28. The Power of Puppies
28
The Power of Puppies
CARLY
To-do list—January 1
Nothing!
Catch up on email and schedule responses for tomorrow
L aughing, I squirmed to the edge of my bed, out of reach of Andrew’s fingertips. He’d hardly stopped touching me since that intense, hardly-safe-for-work kiss at the party last night. The many orgasms he’d given me early this morning had me feeling like the day after a core workout.
“No more cuddling!” I sat up. “It’s time for breakfast. I’ve been ignoring your stomach rumbling for the past ten minutes.”
He pouted, looking more boyish than usual. “I’d rather eat you.”
How had I gotten so lucky? Andrew took care of my sexual needs like it was his job. And speaking of jobs, if even a quarter of the contacts I’d made at his party turned into business, I’d be set for months. Though they’d all have to wait until after I styled Helen and her Hollywood friends for their award shows. I was so thankful Andrew had forced my card on Helen Choi. If it had been up to me, I’d have missed out on the opportunity and everything that came with it.
“Come on,” I said. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
“You what?” Dramatically, Andrew rubbed at his ear. “I thought I heard you say you’d cook something.”
I poked his bare chest. “Don’t get used to it, but I’ve learned a thing or two. I watched Savannah’s videos.”
“Wow. Okay.” He blinked. “I’ll take a quick shower then.”
“Good.” I’d be less nervous without an audience.
He launched out of bed, naked, and grabbed his phone from the table. “And I’ll dial 9-1 just in case.”
I tossed a pillow at his head. “Not funny. I was cooking before you were?—”
Shit. I’d broken my rule not to bring up our age difference.
“I’m out of practice,” I finished weakly.
He circled the bed to kiss my forehead. “I was joking. I’m sure it’ll turn out great.” Then he turned and sauntered toward my bathroom.
I watched his taut ass work until he shut the door behind him, then I fanned myself with my hand. I liked having Andrew in my life. Sure, I texted with my girlfriends almost every day. But their texts didn’t make my stomach swoop the way Andrew’s did. And when I met him at a restaurant, or when he opened the door of his place? The initial swoop gave way to tingles that raced across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Days like this, I knew I was in dangerous waters. He was the wave, reaching up to drag me overboard while I clung to the pitching deck. I wanted to drown in Andrew’s care and affection.
I couldn’t envision ending our relationship on February first. I wanted more mornings in bed and more afternoons like yesterday before the party, cuddling on the sofa and watching When Harry Met Sally. I’d cringed when he’d called it a classic.
I supposed that was better than old.
When I stood, my knee creaked, reminding me I wouldn’t be able to squat to adjust a hem forever.
When I was twenty-five, I’d willingly given up my career to support Brad’s, foolishly thinking we were partners, working together toward our future.
Older and wiser now, I knew my future rested in my own hands. I wasn’t twenty-five anymore. And in a month, I wouldn’t even be forty-five. I didn’t have years stretching out in front of me to establish my business, to make mistakes and recover.
I couldn’t lose myself in a man again. My father left before I was born. Brad? Don’t even get me started. I couldn’t rely on anyone else, not for all the stomach-swooping laughter in the world. Even if my skin glowed from the toe-curling orgasms.
Laughter and glowing skin didn’t put clothes on my back or sock away savings for a time I’d be tired of hustling.
I tugged on leggings, a bra, and an oversized tee and made my way to my kitchen. After starting the coffee, I picked up my phone to rewatch Savannah’s sunny-side-up eggs video, but there was a text from Helen.
She had questions about the initial concepts I’d sent, and I took a minute to find a few photos, then thumbed out a reply. She sent a follow-up question with her thoughts, which sent me down a rabbit hole at one of my favorite couture sites.
“Hey.” Andrew stepped into my kitchen, dressed in jeans and a cable-knit sweater that made me tingle like an Irish fisherman’s wife seeing her husband after a week at sea.
My cheeks hot, I set my phone on the counter and glanced at the cold stove. “Sorry, I got distracted by work.”
His expression reminded me of last night at the party, when he found me during the countdown and kissed me. It looked almost like pain, but it was gone before I could be sure.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll get started on breakfast.”
“Don’t be sorry. We’ll get breakfast out.”
The tension left my shoulders. This wasn’t Brad, who went off the handle when I didn’t meet expectations. This was Andrew, who liked me even if I didn’t cook. Who thought I was a goddess despite my smile lines and unperky tits.
