Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
STARLING
M onday morning, I’m up early and have time to grab a fancy coffee at the bagel shop before heading to Furry Friends. On the drive over, I sip my latte and give myself a silent pep talk.
I’m not going to give myself away.
I will remain cool and collected.
When I see Christian, I will not giggle like a sex-crazed nymphomaniac, swoon at his feet, or beg him to fuck me in the bathroom. I also will not throw my arms around him and tell him how much last night meant to me in a sloppy show of forbidden emotion. I will be friendly, but professional, and no one will know that my panties are soaked from replaying every moment of last night over and over in my head while waiting for my coffee order.
Jesus…
Last night…
“Don’t think about it,” I warn myself aloud as I pull over the bridge and make the final turn toward the shelter.
I’m almost there. I have to think calm, unsexy thoughts. I’ll think about how sad it is that Matty left Nora high and dry, after she was so excited to get to know him better. I’ll think about what a bummer it is that autumn is flying by so fast and soon Bad Dog will be in the grips of another brutal winter.
Or, even better yet, I’ll think about Sheila, and how pissed she’s going to be when she finds out that Stinkerbelle has flown the coop.
“Shit,” I murmur as the shelter comes into view to reveal Sheila standing outside on the wide front porch, a pissed-off expression on her usually cheery face.
With her permanently flushed pink cheeks, wide smile, and loud, fearless laugh, Sheila usually reminds me of a young female Santa Claus. But today she’s doing her best Grinch impression.
Crossing my fingers that she hasn’t somehow connected Christian and I to Bella’s disappearance, I pull in a bracing breath and swing out of my car. “Good morning, Sheila. How was your trip?”
“Great until three a.m. this morning,” she says, with still no trace of her customary grin. “When this guy decided to crash our campsite.” She jabs a thumb toward her feet, where a darkly furred creature is crouched at the back of a light gray carrier. “I can’t tell if he’s rabid or just really pissed off, but he’s one unpleasant customer.” She holds up her other hand to reveal several angry pink slash marks and what looks like a puncture wound, presumably from an animal bite. “Nearly took my arm off while I was setting his paw free.”
“Ouch,” I say, wincing on her behalf. I lean down, peering into the kennel to see two slitted—and oddly familiar—yellow eyes shining back at me. “A cat,” I murmur. “A black cat.”
“Big old black cat,” Sheila confirms. “And likely someone’s pet. He certainly didn’t get a pirate’s peg leg strapped onto his front paw on his own.”
“Killer,” I whisper, triggering a low, threatening sound from the kennel.
“You know him?” Sheila asks, hope lifting her tone.
I nod as I straighten. “I do. I mean, vaguely. I used to go to elementary school with his owner. I ran into her and Killer at the Ren Faire on Saturday. She had him dressed like a pirate. He was so pissed; he chewed through his lead and ran off.”
“But you know her name?” Sheila asks. “And you can get her on the phone? If we can verify that he’s had his shots, that’ll save the shelter the cost of holding Killer for observation and spare me the stress of wondering if my squishy, animal-loving heart has finally earned me a round of rabies shots.”
I wince again and shudder. “Oh God, no. Don’t think about that. I’ll track her down and get her to bring Killer’s shot records with her to pick him up. I won’t release him to her without them.”
“Well, don’t be too hard on her,” Sheila says. “If she says he’s up to date with his shots, that’s good enough for me. Especially if she promises never to dress him up in anything he can’t wiggle out of on his own again. I know people think putting a pet in a costume is harmless, but in a situation like this, when they run off and are all alone, it could lead to some bad outcomes. He definitely couldn’t hunt or properly defend himself against a predator with one paw shoved in a peg leg.”
I hum low in my throat. “I love your good heart, Sheila, but this woman isn’t the type you trust to do the right thing. She’s honestly kind of awful. If she doesn’t bring the shot records, she’s not getting the cat.” I prop my hands on my hips, sighing as I glance back at the crate. “Honestly, I wouldn’t turn Killer over to her again at all, but it doesn’t seem like he’s the easiest cat to get along with. And black cats are so hard to place.”
“Agreed. Though that always makes me sad. Black cats aren’t any more evil or unlucky than I am.” Killer lets out another ominous growl-moan-yowl and Sheila adds, “Okay, buddy. Maybe you’re a little more evil, but you’re still not a bad guy. I’d be cranky if I’d been out in the woods alone for two days in a janky pirate costume, too. Let’s get you some food and water while Starling tracks down your mom. Come on, sweetheart.” She bends to grab the carrier’s handle, lifting a hand at someone behind me as she moves. “Morning, Christian.”
“Morning,” Christian says as I turn to watch him bound onto the porch, a spring in his step that makes me think I’m not the only one who woke up with a happy orgasm hangover this morning. He glances between us as Shelia unlocks the front door. “What did I miss?”
“Killer, the pirate cat from the Ren Faire crashed Sheila’s campsite this morning,” I say, motioning toward the crate. “He’s in there.”
“No way,” Christian says. “You aren’t giving him back to that demon woman and her dumb sidekick, are you?”
“We don’t have much of a choice, not if we want Killer to have a home,” I say, explaining the reasoning behind the decision as we all head inside. Sheila goes to get Killer settled in the back room while Christian and I head into the breakroom.
He starts making coffee, nodding toward the to-go cup in my hand as he arranges the filter. “Too good for my coffee this morning?”
“Just craving a treat,” I say, leaning against the counter beside him. “I think I might be a hedonist. The more pleasure I get, the more I crave.”
