by Kris Ripper
“I guess so. And it was such a beautiful day, but Oscar, Mase, and I went back to Mase’s after and felt sorry for ourselves. It brought back all those feelings, all that pressure. To be a player in that world. That narrative. And I think it got jumbled in my head until I felt like we—the thing we were doing—was part of that pressure.”
“That honestly makes perfect sense to me.”
I frowned. “It does? It makes me feel a little crazy.”
“I’m grateful to The Love Study because it brought us together,” they said slowly. “But I also think it kind of...shunted us into a dating metric that we wouldn’t have otherwise gotten into as quickly as we did. Like, on our own I think we’d both be happy—I’m pretty sure I’d be happy—hanging out a lot, and sharing food, and watching documentaries, and listening to podcasts, and just talking. And having sex. Um. As much as we wanted, which for me is...more than a very little.” That flush again, oh my god.
“Me too. The sex thing. Actually all of it. Like the ‘datefriend’ thing seemed really good for a minute? But ended up making me feel like we were in deep waters without a map. Wait. In the desert without a map? What would you need in deep waters, a compass?”
“And a boat, presumably.”
“Deep waters without a boat! That’s how it felt. Like flailing around while the waters got more choppy and I didn’t know how to get out.”
“Okay.” They squeezed my hands, which was apparently a thing I was into, because it made me want to purr and press my head against them like a cat. “Next time you feel that way, if it happens again, I really need you to talk to me about it. I wasn’t drowning, but I wasn’t comfortable either. And I’ll do the same.”
“Next time. I mean...you mean...” I looked at them over my glasses, afraid to raise my head, afraid to commit. “So you think we should try again?”
“Yes. In the interests of discovery. And also because I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Can I say one more thing, that’s more...spinstering than deep feels relationship talking?”
“Sure. Yeah. Always.”
They shifted a little in their armchair, eyes wandering over their books before coming back to me. “I think you have some internalized stuff going on with your anxiety that played a role here, and while I’m not going to make some kind of awful ultimatum about it, I also think, as your friend, that it might be a good thing if you...addressed that. In some way.”
“Um, yeah. Me too. I made an appointment with the therapist I used to see, so...yeah. Working on it. I guess it usually feels like I can barrel through it if I try hard enough, but I couldn’t this time. And Mase told me he’d kick my ass if I had a panic attack again and didn’t mention it.”
“Maybe the ideal would be not feeling like you needed to, uh, ‘barrel through’? Which was probably Mason’s point.”
“I think his point was I better fucking not.”
They smiled. “He’s a good friend. I really like your friends. The, uh, Motherfuckers.”
“Me too. They all want you to come back to drinks, by the way. Mia was basically like, ‘Even if Sidney doesn’t want hot monkey sex anymore, tell them to come to drinks again.’ Paraphrasing.”
“I’d like that.”
“Um, Sidney?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what to do and I hid, which was shitty of me.”
“It’s okay. I mean, yes, I agree, it was really shitty. It made me feel ugly and alone and like I shouldn’t have even tried to be close to other people, but—”
“Omigod I’msosorry.” I leaned over and pressed their hands to my forehead because I didn’t quite dare to kiss them. “I hate that I made you feel that way. You’re so amazing, and so smart, and everyone your whole life has totally missed out on being with you because you’re one of my favorite people on earth and I know we haven’t known each other that long but I think I can say this with certainty I totally love you.” I shrunk deeper into myself and tried to disappear. “That was the absolute wrongest time to say that, sorry. But it’s true.”
They squeezed my hands. Again. “I have very deep feelings for you too. Arman assured me that if something happened between us it was your loss, but Declan, you’re...also really amazing. Please, um, sit up again?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, knowing I was blushing.
“So I think we’ll have some times like this, when we’re trying to figure out our individual stuff and how that...goes together with our mutual stuff. Like gears, you know? Your gear and my gear and our friendship gear and when a gear jams we’ll have to work it out.”
“Except for the sex gear. I don’t think anything’s gonna jam that.”
They shook their head. “It really might. Sometimes I get dysphoric and that makes sex harder.”
“Oh. But you’ll tell me if that happens? And if I can help?”
“I’m going to try. It’s not an easy thing to talk about, but we have that communication project going, so I’ll try. Maybe we should have called the show The Communication Study instead. That might be more accurate.”
“But not as good for keywords or whatever.”
“True. The SEO on The Communication Study would not recommend its use.” They pushed up their glasses. “So just to put all the cards on the table, I would like to continue seeing you, and having sex with you, and texting you, and talking to you about random podcasts for no reason other than I enjoy hearing what you have to say.”
“Ditto. Same. Amen.” I worried for a second that I wasn’t acting serious enough, but then they kissed me, and I decided not to worry about anything. “I really missed kissing you. And also talking to you. And I had all this stuff in my head and you were the only person I thought would understand it.”
“Same.”
