As she packed up the remains of her lunch, Autumn wondered what Blake thought about love. Surely someone with as many books as he had was in tune with human nature, or at least had some interesting insights into it? Then she remembered that it didn’t matter what Blake thought about love because she’d drawn a sex-comic about him and then given him the fucking thing like a complete idiot and she wanted to die.
Autumn had just laid her head on the table so she could really get into her self-pity when Owen and Isabella burst into the staff kitchen. She lifted her head at once. She’d briefly met the dynamic duo when she first came to New York but then they’d transferred to a specialist clinic. The move hadn’t stuck and now the two of them were back at Happy Paws, effective today. This was something Autumn had completely forgotten until she’d walked into the lobby to find it full of streamers, balloons and flowers. Not that she’d been up to making cupcakes last night anyway, what with her drunkenness and landlord issues.
“Hey guys,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “Welcome back!”
Owen, who’d been peering into the fridge, whirled around. “Autumn! Girl! Did you cut yourself a fringe?”
Duh, it’s only the first rule in the ‘dumped bitches’ rulebook. She ran a self-conscious hand through her hair. “I did. Well, a hairdresser did.”
“It looks marvelous. How are you?”
“Good, thanks,” she lied. “It’s great to have you back.”
And it was, if only for the view. Owen was only a little taller than herself and exquisitely handsome in the way only gay men ever seemed to be. He had a chiseled jaw, supermodel cheekbones and a lush mouth he accentuated with dabs of YSL lipstick. All the clients simply adored him. As they were all mildly hysterical rich women, this was unsurprising, but Owen was also insanely charismatic. Autumn was sure he could charm the birds from the sky, if he wanted to.
Isabella was his mirror opposite. She was tall and curvy with thick, dark hair and Lana Del Rey eyes and never said more than five words in a row. She technically worked for Happy Paws, but everyone knew she was Owen’s right-hand woman. Wherever he went, she followed. Autumn knew she was some kind of performer, a singer or a dancer, but she’d never spoken to her long enough to ask. She and Owen were so effortlessly New York, the song ‘New York, New York’ should have started playing whenever they entered a room. They always made her feel a hundred times more like a floppy Australian fish out of water. She stood up. “Great seeing you guys, I’ll let you have lunch in peace.”
“Hang on!” Owen seized her shoulders and pushed her gently back into her seat. “We haven’t even begun catching up!”
To Autumn’s horror, he and Isabella proceeded to sit on either side of her.
“So, we’re back,” Owen said with a flip of his magnificent hair. “What incredible things have you been up to since we’ve been gone?”
Autumn couldn’t even begin to explain. “Where’s your food?” she said, hoping to change the subject.
Owen rolled his bright brown eyes. “Ugh, we’re fasting. We have a reservation at Ugly Baby and we’re readying ourselves to gorge on brisket soup and rice noodles.”
“Oh cool,” Autumn said, as though she’d heard of that restaurant. “You know when you fast, your stomach actually shrinks and you can’t eat as much as you usually can?”
“Really?” Owen looked intrigued. “Then I will be ordering Pho for lunch after all. The usual, Iz?”
Isabella nodded before returning her caramel-coloured eyes to Autumn.
Autumn swallowed, intimidated as she always was by her size and beauty. “Are you, um, happy to be back?”
“Beside ourselves,” Owen said, tapping away at his phone. “The other clinic was okay, if you like performing horse tracheotomies all day long, but the commute was a slut, and the money? God, so not worth it.”
“That sucks.”
“Ah, it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry,” Owen sighed, tossing his phone aside. “Now we’re right back where we belong, aren’t we, Iz? Two blocks from Hermes, three blocks from Manhattan Beauty.”
“Exactly,” Isabella said. Her voice was lovely, low and melodious. Autumn wished she talked more, but she seemed perfectly content to let silence—and Owen—speak for her. Maybe she and Blake were a match made in heaven; both of them tall and striking and stoic as fuck. She imagined the two of them kissing and her stomach twisted up like a bag of snakes.
