Dog Sitters

by Rozsa Gaston

  "Let me look," she said, going over to the cabinet containing her best glassware. She pulled out two brandy snifters. Then she reached into the back of the cabinet, retrieving a small bottle of cognac that someone had gifted her with the Christmas before. "You guys ready for a shot? Or would you prefer a cold beer?"

  "Both," Jack and Brian answered simultaneously. They looked like members of a returning army. Thankfully, the battle had been victorious, but the war had not yet been won.

  "Tell me everything," she said, pouring out a small amount in the bottom of each glass then handing them each a snifter. "Start from the moment you got there."

  The next half hour was spent in reliving the entire story, Brian striding up and down Hint's living room, and Jack semi-reclining on her couch, with her holding the ice pack over one side of his face. She liked the feel of Jack's warm arm under her hand as she leaned over him. Something told her he was as mindful of their recent kiss as she was.

  Finally, Brian's beer bottle stood empty. He got up, and before he could go into the kitchen to look for another, Hint headed him off.

  "Sorry, guys, I think that was the last of the beer. Brian, thank you so much for going with Jack." She moved to the door, preparing to open it.

  "Thanks for covering my back. Who knows what would have happened if I'd gone down there alone," Jack added. He looked sincerely grateful.

  "You don't go wandering down to the South Bronx alone, mate. We both know that," Brian replied.

  "You need to rest," she said to Jack. Then she looked Brian O'Connell squarely in the face. "And you need to go home." There were limits to her gratefulness for his heroic services. It was time to make it clear which man was staying and which would be leaving. With someone like her superintendent, it was important to be as direct as possible.

  Brian looked begrudging for a moment, then recovered himself. "Good night, Hint. Let me know if you need any more help tomorrow." He looked at Jack as if he wanted to even up the purplish bruise with another one on the other side of his face.

  "I will. Good night." Sucking in her breath, she forced herself to touch his arm and literally pull him to the door. There was no other way to get him out of her apartment. With a final light push, she propelled him through the door and into the hallway. She was prevented from closing the door by his hand resting on the doorjamb. His face conspiratorial, he leaned toward her.

  "He's not your boyfriend, is he?" he whispered.

  Hint recalled her new motto: never complain, never explain.

  "Good night, Brian." She gave him a Cheshire cat smile as she removed his hand from the doorjamb and shut the door in his face.

  Chapter Ten

  Jack heaved a sigh of relief as Hint shut the door on Brian O'Connell.

  "He came in handy, didn't he?" She reach out to touch his face again as she sat down beside him on the couch.

  "He did. Without him, I would have been dead meat. Or at least minus my wallet." He reached around her waist with his right hand, sliding her closer to him on the couch.

  "You deserve a shower after what you've been through," she said, tracing the outline of his shiner with her finger.

  "What, you don't like smelly guys?" He had to smile at her veiled suggestion.

  "It depends on which smelly guy."

  "This one?"

  "Yes. But I'll like you even more when you're less smelly. Why don't you use my shower?"

  "Sure." He was eager to find out what she meant by that comment. He looked down at his blood and dirt–stained tee shirt. Too bad he didn't have a change of clothes with him.

  "Let me get you a towel." She disappeared down the hallway leading to her bedroom. "You're all set," she called to him a minute later. "I put a yellow towel on the rack for you."

  He heard her pad back into the living room. Looking down he saw maroon, velvet slippers on her feet with soft, feathery pink puffs of fabric on top. He'd never seen anything more girly in his life. He hoped she hadn't been wearing them when Brian O'Connell had been there. Then he recalled she'd been barefoot when she'd run out to meet them in the hallway.

  "Where do I go?" he asked.

  "The bathroom's at the end of the hall right next to the bedroom."

