by L. B. Dunbar
The words sink in, but something stands out. Let him down. Am I letting others down by not returning? I shake the thought, reminding myself how much I’ve done to support Mother, Magnolia, and the diner. Even Rusty. It’s time for me to invest in myself…only I don’t know what that means.
“My grandmother took a chance on me, too. The diner was hers. When I finished college, she gave it to me as a graduation present. I was the first woman with a degree in the family.” I’m just not sure the diner is the right fit for me anymore. Fear shivers down my spine as I admit the thought to myself.
Garrett’s eyes open wide. “Wow. I was raised by my mother and three sisters. They all went to college.”
He isn’t insulting me, just stating the difference between us.
“Three sisters. Whoa.”
“I know. Each one thought they were my mother even though they are all younger than me.”
“And they’ve made you the man you are today,” I mock.
“Something like that.” He chuckles, but it lacks humor in response to my teasing. We continue walking, heading back toward the condo, and my heart sinks a little. I’ve noticed feeling the same sensation each time our walks near the end.
“Okay,” I mutter.
“Okay, what?” he asks, tossing the mangled ball for Wally one more time before we reach the door.
“I’ll do it. I’ll dog sit.”
Garrett’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas, and he leans forward to kiss me on the cheek.
“You’re the best,” he whispers as he pulls back, and I snort.
“Yeah, right.” He probably says that to all his dog sitters. Still, my face heats where the imprint of his lips linger despite the swift brush on my skin.
Dog sitting? What have I gotten myself into?
7
Dog sitting and some petting
[Dolores]
Despite worrying about Wally running away from me and having to tell Garrett I lost his dog, the time was spent no differently than what I do every day. I binge watch television, read a book, and try to remember to eat. Garrett gave me a quick tour of his place before he left. It’s a mirror replica of Denton’s. Open concept kitchen-dining-living room with double doors leading to a balcony off the living room. Three bedrooms, one of which is an office. Master bedroom with another set of double doors but no walk-out balcony, only a decorative railing.
I’m not supposed to let Wally on the couch, but when he hops up next to me and puts his head on my thigh, I don’t kick him off.
“That’s what you get for asking me to dog sit,” I mumble aloud as if Garrett can hear me all the way in Atlanta.
My hand finds Wally’s head, and I stroke his soft fur. The motion is strangely soothing. I doze on the couch, the television still on. The monstrosity nearly fills the wall adjacent to Denton’s apartment, and my mind drifts through everything and nothing. Eventually, I decide I should sleep in a bed even though I told myself I’d stay on the couch. Garrett told me I could stay in whichever bedroom I was most comfortable. Out of curiosity, I wander into his room.
His dressers are masculine: one is a chest of drawers, the other a low double set with another large television over it. The rustic black wood tone surprises me, considering his flair for expensive, sleek, and modern. Two nightstands flank the king-sized bed. He’s neat for a man. Unlike Rusty’s place, nothing is out of place, on the floor, or covering the dressers. It’s also extremely clean, almost fresh, with the bed made and vacuum marks on the carpet. Rusty’s bed is constantly disheveled. The floor remains littered with clothing and an alcohol bottle or two, plus maybe a glass and an ashtray rest on the rickety furniture. I shiver with the comparison. The contrast between the two men is one end of a spectrum compared to the other. I always thought I wanted the bad boy until I had a few. Somehow, I sense Garrett has bad boy tendencies, but he just disguises them under a suit.
Opening his bedside table confirms my suspicion. Sex toys.
An eye mask. Some silk blindfolds. A box of condoms. A set of metal balls. A vibrator.
I’ve seen nothing to suggest Garrett swings both ways, though I don’t know him well enough. Considering the object is pink-tipped with rabbit ears, with one longer than the other, I’m assuming he uses this to pleasure his women friends. Not one-night stands. Not girlfriends. So maybe friends with benefits?
Sex partners? I’m good with that.
The thought makes me a little sad. I’m tired of a sex partner, but I don’t even think I could handle a friend with benefits. I’m emotionally drained in all aspects of my life, so it would be nice to have an emotional connection with someone. Sex partners doesn’t exactly have that kind of ring to it.
