed it wasn’t working. In fact, none of her gages were. The only thing on her dash that was correct was the lit-up ‘check engine’ light.
Estelle started dancing and rapping along with the song, her body bouncing up and down, arms waving through the air. It would’ve been one of the cutest fucking things I’d ever seen if I wasn’t scared for my life.
“Shouldn’t you have both hands on the wheel?” I yelled over at her.
“What?” she shouted back.
She shifted toward me and started to swerve into the wrong lane. Someone honked their horn as we sped by.
“Nothing.” I frantically pointed out the windshield. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
Shrugging, she went back to singing about taking off her clothes as the wind whipped through her hair.
She was fucking crazy. We were going to die.
But even through the sheer terror, I couldn’t help being drawn to the uninhibited smile on her face. She was beautiful. Completely lost in her own world.
For a second, I wanted to get lost with her, and I almost forgot how close we were to ending up in a head-on collision.
Almost.
A horn blared behind us when Estelle switched lanes without checking her blind spot, and self-preservation kicked in.
In the three-mile trip, I prayed for my life, making all kinds of bargains I probably couldn’t follow through with: I’d go to church every Sunday, donate at least ten hours of volunteer time at the shelter each week, and I’d even start helping dogs, because canines need love too.
Pretty sure I screamed like a girl a couple times, but it must’ve been drowned out by the loud music.
Making a sharp left, Estelle ran over the curb as we turned into the parking lot, but I was too relieved to care.
We’d made it alive.
Once the car was safely in park, I finally let go of the grip I had on the door.
“Whew!” Looking in the rear
view mirror, Estelle smoothed her windblown hair. “That was fun, right? It’s been way too long since I took this thing out. My work is less than two miles from my place, so I usually ride my bicycle. Knocks out cardio and saves the environment. Two birds, one stone,” she rambled, oblivious to the heart attack she’d almost given me.
“Uh-huh,” was all I could manage as I tried to slow my racing pulse.
Once she was satisfied with her appearance, her gaze finally made it to me. “Oh, wow. Your hair is an epic disaster.”
Leaning over the middle console, she reached for my head, just like she’d done earlier in the day. She paused, her hand hovering an inch away from her destination.
Estelle looked conflicted, with a crease between her eyebrows as she seemed to debate whether or not she should fix my hair. I had no idea what she was waiting for, but I craved her touch.
“I could probably use a little help,” I encouraged.
Finally, those delicate fingers softly threaded through the mess on my head. My eyelids drooped at the sensation. Stylists for the show did my hair all the time, but it never felt like this. Goosebumps broke out over my scalp, spreading down my neck and arms.
My heart was still beating fast, but for a completely different reason now.
That sweet scent lingered in the air again, and it mixed with the smell of Estelle’s leather jacket. Fighting the urge to grab her, I clenched my fists in my lap.
I wanted to pull her closer.
She pulled away.
Satisfied with the work she did, Estelle gave a nod. “Much better. We should be out of here in, like, five minutes.”
We should be out of here in five minutes.
Famous last words coming from a woman who was about to walk into Target. I should’ve known better—I had a sister.
First, Estelle got reeled in by the clearance rack in the clothing section. That resulted in her needing to try on at least five outfits; I lost count after she came out of the dressing room in a black dress with an open back, her tattoo on full display. The high neckline had see-through lace that went from the top of her breasts up to her collarbone, and the hem fell to about mid-thigh. It took an enormous amount of strength to close my mouth once I realized it was hanging open.
She decided to buy the dress. And a mustard-yellow throw blanket because it was so soft. And a set of plastic wine glasses because they were so cute.
Only needed cat food, my ass.
Now I was stuck in the vortex known as the makeup aisle, helping her pick out lipstick shades. As I stared down at all the pink and red lines she’d drawn on the back of her hand, I had a surreal, almost out-of-body experience.
How did I get here? How did I end up in my hometown at Target, debating if Pink Champagne was better than Roseberry Red? The biggest shock of all was that it didn’t feel uncomfortable or unnatural. And I didn’t hate it. In fact, I hadn’t had this much fun in years.
Maybe because this wasn’t a date. Maybe because Estelle was a client, which basically made her off-limits.
Didn’t matter anyway. I was positive that playing makeover planted me firmly in the friend zone. Hell, maybe she thought I was gay.
It was for the best.
“Well, which one do you think I should get?” She shoved her hand closer to me.
My gaze bounced between the colors and her face, trying to decide what would suit her best. I didn’t know anything about this shit, but I pictured the deepest red on her full lips. The shade would look stunning against her sun-kissed skin.
“That one,” I replied, pointing to it.
She gave me a brilliant smile. “Good choice. That’s what I was going to pick.”
I paused. “If you already knew you were buying that one, why did you ask me?”
Shrugging, she tossed it into the cart and it landed on top of the dress. “I was just curious. Now onto the cat food.”
Grinning like a fool, I resumed pushing the cart because, apparently, at some point there had been an unspoken agreement that it was my job.
