by Debbie Burns
“Mmm,” she said, stretching and arching her back. “I think my boss may stop by. Other than that, I’m free.”
He laughed as he slipped into yesterday’s pants. In hopes of keeping it undefined, keeping the complicated at bay as long as he could, he never brought along anything aside from the clothes on his back. His gym clothes were in a bag in the car. After his workout, he’d head to his lifeless apartment to get ready for the day.
She started the shower while he was buttoning his shirt. He could feel the steam pouring into the room from the open door, beckoning him. Still dressed in the T-shirt she’d fallen asleep in, she returned for a good-bye.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” she warned, kissing his neck. “See you later.”
He made it to the front door before he pulled out his phone to check his schedule. He had nothing till eight-thirty. How much could it hurt, starting his day with letting her in? With dropping his guard? Just this once.
She was already in the water when he returned. “Forget something?” she said, her voice hollow behind the glass doors.
“No. The opposite actually.” He stripped off his clothes, tossed them on the bed, and slid open the door farthest from the shower head. “Mind if I join you?”
She melted into him, burying her head in the crook of his neck and resting her cheek against his chest. “Never. I was wondering how you do this so well.”
His hands closed over the soft skin of her back. “Do what?”
“Get up. Go into work when you’ve had so little sleep.”
“Something tells me it won’t be so easy if you waking up with me becomes a habit.”
The feel of her warm, wet body against his in the dark quiet of the morning was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. Disarmingly so. Just this once. Then back to the routine you know you can handle.
Trying to escape the feeling that he was somehow cheating, he draped his arms around her and closed his eyes as the water fell over their bodies, seeming to weld them together into one.
* * *
“What?” Megan said after the hot water tank emptied and freezing water had forced them out. She’d wrapped her hair and torso in overwashed towels and was in front of her sink applying the little makeup she tended to bother with before work.
“What do you mean?” Craig had gotten dressed again and was leaning against the doorframe watching her.
“You’re staring. Something tells me you’re not new to women putting on makeup. Am I doing something wrong?” Megan flashed him a smile in the half-foggy mirror.
“No.” He said it without smiling back. “I don’t know.”
It was his tone that alerted her. Cautious. Guarded. She screwed the cap onto her mascara and turned to face him as he reached in to hang up his towel.
“What don’t you know?”
“Much of anything it seems, but most especially this.”
Most especially this. Doing her best to lock on a poker face, Megan slipped the towel off her head and brushed back her damp hair. So he finally wanted to talk about it, this thing they were becoming that they’d both spent the better part of a month ignoring. “I never said you had to,” she finally replied.
Craig wrapped one hand over the doorframe, pressing his thumbnail into one of the ridges. “You said you believe in commitment.”
“Yep, I said that,” she said, nodding slowly. “And that’s true. And if I remember correctly, I also told you I’m okay with keeping this undefined right now. You come and go as you please. You don’t have any obligations to me. And I haven’t asked you to make any. So I don’t see what’s gotten under your skin.”
She could feel the heat zinging her cheeks. He’d been staring at a spot on the doorframe, picking at a bubble of dried paint. His jaw was tight, the muscles lining it rippling with definition.
Releasing a breath like a hiss of steam, he bolted forward, kissing her hard on the lips. Too hard. She pulled away before her mounting anger abated.
He cupped her face in his hands, brushing a drip of water from her temple with the tip of a finger. “What happens if I get hooked? What good’s that going to be to you? What would you get from becoming wrapped up in my life?” There was a desperate look in his eyes. “Not much, if you ask me.”
Fear dumped into her chest, competing with her anger, masking it. What would happen when it was over? So what if he came here every night with nothing. He was still leaving little memories—beautiful ones—over every square inch of her place. She’d look at nothing the same when this was over. Ever.
She wanted to flee the confining, steamy room, but he stood in front of her, blocking the narrow path to the doorway. She backed up, jamming the small of her back into the vanity and pulling his hands off her face.
“I think you’re picking at something that’s too fresh and undefined to be picked at. I think this is complicated, and I think it’s very early in the morning.” She closed her hands over the edge of her vanity and clamped it hard. “I think you should go to work.”
She hadn’t turned off the shower faucet tightly enough. It dripped three times while he watched her, not seeming to breathe. His piercing gaze softened, then lowered to her lips. He leaned forward, letting his mouth trail over hers in a whisper. His hands wrapped around her shoulders as he stepped closer, pressing his body against hers. She shook her head and pulled away, but his lips found her neck and her knees went weak.
Still gripping the vanity like a vise, she attempted to lock in her resolution. She needed to send him away. Away so she could think. But his mouth on her neck and his hands on her skin melted her resolve.
One of his hands left her shoulders to travel up her thigh and underneath her towel. Her skin was damp from the shower, adding friction to impede him. She could call on that sticky wetness—that and her will—to tell him no. It wasn’t a good idea. Not right out of the shower. Not while a fight was brewing.
But he lifted her onto the vanity top with the ease of water pouring from a glass and unbuttoned his pants for the second time in twenty minutes. Instead of resisting, she lifted his shirt and closed her hands over his still squeaky-from-showering hips.