  He got up from the couch and made his way to Hint's bathroom, but not before a quick peek through the open door of her bedroom. Surprised, his gaze rested on a forest of green and purple accents, the walls a tasteful shade of light brown. The carved headboard of the double bed looked like mahogany. It had posts at either end. Reining in his thoughts, he re-routed himself to the bathroom next door. Quickly, he peeled off his jeans and tee shirt while he marveled at the bottles, lotions, jars, and sea anemone–shaped washcloths in the bathroom. How did women figure out what to do with all these products? His own shower stall contained one bar of green soap and a plastic jug of all-in-one shampoo and conditioner.

  Then he noticed a small, black object hanging on the wall. Was it what he thought it was? He peered closer, and his body wildly confirmed that it was. The laciest, smallest, sexiest thong he'd ever seen hung on a hook on the bathroom wall. Stepping into the shower, he reveled in the feel of the hot water hitting his skin. Then he snuck another look at the black thong through the clear shower curtain before it fogged up. His imagination ran wild as he soaped up with pink gel he'd squeezed out of a bottle labeled 'Beauty Rush' in large silver script with sparkles on it. The smell of bubblegum wafted into his nostrils. By the time he re-entered the living room he would be a regular fashion doll.

  He cracked open the bathroom door. "Hey, can I ask one more favor?"

  "Sure. What do you need?" Hint called back.

  "Do you have a bathrobe or something I could borrow? I don't want to put on my sweaty clothes again until I leave." He didn't mean to imply anything. But if she thought he did, he hoped she was receptive.

  "Hang on. I'll get you something."

  After a minute, she knocked. He opened it a crack. Hint's smile was impish.

  "I've got a pink one or a purple one."

  "I see. The princess line."

  "Yes. Do you want the one with the fur-trimmed collar or the fluffy pink one?"

  "I'll take the one most fit for a prince."

  "Good choice. Here's the purple." As she handed the robe through the doorway, she closed her eyes. Deciding to take advantage of the moment, he picked up a glitzy aqua pump bottle on the shelf next to the sink and squirted it at her neck.

  "Hey! What was that for?" She blinked in surprise. A waft of melon fragrance drifted over them.

  "I don't want to be the only one smelling like a teen princess around here."

  "Get dressed and stop playing with my stuff," she ordered, slamming shut the bathroom door.

  Judging by the sparkle in her eyes, he didn't think she was too upset.

  Quickly, he put on the purple bathrobe. The faux fur trim tickled the hair on his chest as he struggled to stretch the robe over his body. How did women survive femininity? Taking a quick look at himself in the mirror, he winced. The shiner was now purple and black, his left eye red in the far corner of the sclera. Not a pretty sight.

  He walked back to the living room to the sounds of Latin music. A female voice was half-singing, half-whispering to a bossa nova beat.

  "Do you want something else to drink?" Hint asked.

  "I thought you said you're out of beer."

  "I am. But I've got other stuff."

  "Like what?"

  "Come look." She steered him to her kitchen, where she opened the same glass cabinet whence she'd retrieved the brandy bottle and snifters. He rummaged through its contents.

  Jaegermeister? The weather was too warm for cold-weather schnapps. Cognac? Too heavy. Amaretto? Yes. The drink for lovers.

  "Shall we?" He lifted the bottle of almond liqueur, hoping she'd notice the illustration of the man and woman embracing on the label.

  "Oh, I don't think I'll have any."

  "I won't have any unless you will."


  "Well, only a drop," she relented.

  Jack poured a healthy swig of amaretto into one snifter and another for himself. He rummaged through her refrigerator for seltzer. Hint took down two water glasses from the cabinet and dropped in some ice. Jack followed her back to the living room, adjusting the dimmer with his right elbow until the recessed lights gave off only the faintest glow.

  She stared at him, critically examining his bruised eye.

  "It's a mess, isn't it?" he commented, pleased to be admired for his battle scars.

  "Let's put that ice pack back on," she suggested, motioning for him to sit back against the couch cushions.

  Soon the ice pack lay on the living room floor. Jack had found Hint's mouth again. The warm amaretto failed to disguise her even more tantalizing vanilla scent. After so many days, his longing for her had reached fever pitch.