He stepped closer to me and put a hand on my waist. His ocean scent, combined with that sexy sweater, made my mouth go dry. Despite this morning’s orgasms, my pulse throbbed between my legs.
“I have a proposal,” he said.
I blinked. “A what?” He wasn’t about to take a knee, was he?
“Do you have to deal with Helen right away, or do you have a few hours to spend with me? Last night was our last fake date, so I’d like to take you out on a real one.”
My racing heart slowed. “Like dinner and a movie?”
He put a hand on his heart. “I may work in a bank, but I’m not that basic. I have an idea for an outdoor activity. Get your coat.”
“Outdoors?” Was I prepared to date him for real where everyone could see us? The pretense had given me confidence. It was an act, same as when I’d walked out on stage in a swimsuit in my pageant days. Real meant being vulnerable. Caring what others thought of us. Even in the weak winter sun, my smile lines would be a visible contrast to Andrew’s youthful skin.
“A park. Super low-key. It’ll be fun.” He held out a hand.
“I’m not going out like this.” I waved at my leggings and T-shirt. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry, no one there will care what you’re wearing. And you always look beautiful to me.”
“Hm.” His words warmed me to the core. “Still, I need a minute to change and do my hair.” I’d learned long ago that not bothering to dress up was the surest way to run into someone you knew, perhaps a potential client.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “I’ll wait.”
“Thanks.” I lifted on my toes and kissed him. He hummed, and I turned the kiss hot and dirty, teasing my tongue along his lower lip. But when I ran my hands up the wool covering his solid chest, he backed off.
“Temptress. If we do that, we’ll never get there in time.”
I dropped back on my heels. “Not goddess? Now I’m a temptress?”
“Goddesses can be very tempting. Didn’t Aphrodite seduce Adonis?”
“Among others, I believe.” But we were getting too close to uncomfortable territory when we talked about older women as seductresses. “I’ll be done in a few.”
An hour later, Andrew held open the door to his Audi. He hadn’t said a word about how a few minutes had turned into sixty. He only looked at me with the adoration he always did. Then he reminded me to wear a coat and shoes I didn’t mind getting dirty.
He eased his car onto a grassy parking area at a suburban park. The tops of white tents poked over the surrounding shrubs. He’d pulled in next to a minivan. A family, two dads and three kids, scrambled out. Watching them, I held in a sigh. Andrew had brought me to a place that showed where he belonged. Among families. After I found the courage to let him go, he could find a nice person and settle down. In a few years, he could be driving a minivan of his own.
“Hey,” he said, leaning over the console to kiss me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I should enjoy him while I could, before he tired of me the way Brad had.
“Okay.” But his eyebrows canted together. “Let’s go. It’ll be impossible to be sad once we get where we’re going.”
We’d barely cleared the car when the oldest kid from the minivan tugged on Andrew’s sleeve. “Hey. Are you the math nerd?”
I sucked in an outraged breath. Then I remembered The Math Nerd was the name of his channel.
“Yeah. Do you like math?”
The kid screwed up his face. “I didn’t. But then my dad found your videos, and it was kind of fun. I finally passed my nine times table.”
“Did you use the hand trick?”
“Yeah!” He held up his hand and curled his right ring finger down. “Nine times nine is eighty-one!”
“That’s great.” Andrew beamed. “Wait until I show you something to help with elevens.”
One of the dads came up behind his son, holding the toddler in one arm and extending the other for a handshake. “Thanks, man. Appreciate what you do.”
Andrew’s smile faltered. Why didn’t he like being thanked? He loved making those videos.
“Isn’t he great?” I rubbed his back. “I wish someone like him had made videos like that when I was a kid. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten a C in calculus.”
Andrew shot me a wicked grin. “I don’t know how you could’ve done that. You’re the integral of e to the XY.”
The dad chuckled, then looked at his son. “Thankfully, he doesn’t know integrals yet. Or spelling all that well. Do you do school programs? My husband is a school superintendent, and I know he’d love to have you in his district. Wouldn’t you, babe?”
The other man, who was wrangling a jacket onto the middle child, said, “Absolutely. I’m salivating over here.”
“Wow, um, thanks,” Andrew said. “But I, uh, I have a day job, and…”
“Sure, sure. You have a card on you, babe?” the man asked his husband.
The husband stood and dug in his pocket. “Yeah. I’d K-I-L-L to offer our students a program like that. Give me a call if you change your mind.”
The oldest kid looked smug. Apparently, he wasn’t as bad at spelling as his dad thought.