What the hell?
“How’s the dreamboat boyfriend?” Owen said, interrupting Autumn’s internal horror show. “Has anyone offered him a TV deal yet? They should, I know about three thousand gays who’d watch it for his smile alone.”
Autumn—who’d forgotten Ian had once visited her at the clinic to the approval of all and sundry—couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to lie. “I don’t know about Ian’s career, but he cheated on me with a bunch of improv groupies and I kind of hope his dick falls off.”
Owen’s mouth fell open. “That rat bastard! You threw him out on his ass, I hope?”
“Yeah, a couple of weeks ago. It was kind of a long time coming, though. We didn’t have much in common besides…”
She paused. What did she and Ian have in common? They both liked mint-choc chip ice cream, but that hardly seemed relevant. Everything else had been complicated. He liked clubs, she liked live music. He took baths, she preferred showers. He liked improv, she loved stand-up. He always wanted her on top and she always wanted to be tied down and—
“Autumn?” Owen enquired. “You okay?”
“Sorry. Spaced out for a bit there.”
“Sure.” Owen pursed his mouth as though considering a sour thought. “In the interests of post-break up disclosure, I will say your ex was cute, but something about him was straight-up reptilian. I told Isabella, I was like ‘that guy looks like he strangles the hell out of the homeless in his spare time.’ Didn’t I, Izzy?”
Isabella nodded gravely and Autumn couldn’t help but laugh. It just came out of her like honey, a long joyous spurt. “Yeah, that’s Ian. Not about the strangling the homeless thing, he’s just a bit shifty-looking.”
She noticed Owen eyeing her closely. “What’s up?”
He narrowed his gaze. “For someone who broke up with her long-term boyfriend in very torrid circumstances, you seem very, well…not upset.”
Well having the object of your sex-comics see the sex comic in question, then ask you on a date, will do that to you. “I have…other things going on.”
“Rebound drama?”
“How do you know?” she said, beyond impressed.
Owen tossed his head like a prize racehorse. “Honey, if anyone knows anything about the advantages of getting on some revenge dick, it’s the gays. Who is he and what’s his damage?”
Autumn hesitated. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to be unloading about this stuff at work. On the other hand, she wasn’t in a position to turn down advice from someone that wasn’t a pigeon. With her friends and family still blissfully unaware of her break up, Owen and Isabella might be her only shot.
So she told them all about her encounter on her massive landlord, circumventing the sex drawing and making it sound as though she’d gone to his apartment for a logical, landlord related reason and he’d simply asked her out.
“Is he hot?” Isabella asked.
Autumn took a moment to revel in her three-word sentence. “I didn’t think so at first because he always looks like someone just punched his mum, but he’s really quite sexy. Kind of broad and hairy and angry-looking.”
“Mmm,” Owen said dreamily. “A bear to call your very own. So what’s the problem here? Why can’t you have dinner with him?”
“I don’t know, maybe because he’s my landlord?”
“The enemy,” Owen agreed. “Hey, maybe if you fuck him, you’ll get a deductible.”
She laughed. “It’s not about that. Maybe it’s just because my future in America is kind of hanging in the balance, now Ian and I have s
plit. Dating just seems a bit pointless. I mean, why bother?”
Owen held up both hands. Autumn had noticed most vets had nice fingers, but his were a work of art. Long and slender, with smooth oval tipped nails. “Up top, don’t go back to Australia. We only just got back and your accent is so adorable, I just want to listen to you talk all night and all day.”
“Thanks?”
“You’re welcome. Also, just because something starts in sex, doesn’t mean it’s pointless or doomed to fail. You see this?” He flashed his diamond engagement ring at her and Autumn pretended to shield her eyes from a glare.
“How could I not? It’s the size of an eggplant.”
“Exactly, and you might look at it and think Ryan and I are just the most cookie-cutter couple on earth, but he started off as my dirty rebound.”
“Fuck off!”