We reheated our dinner and curled up in their bed with an archaeology documentary. When we’d put our plates aside it seemed kind of natural to do a sitting-closer-together thing. Which morphed into me asking if I could put my arm around them, and them asking if they could put their head on my chest. And then I was playing with their hair and snuggling in closer and...it was all so warm and felt so good. We didn’t have sex, we didn’t even make out. But this space felt...more important.
Being able to share food and lie in bed together, to laugh a little, to talk in low voices about ethical practices on dig sites (super fascinating stuff) was more vital in that moment than anything else we could have done. Then I went home, so they could get good sleep before work the next morning.
I felt so much lighter. Like I was walking on layers and layers of down comforters and if I stumbled, it would be okay, I’d bounce right back up.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Here’s how my friends introduce me to new people: “This is Declan. He left his last boyfriend at the altar, but he’s reformed now.” They think it’s hilarious.
If Sidney happens to be in earshot when someone says that, we look at each other like we’re sharing a secret, like we’re getting away with something. Other people assume we’re dating in some conventional way.
When really?
We’re just doing everything we enjoy and nothing we don’t enjoy.
We have better things to do for two hours in the dark with each other, so we don’t go to movies.
I’m still wigged out by which fork to use, so we don’t go to fancy restaurants.
Sidney still hates all the culturally dictated romantic stuff like flowers, so I don’t send them flowers.
We love watching movies together, though, so we do that in one of our beds, or we buddy watch when we’re both in the mood to be responsible and not stay out late on a work night.
We love eating fancy dinners (we even get dressed up sometimes), so when we want to do that I make an elaborate meal and they work in the background, or
they sit on the counter and talk, or we listen to podcasts.
When we go to drinks we always sit together, even though we don’t need to, because we like being just that close.
We love coming up with our own forms of romance. Sometimes one of us leaves a note on the other’s car while they’re at work. We have more than once exchanged sex toys just for fun, on an arbitrary day we picked a few weeks ahead of time. Sex toys are the gift that keeps on giving: you buy them once and then can use them in a variety of applications and combinations for years to come! Get it? To come?
Sidney laughs at most of my terrible jokes. And every now and then makes one of their own.
I dropped off breakfast-in-a-basket after they’d worked a few really long inventory days, even setting my alarm for oh-dark-thirty to get to their apartment in time for them to eat. Except they were so happy to see me we may have spent that time...doing other things. Oops. It wasn’t a gift fail, so much as a...gift success in an unexpected direction.
They always say they’re not that sweet, but I totally disagree. Sometimes they bring me a cup of coffee and we sit with the armchairs close together, our legs all intertwined, and when I look up from my book they’re just kind of smiling at me. Whenever it happens they blush and look away real fast, but it makes me feel warm and gooey. In a good way. Melty. Like we could sit just like this for a long, long time.
When Sidney introduces me to people, they say, “This is Declan.” And I can’t help grinning at them like they’re the only person in the world.
* * *
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To discover more books by Kris Ripper, please check out zir website at krisripper.com! You can also find more Ripper books at the usual places where ebooks are sold.
Acknowledgments
My thanks, as always, to the early readers who expressed their enjoyment of this book—and nudged me in the direction of publishing it when my nerve failed (as it usually does). Particularly Lennan Adams, KJ Charles, and Alexis Hall, badasses all three.
Deepest gratitude to the best of agents, Courtney Miller-Callihan, who never fails to support any path I want to take with a project.
And, world without end, my thanks to General Wendy, whose feedback is always snarky, clearheaded, and on point.
About the Author
Kris Ripper lives in the great state of California and zir pronouns are ze/zir. Kris shares a converted garage with a kid, can do two pull-ups in a row, and can write backwards. (No, really.) Ze has been writing fiction since ze learned how to write, and boring zir stuffed animals with stories long before that.
www.krisripper.com
Twitter.com/kris_ripper
www.Facebook.com/groups/rippersirregulars
www.Instagram.com/krisripper
Simon Burke has always preferred animals to people. When the countdown to adopting his own dog is unexpectedly put on hold, Simon turns to the PetShare app to find the animal TLC he’s been missing. Meeting pet owner Jack isn’t easy on Simon’s anxiety, but his adorable menagerie is just what Simon needs...and it’s not long before their pet-centric arrangement sparks a person-centric desire.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Better Than People by Roan Parrish!
Chapter One
Jack
If you had told Jack Matheson when he woke up this morning that he’d end the day at the bottom of a ditch, he wouldn’t have been terribly surprised. After all, his whole life felt like it was spent at the bottoms of ditches these days—what was one more literal one?
The nightly walk had begun as they usually did. As soon as he finished dinner and placed his plate and fork in the sink, the dogs had clustered around him, eyes hopeful and tongues out, ready to prowl. Bernard butted his huge head against Jack’s thighs in encouragement while Puddles hung back, waiting to follow the group out. Dandelion pawed at the ground excitedly, and Rat vibrated in place, tiny body taut with anticipation.