What were they doing, taking this to a place they were both too terrified to define?
* * *
Once dressed—skin still firing from his touch—Megan found Craig in the darkened kitchen, leaning over the sink and looking out the window. The sky was beginning to lighten on the horizon.
“Did I tell you I’m going on a trip this weekend?” he asked without turning.
“No, but Sophie mentioned it when we were walking the dogs on Tuesday.” She felt a heaviness in the room akin to the wet, heavy St. Louis air before a storm rolled in. Making what was probably a futile attempt to ignore it, she reached for the coffeepot. “But the next several days are going to be crazy for me too. I think I told you about the parade this weekend. The volunteers organize it mostly, but it’s still pretty consuming of our time.”
Craig turned to face her, leaning against the sink. His lips pursed almost imperceptibly. “You told me. I’m sorry to miss it. So, Sophie told you about my trip? How come you didn’t say anything?”
Megan joined him at the sink with the pot in hand, resisting the urge to rest her forehead against his shoulder as she waited for it to fill. “Because it’s still a gray area, I suppose.”
“How so?”
Flipping off the faucet, she let out a long breath and looked at him. Only an inch or two separated them. It felt like a mile. “If you must know, when I’m with her, I feel about two inches tall for sleeping with her father and pretending I’m not. So I’m not about to break her trust and tell you the things she says to me.”
His shoulders sank as he exhaled. “Okay. You’re right. Thank you for that.”
“So if there’s something you want me to know about this weekend of you
rs, now’s as good a chance as any.”
She turned and dumped the water into the coffeemaker’s reservoir, then pulled the lid off the shade-grown, fair-trade Colombian roast that was a morning staple. She was making enough for him without asking if he wanted any. He needed it. Needed his workout too. He was still as tense as wire. In a way she hadn’t seen since that day they’d stood out in the storm arguing.
Her heart plunged into her stomach. Was he going to break it off? Screw him if he was. If he’d slept with her first and was planning to do it this morning all along.
His fingers drummed the counter. “There’s nothing specific really. I just thought you might want to know.”
Finished prepping the coffee, she faced him again. “Okay. I know.” It was the look in his eyes—despite the tension lining his body—that calmed her. Craig Williams, marketer and entrepreneur extraordinaire, was afraid. “It’s what you need, by the way—a getaway in the Bahamas with your best friend.”
His jaw tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again. “That’s it? Nothing else?”
She let a smile play on her lips. If he was going to be a stubborn idiot, then she could be coy. “Umm, have a good time? It’s what you need, you know…to get away from everything.”
His shoulders tensed again, and his drumming reached a new crescendo. “He’s looking forward to it more than I am, I believe. His divorce finalized about a year ago, and he’s excited to have another bachelor to pal up with.”
Resisting the urge to yank the frozen-into-a-lump bag of ice from the freezer and knock him on the head, Megan retrieved two mugs from the cabinet and the cream from the fridge. “Sounds…fun.”
“That’s it?” Craig asked, his voice turning up at the end.
“Um, don’t forget the sunscreen?” She gnawed on her lip to keep from smiling. Or screaming. She was as angry as she was touched by his efforts to rile her. There was only one thing she could think of that could have gotten under his skin so badly to elicit this please-let’s-have-a-fight behavior of his this morning. Her.
“Look,” she said, “picking a fight with me so you don’t feel guilty about your boy-bachelor weekend isn’t going to work. I’m not your wife, and I’m not under the delusion you’ve made any promises to me. You’re free to do what you want…who you want, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
Color raced up his neck, and his knuckles shone white. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Despite her efforts, her anger soared. Screw him. She wasn’t playing this game. Whirling away, she yanked her lunch bag from the pantry and shut the door too hard.
She dove into making her lunch with rare gusto. She could feel him across the room, staring. When she was halfway done with her sandwich, he was beside her, brushing her hair from her face and pressing his lips against her temple. “I’m sorry. Did I ever tell you I can be an ass?” He hooked his hands around her hips—hands that made her insides turn to maple syrup even when she was pissed—pivoting her toward him.
“No, but some things don’t have to be stated. Ever.”
He smiled and trailed his thumb down her cheekbone. “I’m sorry. I freaked. This morning…the shower… I’d be a liar to say I was ready for you. But here you are anyway.”
Rather than answering, she pulled away from his touch and dragged her fingertip along the side of her knife, coating it with jelly. She swiped it on the tip of his nose, leaving behind a sparkly dot, then two others, one on either side of his cheeks. He grabbed her hand and sucked the remaining jelly off her finger.
“Are you trying to get me in the shower again?”
“No, but I am trying to sweeten you up.”
He locked her in an embrace and dragged his face back and forth on the front of her shirt, leaving smears of purple jelly over her boobs.
“No fair.” She swatted his shoulder, a bubble of laughter escaping. “I haven’t done laundry in a week because of you. It’s this or something dirty…er,” she added, glancing down at her shirt.