“It’s true,” Owen said smugly. “Jeffery, my ex, just dumped me for this twenty-year-old Russian ballet dancer and so I got on Grindr and I was, you know, out for blood basically. And then Ryan came over and we really hit it off and he just…never left.”
“Wow.”
“It’s such a sweet story,” Isabella said in her musical voice. “Once you meet Ryan, it’s even cuter.”
Autumn was even more amazed, but refrained from yelling out ‘you can talk!’ “That is a nice story, but I don’t think I’m in the right headspace for a new boyfriend. In fact, I know I’m not.”
“So fuck the bruiser,” Owen said with an airy wave. “Go out to dinner and then fuck him. Take pictures and text them to Psycho McGroupiefucker. No, wait, he’d probably use them against you. Send them to me instead.”
Autumn laughed. She’d missed this, missed fun conversations with people that weren’t Ian, pigeons or guys who’d accidentally let their retrievers eat all their weed.
“What’s his name?” Isabella asked, pulling out her phone. “I want to look him up.”
Autumn, who’d already tried this, shook her head. “He doesn’t have any accounts. No Facebook, no Insta, nothing.”
Owen narrowed his eyes. “You know what they say about guys who don’t have social media accounts?”
“They…like their privacy?”
“Serial killers.”
“Blake’s not a serial killer!”
“Are you sure?” Owen stared closely at her, as though the truth might be written across her cheeks. “You might have a type, honey. First Cheaty McDeath-Eyes and now Mr. No Face.”
“My landlord has a face! And if he was a serial killer, he would have made his move when I went to his apartment last night. He’s the one who wants me to feel safe. I wanted to get right into the rough—”
She realized what she was saying and cleared her throat.
Isabella and Owen shared a significant glance.
“Forget I said that.”
“We won’t, so why don’t you go on…?” Owen leaned closer. “Something about needing to feel secure before you go to the rough…what, exactly?”
Autumn’s face felt like it was on fire. “I don’t think I can tell you about the…other bits of the story.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just about sex. Weird sex and I’m just not ready to look you both in the face and say it right now.”
Owen let out a plaintive moan. “But I love hearing about people’s weird sex lives.”
“I want to tell you, but I don’t think I can. At least not sober.”
Owen seized her hand in his own lovely one. “At fifteen, I had to look my superbutch father in the eye and tell him I wanted to have gay sex with men. Please believe me when I say, nothing shocks me.”
Autumn burst out laughing, then groaned. “I should go. My lunch break is going into overtime.”
“Fine,” Owen said with a faux-huffy sigh. “I suppose much like your landlord, we also have to earn your trust before we can be rough with you. Shall we get a drink on Thursday? The three of us?”
Autumn was taken aback. A friend date? With the cool people from work? Even if they just wanted to pump her for information about her depraved sex life, she was counting this one as a win. “Um, sure.”
“Then it’s settled,” Owen said. “We’ll go to Wilson’s, they have decent tap beer. What’s your number, by the way? For tonight, so you can text and say you got home safely after you fuck your landlord.”
Autumn gave Isabella and Owen her number and promised that she’d text if she went out with Blake. That’s if she did go out to dinner with Blake. Although, if she was being honest, she was on such a humongous high from having a successful interaction with her co-workers, she’d probably have gone on a date with Oscar the Grouch. Her sexy, grumpy, pin-you-to-the-wall-and-promise-to-fuck-you-senseless landlord was a whole other story.
After a ton of outfit changes, Autumn decided on jeans and converse paired with a sparkly silver tank top. She wanted to look cute, but not too cute. If they were headed somewhere Blake looked like he belonged—a dive bar for example—she wanted to be able to run away fast if shit went down.
“Although,” she told the pigeons as she fastened the hoops on her purple plastic earrings. “You’d have to have a death wish to try and fight Blake. He’s basically a sentient brick wall.”
