Crabbypants

by Colleen Charles

“You mind if we take this outside?” Brooke looks up at me.

  Damn, those eyes. That look. That perfect body. The only thought in my mind is her. A shiver rips through me, an aftershock of thinking about how I just want to throw her down on the floor and pound into her. My body tightens to an uncomfortable level of tension.

  “Whatever you think is best,” I manage to spit out on a lustful sigh.

  She doesn’t seem to notice. We head out to the backyard. The dogs zip around like they’re everywhere at once. Fajita yips so loud that I feel a headache coming on. “Dear God, please make him stop,” I say.

  “What’s his name again?” she asks, bending over. The curve of her ass fills out her jeans to perfection. I imagine lifting her shirt and licking the divot where her butt meets her lower back.

  “Fajita.” It sounds more like a moan of pain.

  “Fajita! Here, boy!” She whistles. Miraculously, he quiets down.

  “It’s that easy?” I ask, not quite believing my own eyes. Some people just have the touch. But once again, I spoke too soon because Fajita starts a high-pitched yelping again. I cover my ears. “Damn!”

  “Fajita, quiet!” she demands in an authoritative voice, but she’s not screaming either.

  Landon, fuck me!

  I couldn’t help but go there, but Fajita keeps barking. I shake my head. My doubts grow stronger by the second.

  “Fajita!” She kneels down on the grass. He leaps into her arms, and she pets him. He finally stops barking. “Good boy! Good boy!” She looks up at me. “He just needed a little positive reinforcement and a little affection. Right, boy?” She rubs Fajita’s back, and he wags his little tail.

  She works with the dogs for another thirty minutes. Each time they’re quiet for more than a few seconds, they get a click and a tiny bite of freeze-dried liver. I stand back and watch without saying a word. Brooke’s patience and talent with the dogs amaze me. I still can’t believe my eyes. They actually listen to her. I start to wonder if her methods might actually work.

  Maybe you were wrong, lunkhead.

  “You boys are doing great. It’s time for a break.” She reaches into her bag and gives them each a small dog bone. They gobble them up like it’s steak and lobster at the best restaurant in town.

  “You’re really good at what you do,” I say.

  “Thanks.” She smiles and walks over to me. “They’re so sweet.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, and I’m not just saying that. They’re the first Chihuahuas I’ve worked with. I’m really enjoying them.”

  “I know Grandma Nancy would’ve liked you. She always wanted the best for these dogs.”

  She turns that questioning gaze on me. I want to fall into the depths of her eyes and never come back. “They belonged to your grandmother?”

  “Technically, she was my late wife’s grandmother. But she always treated me like one of her own.”

  Brooke’s pretty lips turn upside down. I hate that look in her eyes. It’s that sad expression everyone makes when they find out I’m a widower. That’s why I don’t even like to talk about it. I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut. I brace myself. I don’t want to relive all of those emotions. Not now. I’m actually having a good day.

  “Landon...I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she says.

  An awkward pause falls between us, neither one of us knowing what to say. Regret at my admittance washes over me in waves.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, when did it happen?”

  “It was almost three years ago.” It’s a question I can answer. It’s funny what you learn about another person by examining the words that remain unsaid. That damn silence during the dead of night when everything falls deathly quiet kills me more than anything. Sometimes, I swear I hear Carla’s voice calling to my soul. To distract myself from breaking down, I try to watch one of the dogs, focusing on Fajita as his little body wiggles.

  “I think I get it now.”

  “Get what?” I’m afraid to even ask.

  “So, you’re not a dog person. You’re taking care of these guys out of love. That’s really sweet, Landon.”

  I’m not sure I can handle the three-hundred and sixty-degree swivel. She’s giving me whiplash. “So, I’m sweet now? I thought I was a total douche.”

  She lifts an eyebrow, but a small smile plays on her mouth as she does. “The verdict is still out on that one...don’t push it.”

  Burrito takes off running.

  “Burrito! Burrito!” She starts after him.

  “Don’t bother. He’s got the obsession with garbage, remember?”