Pocketing the card, Andrew winced. “We’re on a hiatus.”
“Sorry to hear that,” the first dad said.
While the second dad explained hiatus to the oldest son, Andrew said his goodbyes and turned toward the park.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Ugh.” He slipped an arm around me. “Vic hates the videos. If I want this promotion, I have to represent the bank at all times.” He frowned.
Hell. He loved making those videos. And clearly, kids loved them, too. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. What can I do?” He shrugged. “I want that promotion.” Seeming to shake it off, he said, “But today, we’re celebrating us. You’re going to love this.”
He led me through the family festival. We passed an arts and crafts tent, face painting, a bocce tournament, and a beer pavilion and strolled to an open-sided tent at the periphery. The banner said, “Must Love (Rescue) Dogs,” and barks and yips floated on the winter breeze.
When I sucked in a breath, he tugged me to a stop and positioned himself between the tent and me.
“Repeat after me: we are only here to play with the puppies. We’re not taking anyone home today.”
“We’re playing with puppies?” My heart bounced in my chest like a Labrador.
“Repeat, please. My animal-loving sister would hurt me if we made a rash decision.”
“We’re only playing. We’re not taking anyone home.”
“Today.” He smiled. “We’re not taking anyone home today.”
“Fine. We’re not taking anyone home today.” Hope speared through me. Would Andrew and I get a dog someday?
For the next hour, as dogs licked my face, as puppies nipped my fingers, as I buried my face in their fur, I imagined a future where Andrew Jones and I picked out one of the dogs and took it to a home we shared. We’d cuddle up on my sofa—his was an atrocious leather thing that would show scratches from the dog’s nails—with a dog splayed across our laps and watch classic rom-coms. We’d go for long walks in the park, the dog pulling ahead of us as we strolled arm in arm.
It must have been the cocktail of warm dog breath and the sight of Andrew holding two wrinkled hound puppies in his lap that loosened what I’d been holding back ever since that magical day at the Parc de la Ciutadella.
After we placed the puppies back in their pen and ambled out of the tent, I cleared my throat. “I care about you, Andrew. I think I could…” The next words surged in my chest, but the lump in my throat caged them inside.
It hadn’t been this hard with Brad. I’d been young and foolish. Now that I understood how the world worked, I knew what the words would mean to Andrew. I could never take them back.
“Love me?” He pulled me to a stop. Hope gleamed in his eyes. “You think you could love me? Because, Carly, I love you.”
I nodded and tried to swallow. I was drowning, but it didn’t feel so bad with Andrew beside me.
“You truly are a goddess.” He wavered like he’d go to his knees, but then he straightened and closed the gap between us. Bending his head and gathering me toward him, he claimed my mouth right there in the park.
I didn’t care.
I let everyone see that I liked Andrew Jones. That maybe I loved him. That we belonged together. No more February first. We’d see where this took us. It was a kiss of possibility, of shared hope.
He broke the kiss first, leaving me dazed and breathless. He pulled me against his cozy sweater and tunneled his fingers into my hair, messing it up.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. “If I’d known about the power of puppies, I’d have taken you to the shelter months ago.”
I poked my nose into the space above his sweater where I could smell his skin. “It’s not the puppies. It’s you. You see me. You understand me.” The way Brad never did.
“Carly, I—” He slid his hands down to cup my ass, and I probably would’ve leaped to straddle him like Helen Choi had done at the end of that movie when she was a city slicker marketing exec who fell for a cowboy, but he pulled my phone from my back pocket. “This is buzzing like crazy.”
I took it from him. A long string of texts from Helen appeared on the lock screen.
“Sorry, I…” I scanned through the texts.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Take a minute.”
Helen’s crisis would take longer than a minute. She’d been invited to replace an injured actor and present an award at the Golden Globes. She’d chosen a gown months ago, but now she needed a presenter-worthy look. I’d need to pull something together fast. Could I trust a courier? No, I’d need to fly to Los Angeles and do it personally.
I looked up from the device. “I have to deal with this. It’s a fashion emergency.”
“Want me to take you home?”
The fact that he didn’t laugh at the idea of a fashion emergency or question me made me fall a little more. “Could you? Please?”
He took my hand, and we weaved between strollers and families toward the exit.
“I could stay at your place and help if you want,” he said.
“Help? More like distract me.” I chuckled, imagining how a stress-relieving neck rub might devolve into hours of naked time. “No, you’d better go home.”
He made that troubling expression again.
Before we got into his car, I kissed it off his lips.