She shivered a little as she remembered the way he’d lifted her into the air and pressed her hard against his door. She liked the contrast of their bodies, him huge and hairy, her small and smooth. It would have been so perfect if he’d just taken her, no questions, no complications. He’d said he could give her what she wanted and she believed him, but so much of his appeal was that he was a stranger. Surely going on a date and having to talk about the weather and where they went to school would ruin that? She didn’t have long to contemplate the idea, she had barely put down her hairbrush when there was a sharp rap at the front door. Her pulse spiked wildly.
Enjoy the nerves, she told herself. Soon you’ll be discussing The Landlord’s childhood and where he went to college and all the hot chicks he slept with, and then he’ll probably try to explain why David Foster Wallace was the one true author and then all the mystery will be gone.
Wiping her hands on her jeans, Autumn pasted on a smile and swung open her door. “Hi…what?”
Blake was wearing a suit. Not a shiny ‘it’s parole time’ suit, a thick luxurious one that bound itself to his powerful body like something out of a blockbuster quality wedding porno. He’d trimmed his beard and his hair was brushed back to expose his broad Kingly forehead. He looked gorgeous and she felt like the dumbest girl alive. “So…I misread this situation.”
He eyed her jeans and sneakers with a strained sort of amusement. “Should have said where we were going, huh?”
She held up her hands. “Five minutes. All I need is five minutes and I can be as fancy as you are. Maybe even fancier.”
That was bullshit. She didn’t own anything in the realm of Blake’s suit, but she could do a lot better than she was at present. “Is that okay?”
He nodded, and when Autumn studied his face, she saw he wasn’t annoyed at all. That caused her no small amount of relief. Ian could never let her make a mistake without supplying a wiseass crack about it. Maybe it was because her ex had been a comic. Maybe Blake just wasn’t a fuckstick.
“I’ll just be five minutes,” she promised as she walked backward toward her bedroom. “Help yourself to the couch or some…water or something.”
Blake raised a brow, something that was apparently a signature move, and dropped his enormous body onto her fake leather couch. “Go.”
She couldn’t help grinning. He looked so fucking wry and goddamn, the suit. Was there ever a man who looked so good in a suit? Right then, Autumn couldn’t think of any. Her unhelpful brain pictured him pinning her down on his bed. “Don’t let the clothes fool you, I’m far from a fucking gentleman. By the time we’re done, you’ll have the proof all over your skin.”
Heat flickered through her body, making her scalp tingle and her hands curl
into balls.
“Something wrong, Ms. Reynolds?” Blake asked.
She shook her head, retreating back into her bedroom. But maybe there was something wrong, specifically with her, because as she closed the door, she let her hand slacken enough so that it didn’t click shut. It hung open just a crack, enough for it to look like an accident, enough through which he would be able to see her getting changed.
As she strode toward her closet, Autumn’s smirk faded. Somehow, she needed to become Oscars-hot in the length of an average YouTube video. She didn’t have time to do her make-up properly, so the hotness would have to come down to the dress. Swishing through her choices—cheap summery maxis and second-hand sailor frocks that would look even worse next to Blake’s suit—she realized she’d been mistaken. The hotness would have to come down to the amount of skin she was willing to show. She chose a cherry-red bandage dress that flaunted everything God had given her in the least subtle way possible. It pushed up her tits, showed off her admirably flat stomach and moulded itself to her ass. It wasn’t totally trashy, the color was rich and the material wasn’t at risk of bursting into flame near a candle, but it was still pretty obvious.
Oh well. Not like you have anything else.
She wasn’t poor anymore, not like she’d been when she was a kid, but the move to New York, supporting Ian and astronomical Manhattan rent prices didn’t leave much money to spare. She’d have to be careful about what she ordered at wherever Blake was taking her. She was going to offer to split the check and she needed to be able to back that statement up.
She yanked her top over her head and Blake cleared his throat. For a second, she wondered why she could hear him so well, then remembered she’d left the door partially open. He was trying to let her know about it. What a sweetheart. Autumn bit back another smirk and shimmied out of her jeans. “I’m releasing the pigeons tomorrow,” she called out.
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