  She blushes, but all that does is make me wonder if she turns that shade after she comes. “How could I forget.”

  I take a deep breath, hoping that she forgot about that teeny-weeny condom that Burrito unearthed from the neighbor’s trash last time. She starts laughing. Oh God, my luck just ran out.

  “It wasn’t mine,” I insist.

  She snorts. “You already mentioned that.”

  “But...”

  Burrito runs back toward us with what looks like a giant white diaper clinched between his teeth. As he gets closer, I realize it’s a used pair of Depends. Damn, can this little fucker ever find some ordinary trash like a fast food wrapper? I’d give anything if she thought I was addicted to Big Macs and Two Buck Chuck. Anything but this shit.

  Brooke bursts into laughter. “Ah, let me guess, that isn’t yours, either.”

  “No.” I take a deep breath, hoping that she doesn’t think I’m a guy with a puny dick and a weak bladder.

  After what feels like a small eternity, she finally stops laughing. “Okay guys, let’s get back to work!”

  She trains the dogs for another hour. They continue to listen to her like apt little pupils. I’m shocked at how well they are behaving. Brooke is a real miracle worker. Her stock just rose to record gains levels.

  ***

  Over the next two weeks, Brooke comes to my home on Mondays and Thursdays, and I realize I can’t wait for those days to arrive.

  The dogs are doing better, and so am I. Except…it’s getting harder and harder to keep my hands to myself.

  While she trains them, I busy myself building that damn fence, but I’m not a carpenter by trade and the going is slow. It’s especially slow since I can’t keep my eyes on my project. I only have eyes for her.

  At the end of the hour, Brooke beams at the beasts. “They’re doing really well.”

  I smile and wipe at the sweat building on my forehead. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing a difference.”

  She lifts a brow. “No more hair licking?”

  I laugh. “I didn’t say that.”

  She grins, her eyes more blue than green today for some reason. “Next week, I want you to spend the full hour with us so they can adapt to your commands.”

  A full hour next to Brooke? “Sure thing.”

  Her grin grows wider, and it takes everything inside me not to reach out and caress her cheek with my fingers. The smile fades, and her breathing grows heavier. I think she’s feeling it too. I thinks she’s as affected by me as I am by her.

  “Can I offer you some coffee or tea?” I ask, my voice thick.

  She licks her lips, and my mind goes to that dirty place again. “Tea sounds really good.”

  We make our way into the kitchen, the dogs leading the way. I follow behind Brooke, taking another glance at her cute heart-shaped butt. I quickly look away. I don’t want her to notice me staring, but I can’t help it. She’s perfect from head to toe, and that fact is not lost on me.

  Chapter 11

  Brooke

  Standing in Landon’s gourmet kitchen, my hand trembles as I take the beautiful china teacup embossed with tiny Chihuahuas and a gold leaf rim. I wonder if he’s even noticed the decoration on Grandma Nancy’s good dishware. As I stare at him, he seems almost human. With manners. I begin to see him in a new light. After he opened up to me about his wife passing away, things had slowly b
egun to shift between us. I get the distinct impression that he doesn’t share his pain with many people. It just builds and builds until it explodes.

  Now, I can better understand why he acted like such a wingnut at the grocery store and even the first day I met him. I can only imagine the sadness and loneliness he feels. He’s probably angry at the whole world. Yet, I can still see that he has a good heart underneath it all. If he could just thaw it out a little bit more, a new Landon might immerge from the melting glacier.

  I want to help him thaw it out.

  I quickly look away from him when he turns away from the open cabinet. “Do you ever drink loose leaf tea?”

  “I love it,” I reply. “The art of brewing it in my cast iron teapot is almost therapeutic.”

  “Me too.” He turns around and reaches for something. I get a glimpse of his tight rear end, and my heart does a little somersault inside my chest.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love my coffee, but tea is something special.”

  He stands up and closes the cabinet. “Yeah, I grow my own herbs to mix with dried fruit for brewing infusion tea.”