I close the drawer and coast my fingers over the dark pattern of the duvet. The material is soft, and based on how Garrett dresses, I imagine he sleeps in only top-of-the-line sheets. Testing my theory, I draw back the duvet. The cool sheet under my palm feels nice, tempting, and my skin gets goose bumps. I wonder how the fabric would feel everywhere.
“Don’t look,” I mutter to Wally who lies on the floor near the bedroom door. I strip out of my clothes, making the room a little less sterile, set my cell phone on the nightstand, and then slip into Garrett’s bed.
“Nice,” I murmur, drawing the coverings up to my neck. My legs swish, and my arms spread. I’m making a snow angel across his sheets, relishing in the way the material kisses my skin. It’s decadent like chocolate drizzled over a strawberry. My nipples peak, and my fingers twitch. I think of the drawer of toys. I don’t know where any of them have been, but the thought alone heightens my imagination. My palms flatten on my belly, skimming over my hypersensitive skin until they reach my breasts. Cupping each swollen globe, I squeeze until my fingertips find my nipples and pinch.
A moan escapes, and I hear Wally shuffle in his sleep by the door.
My hands lower, skating down my stomach again. My abs quiver, and my lower belly pools with flutters. Finding the curl of coarse hair at the apex of my legs, I stroke lower, heading farther south until my cell phone goes off. I retract my hands like I’ve been caught with them where they shouldn’t be. My head rolls over the luscious pillow, and I check the caller ID on the screen.
“Garrett.” I exhale his name as I answer, drawing out the harsh syllables in frustration.
“Dolores.” He chuckles. “Whatcha up to?”
My head falls back to the pillow, and I try to regulate my breathing.
“I’m in bed,” I say, my voice still shaking and a touch too high pitched.
“Oh. Sorry to wake you. I just wanted to…” He pauses a beat. “Whose bed?” His voice drops.
I can’t answer him.
“Dolores, are you being a naughty doggie sitter?”
His choice of words makes me giggle. I’ve been caught with my hand nearly in the cookie jar, and shame washes over me.
“You know I have doggie cams.” His tone draws serious, and I panic, rolling my head left and right, searching for a hidden camera.
“Wally’s fine,” I offer, my voice a squeak. Can he see me? Does he know what I was about to do in his bed?
“I’m sure he is. And you know I’m teasing, right? About the cameras.”
My eyes close. “You suck,” I mutter.
“Hmm…only if you ask me nicely.” He has no idea what his suggestion does to me, and my fingers slip over my bare thigh under the now-warm sheets. Tenderly, I stroke my inner thigh—so close, but not quite where I need.
“Dolores.” His voice dips when I don’t reply. “Whose bed are you in?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yours.”
Garrett groans through the phone, and my fingers trace closer to the prize at the center of me.
“What are you doing in my bed, stunner?” He has no idea what his words do to me. You look stunning, his rugged voice whispers in my memory. I can’t tell him what I’m doing. I can’t tell him how close I am to touching myself. How it’s been so long s
ince I’ve felt this way. Desirable. Pretty. Turned on.
I don’t answer with anything other than a moan. I mean it to signal I can’t speak, but he groans in response, and I hear a shift through the phone.
“Are you touching yourself?” His voice cracks, and I immediately say, “No.” My fingers withdraw, but my sex pulses, aching for attention. The sheets suddenly feel scratchy, weighty, wanting. I spread my legs, and the material falls through the valley I’ve made. Cool cotton caresses my inner thighs, resting over a part of me which feels like it’s beating faster than my heart.
“Are you thinking of me touching you?” He swallows. “In my bed.”
God, yes. My fingers return to my thigh, curving over my prickly skin. Another shuffle whispers through the phone as if he’s removing something. A shirt. A sheet.
“Tell me where you are,” he demands, his voice deeper, richer.
“I’m in your bed.”
“Give me more details.”
“I’m in the center—”
“Dolores,” he drags out my name, and I’m forced to respond.