“Why don’t you pull something off Kelsey’s rainbow collection in that gift shop of yours?” As if reconsidering, he shook his head. “Or maybe not. How about I help you catch up on your laundry tonight? I’ll make up for my assishness over the wash cycle.”
A shiver ran down her spine as he kissed her earlobe. “Then what’ll we do during the dry cycle?”
“That,” he said, “I’ll leave up to you.”
Chapter 18
The blare from the mariachi band thrummed through her chest and tingled her lips, fingers, and sandaled toes as Megan scanned the presenter groups lining up on Lockwood Avenue for the Everything Webster Groves spring parade. Beside her, Sledge’s ears perked forward as he studied the bright costumes, but he stood without darting behind her as he sometimes did when tall, big men came into the kennels to look at the dogs. The company of the other shelter dogs in the parade with him would hopefully help his confidence.
Judging by the elaborate costumes and floats lining the street in either direction, this year’s parade would be bigger and more elaborate than ever. Now that she knew they’d be following immediately behind the zealous band from Agave Verde, Webster’s family-friendly Mexican restaurant, Megan was a bit worried how some of the dogs would react. So far, the group seemed fairly calm. She hoped the noise-tolerance training the participating dogs had had this last week would help.
It was the parade’s tenth anniversary, and according to polls, the shelter’s float had been one of the top favorites ever since they began participating six years ago.
This was Megan’s fifth parade, but every year, the shelter’s participation grew in scale as well as importance. Preparations for the building of the float, the making of costumes for both animals and people, and the training that went into the dogs was mostly done by an all-volunteer committee of parade-crazy members.
This year, the parade was on Megan’s twenty-sixth birthday. She didn’t mind, although it would’ve been a good weekend to spend with her mom and little brother and sister. They’d been twisting her arm to make the trip out there for over a month. Megan hadn’t yet told her mom about Craig, so she hadn’t been entirely honest about why her schedule had become even more jam-packed than ever.
She was actually quite glad the parade coincided with Craig’s trip out of town. All the planning and preparation of the last few days—and the intensive assembly that had started an hour before dawn this morning—helped keep at bay any worries about what, or who, Craig might be doing on his weekend getaway.
No matter what she said—or what she sent along in her care package for his trip, for that matter—the idea of him hooking up with another woman was nearly debilitating.
He wasn’t interested in seeing anyone else. She knew that. He was with her every spare night he had. But after him riling her like that just days before leaving, all she could think was that he’d expected her to object, to worry about his fidelity. And somehow she’d made it through their confrontation seeming more elusive and indifferent than she really felt.
The night before he left, she’d been close to asking him what he would do if the opportunity presented itself. But she hadn’t. And all he’d done before taking off was tell her that he’d miss her and promise to call.
The entire thing made her ache for a clarification she was too stubborn to ask for.
Grasping that her mind was circling into a scenario she’d chosen to do nothing about, she forced her attention back to the parade. It was such a big ordeal that she really needed to be on top of her game.
The shelter’s participation was planned out for months by the committee. The staff and volunteer costumes got more elaborate every year. This year, the winning vote for float decorating resulted in converting their rickety eight-foot trailer into a circus-themed “Just Married” scene. A senior pair of brother and sister pugs were playing the elaborately dressed bride and
groom. They’d won the starring role because they were so well trained and didn’t mind being dressed up.
The hope was that they would stay seated for the duration of the parade on a bright-red sofa Patrick had found at Goodwill. Kelsey would be the only person on the float. She was playing the part of the minister, which made Megan a bit jealous since her costume would be a lot easier to walk around in.
Thanks to a volunteer with connections to a florist, they spent the early-morning hours decorating the float with beautiful arrangements left over from what had to have been an extraordinary wedding reception held at the Pageant last night.
In practice, as Fidel had hauled the trailer around the back lot while everyone ran around making as much noise and distraction as they could, the pugs had sat on the sofa remarkably well. The fact that Kelsey would have a pocket full of their favorite treat—pineapple—would hopefully seal the deal.
Everyone else who’d be participating would be walking alongside the float, with the exception of Fidel, who’d be driving the decorated-like-a-dog Volkswagen Beetle that pulled the trailer. Half of the volunteers would walk along leading their own wedding- and circus-themed costumed dogs. The other half would pass out heart-shaped shelter business cards with circus peanuts attached.
All shelter dogs who were calm enough to participate did, which accounted for twenty-two this year. It was a great way to show off dogs that were up for adoption. Last year’s parade resulted in eleven adoptions. The goal was to beat that this year.
To up the ante, this year’s costumes were definitely attention-getting. There were three “fake” circus poodles—since the shelter didn’t have any real poodles at the moment. One of them, a stocky chow with fake pink poodle puffs on top of his head and the sides of his haunches, was the funniest. He was sure to win hearts the way he wore the poofs and poodle skirt without complaint. There was a shaggy retriever with a lion mane that couldn’t have been tailored to fit him better. There were two Chihuahua flower girls, a pink-polka-dotted white lab, a terrier peacock, three clowns, and several dog ballerinas. Aside from Kelsey who was conservatively dressed as the minister, most of the other staff and volunteers, including Megan, were dressed rather loudly.