  “How did you get into it? It’s rare to meet a guy under sixty who gardens.”

  “Are you trying to say I’m old now? Geez, if a compliment ever tumbles out of your mouth, I might have a coronary.”

  I let out a laugh. I’m not ready to compliment him yet, the thought of it leaves a bitter taste on my lips. He’s still on Brooke Kirkland man probation. “No, not at all. It’s just that gardening takes a lot of patience and–”

  He smiles. “And I have the patience of a small child, right? Like none at all.”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t say that.”

  Landon fills a tea kettle with water and puts it on the stove. He turns on the burner. “I can’t blame you for thinking that. First impressions have never been my strong suit. I thought I’d scared you away for good.”

  “What can I say? I had four good reasons to come back. They’re so sweet, which makes them really trainable.”

  He widens his eyes in mock shock. “The little terrors are much better, thanks to you.”

  “Come on, they are so not little terrors. They don’t bite. They don’t pee on the floor. There are far worse things than barking and chewing. I hate to tell you, but those are boredom behaviors. Have you ever thought of walking them?”

  He laughs, which is more like a snort. “Are we talking about the same dogs? You actually think I could walk them? At the same time?”

  “Yes, but that’s probably for another session, way in the future. So, anyway, how did you become Farmer Landon?”

  “That’s cute, Farmer Landon. I had a roommate in college named Rod who knew a thing or two about herbs, if you catch my drift.”

  I giggle as I imagine this rigid man hitting the devil’s lettuce.

  “Let’s just say Rod’s brownies were a life-changing experience. But pot was just the beginning. He knew about all of these different herbs to make teas. They could work miracles on all types of stuff from migraines to allergies.”

  “Really?”

  “Rod was into this back to the earth, holistic living thing. But it had its limits. He tried to use some herbs to cure his gonorrhea, and that was a disaster.”

  Just when did this perfectly innocent conversation veer off into left field? “I bet.”

  “Even after college, I kept brewing teas with my own homegrown herbs.”

  I snort out a chuckle. “Don’t put anything illegal in mine, please.”

  He snaps his fingers. “Damn, too late! Just kidding, I haven’t smoked a doobie since grad school. Do they even say that anymore?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I don’t smoke anything. I’ve never even smoked a candy cigarette.”

  “That’s probably why you have such perfect teeth.” He fills two coffee mugs with the loose-leaf tea. “Do you take sugar or honey with yours?”

  “A little sugar would be nice.”

  He adds some raw sugar to both cups then pours hot water on top. The aroma refreshes but calms me at the same time. It’s a conundrum. Kind of like this man standing next to me. He walks over with the cups and hands one to me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He sits down across from me, and I find myself looking into his brown eyes. The very ones where I could get lost until I don’t know where I end and he begins. But I won’t let that happen. One part of me wants him to draw me into his arms and protect me, the other part wants to slap his face.

  I take a sip of the tea. “This is delicious.”

  He speaks like an old man, “Farmer Landon aims to please.”

  A personality is finally starting to emerge. One that I might actually like. “You missed your calling. You should’ve been a voice actor.”

  “I actually did record the audiobook for one of my novels.”

  “What was that like?”

  “Tiring. I had to record take after take in the recording studio. My mouth became as dry as the Sahara. I needed like a gallon of tea. Then, I had to keep eating apples between chapters.”

  “Why?”

  “For the mouth clicks and pops.”

  I guess you do learn something new every day. “Huh?”

  He chuckles, probably at my gaping mouth. “Certain letters sound weird if your mouth is dry.”

  “It’s amazing what you learn when you know nothing about a subject.” Before I know it, I realize I’m enjoying this conversation. I’ve calmed down in his presence, my body no longer a rigid ball of nerves and anticipatory energy.

  “And get this, you’re not supposed to eat salty foods before recording because you might get dehydrated,” he says, a bit of hesitancy in that deep, sexy voice. I imagine him doing voice-over work on the audiobook of my life. “Of course, I didn’t know that, so like a fool, I wolfed down a cheeseburger, large fries, and a Coke!”