“Naked.”
“Fuck,” he mumbles. Was that a belt clanking in the background?
My fingers dip, stroking over my wet folds, which pulse after just one stroke. It won’t be enough, and I continue circling. Garrett’s breath increases in my ear. The silence ticks between us a beat.
“Tell me more,” he commands. “What are you doing?”
“I’m touching myself.” My eyes close as I admit the embarrassing truth, but the sultry sound of his voice, the commanding tone, and the hitch of his breath urge me onward. I can’t stop.
He moans into the phone. “How does it feel? Details.”
“Wet,” I tease. “Warm,” I purr. “So good.” I don’t recognize my voice. I’ve never sounded like this with anyone else. I’ve never done this with someone else.
“Fuck,” he groans again, and the hum forces me to rub harder, stroke faster. “Stunner, are you about to come on my sheets?”
“I…” My breath catches. I’m so close. “I think so,” I mutter, a little surprised with myself, surprised he’s listening to me do what I’m doing. So close.
“Do it,” he demands, and I let go, moaning incomprehensible things into the phone as my head tips, and my fingers delve. My release drags out, slow and sweet, and long overdue. I fall back to the pillow, eyes closed with exhaustion, and I hear Garrett grunt. As I settle down from my high, I giggle, feeling naughty. Did he just get off too?
“Are you misbehaving in Atlanta?” I admonish without a trace of disapproval in my voice. Did we just have phone sex? I slap my dirty hand on my head, catching a whiff of what I’ve done.
“So misbehaving. I think you need to punish me when I return.” He chuckles, deep and satiated in my ear, and I roll to my side, inhaling his pillowcase. Bayberry and woodsy. Garrett.
Oh God. I’ll never be able to face him.
“Hey, Dolores.”
“Yeah.” My voice remains dreamy, giddy even, as I swallow back my mortification.
“I wish I was a Wizard.” His voice lowers again, and my brows pinch.
“Why?” I wonder, tugging the Garrett-scented sheet over my shoulder and relaxing into the comfort of his bed.
“I’m thinking there’s no place like home right now.”
Home. I’m not sure I know where that is anymore, but his sentiment is very sweet.
8
Classics on the big screen
[Garrett]
After a weather delay in Atlanta, I finally arrive home to find my condo empty. It wasn’t like I thought Dolores would still be in my bed even though there is such a thing as wishful thinking. I actually didn’t know what I’d do if I found her between my sheets, especially after my meeting in Atlanta. Damn Denton. He put all kinds of ideas in my head upon my visit.
However, Dolores doesn’t seem like a clinger, and last night certainly wasn’t any contract. We got off together. So what? Although, I admit I don’t think of it quite so flippantly. Despite my history, phone sex isn’t normally my forte. And Dolores seems different.
I struggle with my tie as I head to my bedroom. The sheets are clean and not the same color as the ones when I left. For some reason, my heart drops a little at the thought. Not that I want dirty sheets, but I wanted the evidence she’d been in my bed. The scent of her. The imprint of her.
I walk to the glass doors of my room and notice a woman racing down the beach with a chocolate lab jogging after her. She stops short and bends over laughing as Wally continues running, not able to stop his trajectory with his speed. He sprints back to Dolores, and she jumps left and then right. Still laughing, she takes off jogging again. Wally follows at her heels.
I haven’t heard Dolores laugh since I’ve met her. Hell, I’ve hardly seen a real smile. She’s always giving me false ones or weak ones. I wonder if she smiled last night. I still can’t believe she did what she did—that we did what we did.
My lips curl as I recall her voice—breathy, dreamy, satiated. I quickly strip as I watch her chase Wally and then Wally chase her. It’s an image I could easily get off to, but I’d prefer to see her up close. After changing into jeans and a T-shirt, I head out to the beach.
“Hey,” I call out.
“Hi,” she says, out of breath. She stops short before me, but her body vibrates with the energy of racing Wally. She wears black yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks beautiful.
“Seems like you two have become fast friends.” Dolores bends at the waist, her breathing heavy.