Women were a mystery I would never solve, but tonight I was okay with that.
The trip back to Estelle’s was just as terrifying as the first, but at least I knew what to expect this time around.
As she slammed on the brakes, we came to a halting stop in her designated parking spot.
I tried to control my breathing when she shut off the ignition. I didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of her, but shit. That was the scariest thing I’d experienced in a while.
Estelle dropped her keys into her purse, then turned to me.
“I know I’m a terrible driver,” she said, shrugging like she wasn’t even embarrassed. “I’m still surprised they passed me at the DMV.”
I didn’t want to lie to her, but I felt bad agreeing. So I just nodded and said, “That was… different.”
“I’ve had my license for less than two years,” she went on as we got out and grabbed our bags from the backseat. “And like I said, I usually ride my bike.”
“Less than two years? How is that possible?”
“In high school, my parents used the possibility of a car and a driver’s license as a reward for being good.” Smirking, her red lips twisted to the side. “I couldn’t stay out of trouble long enough to get it.”
“Why am I not surprised by that?” I teased.
“And I didn’t need a car in college because the campus was so small.” As she talked, I followed her up the sidewalk to the front entrance. She stopped by the bike rack and pointed at the only transportation chained to the metal. “Besides, The Flying Purple People Eater gets me from point A to point B.” She gave the lavender, adult-sized, three-wheeled contraption a loving pat on the handle bars.
I laughed because of the ridiculous nickname she’d given her bike and also because it wasn’t a bike at all.
“Estelle, that’s a tricycle.”
She gaped at me. “It is not. Okay. Well, technically, it is. But calling it that makes it sound like a toddler toy. This beast is way too badass to be for kids.”
My grin was so wide my cheeks hurt. “You ride a trike.”
“Speaking of sweet rides,” she continued, tilting her head toward the RV, “that’s a pretty nice setup you’ve got.”
“You want to come in?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “I mean, just to see it. There’s a flat screen TV and a standup shower. Not that you want to see the shower. It’s actually really small.”
Her lips twitched at my offer and subsequent bumbling. “Sure.”
When we got inside, she gasped and dumped her shopping bags on the bench seat.
“This place is amazing.” She turned in a circle. “My parents used to have a popup camper because my mom refused to sleep in a tent. I thought it was huge but this… it’s almost as big as my apartment.”
I laughed. “Too bad I don’t get to keep it.”
I followed behind her as she admired all the special features—the booth-style dining table, the extra bed above the driver’s seat, the miniature appliances that lined the small kitchen.
“This is so cute,” she said, running her fingertips over the laminate countertop next to the oven. “It’s like everything is fun-sized.”
The appliances weren’t the only thing that was fun-sized.
I had a foot of height and probably a hundred pounds on Estelle. As I took in her petite frame, I imagined what it would be like to have her fragile body beneath mine.
“Except my bed.” My voice came out huskily. “It’s pretty big.”
Whipping her head in my direction, Estelle’s eyes were wide, her lips parted.
Damn it. That didn’t come out right.
The cozy space suddenly felt impossibly tiny. I could smell her. My hands itched to grab her around the waist, to squeeze her ass, to set her on the counter and peel off every article of clothing.
I wanted to kiss her lipstick right the fuck off.
It’d been a mistake to inv
ite her in. A big mistake. I needed to get her out before I did something stupid.
“Well, I should probably get some sleep,” I rushed out. “Long day tomorrow and it’s getting late.”
It wasn’t late. The clock on the microwave showed 8:17.
“Oh, okay.” Estelle looked disappointed. “Thanks for braving it with me to the store. It was nice to have human company for once.”
Before she could turn away, I blurted, “Do you want me to give you driving lessons? I don’t mean that in a condescending way. I wouldn’t mind teaching you if you want.”
She shook her head and gathered her bags. “That’s nice of you, but you’re already doing enough for me as it is. And I might not be the old woman you were expecting, but I’m a big girl.”
After following her out, I walked her to the front entrance of the apartment building.
Like the gentleman I was, I offered to help her carry her bags up to her place. With the two bottles of wine she’d added to her merchandise, it was a heavy load.
“Thanks, but I got it,” she responded, reaching for the code panel. “Good night.”
“Good night, Estelle.”
I was almost to the door of the RV when her voice stopped me.
“Hey, Emery?”
I turned.
“Thanks again for coming with me tonight. Really. You’re the sweetest.”
The sweetest.
Yeah, she definitely thought I was gay.
As soon as I got inside, I popped open a beer and got back to work. Well, I tried to anyway. But as my eyes scanned over my notes from the day, the letters blurred. I was having trouble concentrating. Not because of the beer—I’d only taken one sip. No, it was because it seemed that all the blood in my body had rushed to my lower half.
I’d spent most of the day alternating between full-blown hard-on and half-mast.
And spending more time with Estelle hadn’t helped. I was unbelievably attracted to her. She was funny, bold, honest. Gorgeous. Compassionate. A terrible driver and a compulsive shopper.
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