  “No way.” I doubt he eats like that often because I can see the muscles rippling underneath his clothes.

  “I stopped by Red Robin on my way to St. Paul. I was starving, and the session was booked for eight hours. After it was over, I told my agent, ‘Never again!’”

  “Which book was it?”

  “I’m not telling you, at least…” His voice trails off and a lump sits at the base of my throat as I wait for him to divulge the answer. I don’t want to push him since I’m sure he gets that crazy stalker fan shit all the time. I don’t want to become one of those people. But the challenge is that I do admire his work which makes me feel like I’ve time traveled back to high school and I’m standing in front of the star quarterback with cotton in my mouth. “That’s okay, I can easily look it up.”

  He crosses his arms over his sculpted chest. “Be my guest.”

  I grab my cell phone out of my pocket and hit the Safari app.

  “Are you serious?” Landon snorts, amused by my follow through but too surprised or amused to stop me.

  I nod as I open a new browser page and type in his name.

  He takes a deep breath and throws his hands up in mock surrender. His fingers…they’re elegant and tapered. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. They’re perfect for playing the piano or running up and down the length of a woman’s inner thigh. Shivers travel up and down my spine. A long pause falls between us until he says, “Okay! Okay! ‘Lake Superior Psycho.’”

  I stare at his face, enjoying the more pleasant expression that’s been there the past few minutes. “That’s my favorite book from you.”

  “It was Carla’s favorite too, my late wife.” His face falls, and he’s gone to a place where I can never follow. “I didn’t mean to talk about her. I know it’s probably weird for you.”

  I rush to comfort him. Even though I’ve never been married, I can’t even imagine the depth of his pain. “No, it’s not weird at all. How long were you guys married?”

  “Five years.”

  A low whistle escapes my lips. “I’m sorry. My longest re
lationship was three years.”

  “It’s hard to believe that.” His soulful gaze sweeps down my body. “Whoever he was made a mistake when he let you get away.”

  I stare at the floor and bite my tongue. Even though this isn’t a date, it’s a client meeting, the topic of exes is off topic. It’s dangerous ground, full of active grenades and I’m carefully picking my way over the tripwires. “Actually, I broke up with him.”

  Another smile tugs at his lips, and I exhale a relieved breath that we made it through the dead wife conversation unscathed. Nary a temper tantrum in sight. “I’m not the least bit surprised. You’re nothing but a heartbreaker in white Keds.”

  “Heartbreaker?” I lean back and narrow my eyes at him. “That’s what you think? Maybe we might still be together if he could have just remembered my birthday.”

  “Ouch! A man who doesn’t remember a woman’s birthday? Shameful!”

  I nod and take another sip of tea. “So, what’s your deal? Anyone special?”

  “Since I lost Carla, I haven’t really connected to anybody. But there was this night I almost went home with a trashy chick I picked up in a trashy bar near my place in Minneapolis.”

  I laugh out loud. Not only can I not imagine him in a trashy bar, I can’t imagine a trashy chick coming on to him. He’s a little classier than your average man. “Picking up trashy chicks in dive bars, eh? Is Minneapolis where you used to live.”

  He nodded. “Well, I officially still do. I haven’t sold my place. When Carla’s grandmother died, she willed me this place, and I came here to take care of the dogs and decide what I wanted to do.”

  I nod, tempted to reach over and touch his hand, but I stop myself, and detour our conversation away from his sadness. “Tried any of the trashy bars around here?”

  He laughs. “Hooking up isn’t really my thing. If I do find someone, I would like it to be more than just a hookup.”

  Our eyes met. Held. My stomach twisted deep and low. “Same here. I’m so over the casual dating thing. But it seems like that’s what most men expect.”

  “Depends on the man…”

  The dogs run into the room, barking. I wish he’d finished his thought, but alas, the toy dog brigade will not be ignored. “I haven’t forgotten about you guys. Just let me finish my tea, and we’ll get right back to it.” Chili’s tiny toenails scratch my jeans. He seems to be asking me where I’ve been.