“The only thing fast is him. I can’t keep up. I’m so out of shape.” From the shape I see, I’d disagree. Her legs are long and firm. Her hips hold just the right curve, and her ass—heart-shaped. She’s a dream in those form-fitting pants.
“Looks like you’re doing a decent job.”
“Decent?” she mocks. “Do you know how hard it is to dog sit? Watching Netflix and reading a book. It’s difficult work.” She looks up at me, and the blue in her eyes shimmers. She doesn’t look as hollow as she did when I first met her. Her lips curve into a genuine smile as she teases me, and the desire to kiss her comes over me.
“You’re all right.” I shrug. She stands, fists coming to her hips, where she juts one out.
“All right? I thought I was the best,” she states, recalling what I said when I asked her to dog sit. Her voice lowers as she twists her lips. I can’t help myself, and I step closer to her. My fingers reach for loose silver hair whipping over her cheeks in the breeze.
“That has yet to be determined.” My tone drops as well. Her breath hitches, and then Wally squeezes between us. Dolores steps back, and her arms flail as she stumbles. I reach for her but miss.
“Ballbuster,” I mutter to the dog as I reach down to pet him. “Are you turning traitor on me?” A lick across my face tells me he still loves me, but he’s got a crush on Dolores. I might, too.
“How was Atlanta?” she asks, the playfulness of her voice receding. Atlanta. It’s always interesting to go there. Guilt washes over me as I was close to home but didn’t take the time for a visit. My mother has understood over the years. When my granddad passed, it was hard to return to River City, not to mention my sisters are always wondering why I’m not married or at least procreating with all my sexual waywardness as they call it. No children, thank you. Wally is my baby.
“Atlanta was business as usual.” Though that isn’t quite true. I’ve been thinking of a new venture. Something I haven’t done before. It would be more than investing in others. It’s an investment in myself, actually. For my retirement, I say although I have no intention of retiring anytime soon. I could, though. I have plenty of money, but it’s not about the money—at least, not in this case. This would be all mine. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I didn’t have a business to run. Netflix and books all day are not on my agenda. I should tell her I saw Denton in Atlanta, but I don’t. I don’
t know why, but I hold the information in for another day. Maybe I don’t want her thinking of home. Not yet.
Dolores nods, and we slowly follow Wally back to the condo. A tense silence falls between us when I don’t want it to be awkward. Having an orgasm in my bed without me is unusual, but nothing I’d condemn her for doing. Still, she’s quiet as we stroll.
“Thanks again for watching Wally. I really appreciate it.”
“It was nothing,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. Her arms have returned to wrapping around her middle.
“Was it fun?” I tease.
“Let’s not push it.” Push it is exactly what I want to do, so I ask what I’ve been thinking since last night.
“I’d like to take you out. A thank you for dog sitting.” It’s not a date, I tell myself.
Dolores peers over at me, her brows pinching. “You don’t have to do that. It was no trouble, really.”
“I want to,” I say, stopping her with a hand on her upper arm.
“Is this about last night? Because we don’t have to do this.” Her voice sounds weak, her tone one of defeat. Her eyes can’t meet mine, and she brushes a wayward hair behind her ear.
“No.” Yes. “Let’s go out. It will be fun.” I’ve noticed she doesn’t do much. She’s in the California playland, and she hasn’t been anywhere yet. The night will be unseasonably warm for November, and I have the perfect place in mind for her.
+ + +
I arrive at her door at six o’clock. It’s growing dark, and the bonus of early nightfall is the timing of where we are going. I’ve packed a simple picnic, not finding much in my fridge. Dolores doesn’t look like she eats, and she’s mentioned forgetting the necessity. Her cut cheekbones attest to good bone structure, but she could use a little meat on her.
When we pull up to the park, Dolores leans forward, squinting out the front window.
“Is that a movie screen?”
“It is,” I say, stepping out of the car and rounding it to open her door. Her eyes still focus on the large screen cutting into the night sky. After helping her from the car, I walk to the trunk to remove blankets and a bag.