  Jack adjusted his position on the couch, trying to conceal her effect on him, which was fast becoming obvious. He wanted her like no other woman he had ever known. The way she kissed him back told him she wanted him, too. But there was the question of who she was planning to meet in Manhattan the next day and why. He would ask in a minute. For now, he was enmeshed in a cocoon of warm, mind-blowing bliss.

  Hint wove her fingers into the hair on his chest at the top of his bathrobe. Dare he hope she'd order him to take it off?

  "I'll be right back," she said softly, disappearing into her bedroom.

  He sprinted to the kitchen to refill their glasses and get more ice. He needed to use it on an area other than his face. Flicking on the overhead light, he couldn't help but notice the words scrawled on a notepad on the counter.

  Algonquin lobby lounge, 7 p.m. Sat. Derek Simpson.

  He switched off the light, the ice no longer necessary. Who was this guy? As much as he wanted to know, he didn't want to spoil the moment.

  Returning to the living room with the refilled brandy snifters, he lay down on the couch to await Hint's return.

  A door shut, followed by light footsteps. Hint turned the corner and stood before him in pink sweat shorts and a sleeveless pink tee shirt with spaghetti straps. It was sexy. But not as much as the luminous golden-skinned woman wearing it.

  "You're beautiful." He wanted to salute her. If he weren't careful, he would, within seconds, without using his hands. Breathing in deeply, he strangled his thoughts.

  "How's my pink panther look?" She slid her hands down either side of her shorts. "Thought I'd get comfortable."

  "I like you in it." He admired the tight tone of her lightly tanned thighs.

  "I like you in purple," she said.

  "You do? Why?" He couldn't think, dazzled by the pink and gold of her.

  "I just do," she said, stepping closer. She grabbed the fur-trimmed collar of his robe.

  He liked assertiveness in a woman. Very much. Even better, her line had been as lame as his. Theirs was a match made in heaven. He reached down, lifting her off her feet. They were now eye to eye.

  "Explain yourself, woman," he said in a low voice.

  She said nothing, staring at him with liquid eyes. He pressed his mouth onto hers, as he lowered her feet to the floor. With firm hands he circled her waist, his fingers inching downward over the pink fleece of her shorts. She nestled against him as they dropped down onto the couch, her soft contours melting into his chest.

  His hands explored the landscape of her compact, sinuous body. First, he traced the right side of her torso up to her warm, smooth armpit. Then he traversed her belly, finding the indent of her navel. Next, he pressed his hand on her hipbone as his thumb rhythmically stroked the crease between torso and leg. She shivered beneath him. The tick of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room marked off seconds, each of which brought him to the edge of a new boundary and Hint to a moment of decision.

  His bruised eye forgotten, he entered a world composed entirely of sensation. Hint was clear about where she wanted him to go and what she wanted him to do. He had never suspected she had this side to her. As a dog-hunting partner, she was a team player, ready to work out solutions and listen to his suggestions. Now she was master of the expedition. He had no doubt she'd call the shots and determine which slopes were ski-able and which were off-piste. He had never been so turned on in his life.

  ****

  Hint had never thought of her pink panther sweats and tee shirt as anything but something comfortable to change into after a long day. She hadn't worn them around a man before, so she wasn't prepared for Jack's reaction. They'd moved in a direction she hadn't anticipated. But now that they were there, inspiration struck.

  "Lie back and close your eyes," she ordered him. "I'll be right back."

  Jack grunted his assent.

  She returned to the kitchen. Reaching into the freezer, she extracted a slim box wrapped in a sealed bag. From it she took out a tightly folded silk scarf. Holding it up to her nose, she breathed in its lavender scent. She would use her favorite method to rid herself of occasional headaches to take Jack's mind off his injuries. She returned to the living room, flicking the cool, scented scarf at her side like a matador's cape.

  Reaching Jack, she ran her fingers over his eyelids.

  He shut them obediently.

  "Lift up your head," she whispered.

  He complied. Quickly, she wrapped the long scarf just above his nose, making certain she didn't hurt his bruised eye. She tied the ends firmly in back of his head. Then she pushed him gently back down on the pillows.