The cats cleaned themselves or snoozed on various surfaces, watching with disinterest, except for Pirate. Pirate twined her way through the forest of legs and paws and tails, back arched, sleek and ready.
“Let’s head out,” Jack said, clipping on leashes and straightening harnesses as he shoved his feet into worn boots and plastic bags in his back pocket.
Pirate led the way, trotting light-footed ahead of them, then doubling back like a scout. Huge, snuggly Bernard—a St. Bernard who’d been with him the longest—took turns walking next to each of the others, nipping and licking at his friends enthusiastically, and drawing back when he accidentally shoved them off their feet. Bernard didn’t know his own strength.
Dandelion pranced along, happy as always to snap at the breeze or a puff of dust, or simply to be outside.
Puddles walked carefully, his soft golden face swinging back and forth, alert for danger, and he jumped at every sound. Twice, Jack had to scoop him up and carry him over the puddles he refused to step in or walk around.
Rat took the lead, just behind Pirate, her tiny legs going hummingbird fast to keep ahead of the others. She kept her nose to the ground, and if she scented a threat, she’d be the first to take it on.
Their leashes crisscrossed throughout the walk, and Jack untangled them absently as he kept one eye on the animals and the other on the sky.
Summer had settled into autumn, and the leaves of Garnet Run, Wyoming, were tipped with red and gold. The air held the first promises of winter, and Jack found himself sighing deeply. Winter was beautiful here. His little cottage was cozy, his fireplace warm, and the woods peaceful.
But this year, for the first time in nearly a decade, he wouldn’t have work to occupy him as the snow fell outside.
Jack growled and clenched his fists against the fury that roared in his ears as he anticipated yet another night without a notebook in his hand.
Bernard snuffled against his thigh and Puddles whined. This—this right here was why animals beat people, paws down.
They were sensitive. They cared. They wanted to be loved and they gave love back. Animals never betrayed you the way people did. They were loyal.
“It’s okay,” Jack murmured. He scratched Bernard’s massive head and ran gentle fingers over Puddles’ tense ears. “I’ll be okay.”
Bernard gave his elbow an enthusiastic lick.
“I’ll be okay,” Jack repeated firmly, to himself this time, as a squirrel’s over-enthusiastic labors dislodged an acorn from an overhanging branch. The acorn rustled through the leaves and fell directly onto the soft fur between Puddles’ ears, where Jack’s fingers had stroked a moment before.
Puddles, skittish at the best of times, reared into the air, fur bristling, and took off into the trees, his leash slipping through Jack’s fingers.
“Dammit, Puddles, no!”
Jack tried to follow, but Bernard had plopped down on the soft grass at the tree line and was currently rolling himself in evening smells. It was useless to attempt to move Bernard once he was on the ground, even for a man of Jack’s size.
“Stay!” Jack commanded. Bernard woofed, Dandelion flopped down beside him, Rat clawed at the ground, teeth bared. “Pirate, watch them,” he called to the cat, even though Pirate had never given him any indication that she understood orders, much less took them.
Jack took off after Puddles. The thought of the dog afraid made Jack’s heart pound and he ran full-out.
Puddles had been a trembling mess when Jack found him by the side of the road two years before, and it had taken a month before the Lab would even eat the food Jack offered from his hand. Slowly, painstakingly, he had gained Puddles’ trust, and the dog had joined the rest of his pack.
“Puddles!” Jack
called into the twilight. He heard a whine ahead and sped up, muscles burning, glad for his afternoon runs. Leaves crunched up ahead to his left and Jack zagged. “Puddles?”
Dark was closing in on the woods and Jack narrowed his eyes, hoping to avoid running smack into a tree. When he heard Puddles’ soft bark from up ahead he threw himself forward again.
“I’m here!” he shouted, and was answered with another bark. Then, the sound of crackling branches split the quiet and a whine and thud stopped Jack’s heart. He barreled forward to see what had happened, and heard the sound again as his legs broke through what he’d thought was underbrush, and found no solid ground on the other side.
His legs windmilled and his hands caught at the air for a second that seemed like forever. Then he landed hard and rolled down an embankment, stones and branches pummeling him on the way down.
Jack came to a sudden stop with a head-rattling lurch and a gut-churning snap. For a single heavenly moment, there was no pain, just the relief of stillness. Then the world righted itself, and with clarity came agony.
“Oh, fuck,” Jack gasped. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He bit his lip and lifted his swimming head just enough to peer down at his right leg, where the pain ripped into him with steely teeth. Nausea flooded him as he saw the unnatural angle of his leg and he wrenched his gaze away.
For three breaths, Jack did nothing but try not to puke. Then a wet, trembling nose nudged his hand, and he opened his eyes to Puddles’ warm brown gaze.
“Thank god.” Jack sucked in a breath and lifted a shaky hand to the dog’s side. “You okay, bud?”
Puddles sat down beside him and rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder, a loyal sentinel.
For some reason, it brought tears to Jack’s eyes.