  "Wow," escaped from his lips.

  "Breathe in the lavender. It will help heal your eye." She leaned into his ear, tickling it with her tongue as she spoke. "I promise it will make you feel better."

  "What black eye?" His hands reached for her.

  She sighed, her body speaking for her, relaxing into his.

  "You're right. I already feel better," he continued, stroking the length of her back.

  "That's good," she whispered. Then she breathed a large but restrained exhalation of warm air into his ear.

  "What's good?" he asked, his voice barely discernible.

  "You are," she murmured into his ear, pressing the entirety of her body against his, her hands on either side of his face. Through the silk, she nipped his earlobe.

  Jack's body jerked. His arms squeezed her in a viselike grip as he groaned unintelligibly. In a second, he had twisted out from under her and was over her, his eyes blindfolded, his mouth seeking hers.

  "Slow down, Jack."

  "You're perfect. Every part of you," he breathed.

  "I'm not perfect. And neither are you. I'm not expecting you to be."

  "Great. Let's not talk."

  "I don't want to talk either, but you need to know something." Time to apply the brakes.

  "What is it?" His body shifted back.

  "It's not what you think."

  "Nothing about you has been what I've thought," he said.

  "Just lie back and breathe in the lavender," she instructed him. "Keep your blindfold on."

  "What is it I need to know?"

  "I need time before we can be together." Relief washed over her to state the truth. Sometimes it was hard to do.

  "I already knew that," he said, surprising her.

  "How could you?"

  "Because I'm getting to know you," he responded.

  "Well, I want you to keep on getting to know me."

  "Good." He hand slid over her throat then downward.

  "Going too far, too fast has a way of interfering with people getting to know each other," she said, stopping his hand.

  "You think too much."

  "I feel too much too sometimes."

  "Hint, I really want to be with you now."

  "I want to be with you, too. But I don't want to be wondering when you're going to call, a week from now," she told him truthfully.

  "That's not going to happen."

  "It happens all the time."

  "It won't." His voice was firm, along with his hand,
now stroking the skin of her back where it met the underside of her right arm. "It's better to wait." She gently moved his hand down to her waist. "So when we do really get together, we'll know it's for real," she said.

  "It's for real, Hint." His voice was muffled, his face buried in her hair.

  "Only time will tell. So let's give it some more," she replied. She hoped he wasn't getting the wrong idea. There was no way she wanted to stop. But her gut told her it was too soon to proceed. She didn't want the possibility of love stampeded over by the hastiness of lust. She held her breath as she waited for his reaction to her words.

  A long sigh ensued. Then the entire length of his long, muscular body trembled and shifted.

  "Just show me where I can touch you now," he finally said.

  "My pleasure," she replied, guiding his hand with hers.

  "Is mine," he added, following her lead.

  ****

  Jack woke up late the following morning. He was on Hint's couch, a white summer blanket draped over him. Turning over, he spotted something on the floor next to him. He picked it up. The scent of lavender from the long, purple and dark green silk scarf brought back sensations from the night before. He buried his face in it.

  He jumped up and headed to the bathroom. Hint's lacy black thong was no longer on the wall hook. Was she wearing it now?

  He moved to her bedroom door. About to knock, he paused. She drank coffee in the morning. He could prove to her how handy it might be to have him around in the morning by making a pot now.

  Within ten minutes, he was at Hint's bedroom door again, two steaming coffee mugs in hand. With his foot, he lightly tapped the door twice. "Coffee, my lady?"

  The handle clicked and the door slowly opened inward. Hint stood before him, fully dressed in jeans and a maroon tee shirt with ruffles at the top of each sleeve. How was it that the tee shirts some girls wore looked so unlike those that guys wore? Like the pink one she'd worn the night before.

  "You look refreshed, my lady," he told her, stepping gingerly into the bedroom as he tried not to spill coffee on the emerald green rug.

  "I am. I slept well. Did you?" she asked, taking one of the mugs from him and critically looking at his eye. She sat down at her vanity table.