He exhales a long slow breath as he studies me from the corner of his eyes. “I hear that. My naughty wife was even naughtier in my dreams last night.”
“Oh yeah? Interesting.” I bite my lip, dying to ask him for more details. But we’re at work and the first rule of sex club is you don’t talk about sex club.
Well, the first rule is actually no sex in our homes and the second is no sex out of character, but not talking about what we get up to after dark is definitely a good idea. Talking out of class is a good way to get caught—and to make sure I get nothing done all day except daydreaming about Christian’s pelvic sorcery.
“I’m going to go track down Raney. You take point on the social media plan for the week?” I ask, digging my nails into my palm to keep from reaching out to squeeze Christian’s ass on my way past him. “Touch base with you later.”
“Will do, boss,” he says, the way he says the last word enough to make me stop at the door to the offices and glance back at him over my shoulder.
He grins a wide, shameless grin that seems to say, “I can’t help it if everything I say sounds a little dirty.”
I fight a smile and shake my head, doing my best to be stern, but who am I kidding? I’m about as stern as a limp noodle and too well-bedded to get upset about anything right now.
Though, I’m sure Raney will do her best to change that…
Thanks to her insults the other day, tracking her down is relatively easy. I simply call around to the various nail salons in my “rich bitch” college town. At the third one I try, the receptionist says, “Yeah, Raney’s here. Let me grab her for you.”
Raney hops on the line a moment later with a chipper, friendly sounding, “Hey there, what’s up? I don’t have many openings today, but I have tons of openings tomorrow.”
“I’m not looking for an appointment,” I say. “This is Starling Baxter.”
“Oh,” she says, her tone going sullen and sour. “What do you want?”
“I work at the animal shelter in Bad Dog. We have your cat. My boss found him in the woods while she was camping last night.”
“Oh my God, thank God.” Raney exhales a relieved-sounding breath. “I thought he was lost or had been run over or something. I haven’t slept a wink since Saturday night. I was so worried. Is he okay? He’s not hurt, is he?”
“No, he’s fine,” I say, my heart softening toward her a tiny bit. She’s the literal worst, but she seems to truly love her cat. It gives me hope she might be responsive to Sheila’s lecture about not dressing Killer up in anything that might put him in danger if he runs off again. “We’re feeding him now and we’ll hold him at the shelter until you can pick him up.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I’m off work,” she says. “Probably around four o’clock, once I drive down there.”
“Perfect, we’ll be here until five,” I say. “Oh, and bring his shot records when you come or we won’t be able to release him today. He bit one of our staff members. If we don’t have proof that he’s been vaccinated for rabies, we’ll have to hold him for observation.”
“He’s vaccinated and on heartworm meds and everything,” Raney says. “I’ll bring his records, though. I know where they are. I’ll have Blinky bring them to me during my lunch break.”
“Sounds good, see you then,” I say, about to hang up when Raney blurts out, “Thank you. Thank you so much. He’s really important to me.”
“Yeah, no worries,” I say, deciding the lecture about costumes can wait and is probably better coming from Sheila, anyway. “Glad we found him and happened to know who he belonged to.”
“Yeah, me, too,” she says. “Really glad.”
We end the call and I forget about Raney for the rest of the day. I’m too busy making calls to find a venue for our Halloween “trick or treat with your pet” fundraiser, looking innocent as Sheila enlists my help in brainstorming how Stinkerbelle might have gotten out of her kennel, and doing my best not to straddle Christian in his desk chair to spare a thought for my nemesis.
But when she shows up at exactly four on the dot, my stomach cramps in distress as I watch her cross the parking lot outside the office window. “Ugh. There she is,” I say to Christian, closing my laptop. “Guess I should go help Sheila out. Just in case Raney decides to show her mean side again.”
“Stay strong,” he says. “And holler if you need backup.”
“Will do,” I say, my chest warming as I pass his desk and he reaches out to give me a fist bump.
I love the working relationship we have now. It’s hard to believe we were ever at odds or that Christian once referred to me as “an agent of chaos.”
I guess I grew on him over time.
He’s certainly grown on me.
Even facing down an interaction with one of my least favorite people on earth, I’m happier than I’ve been in ages. I’ve never been an un happy person, per se, but having a garbage relationship with my boyfriend for years did put a damper on my upbeat nature. Now, for the first time, I can imagine how much more blissful a good relationship could make my life and it is…tempting.
What if Christian and I could be more than a fling? What if we could find a way to make this work without rules and games and playing pretend?
It’s not what we agreed on, but maybe, if things go as well as I expect them to on our sex-cation at the cabin, I could put the possibility out there…
See what Christian thinks about it…
He’ll shut you down. Then, he’ll shut down sexy playtime, and you’ll miss out on all the banging you could have been doing for the next few weeks, the fearful voice in my head assures me. Or best-case scenario, he agrees to give dating a try, then dumps you three months later, just like he’s dumped every other woman in town. He is who he is, and he never pretended to be anyone different. Remember, like Maya Angelou said—when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.
The inner voice is right. I should enjoy this for what it is instead of wishing for something more.
Pushing thoughts of how nice it would be to have Christian’s back—and to know he has mine—for the long haul, I hurry down the hall to the door to adoption room one, a private space where people can spend time with a potential pet one-on-one. Sheila is already there with Killer, still in his crate, and Raney is settling into the small sofa on the right side of the room as I swing inside.
“Hey, welcome to Furry Friends,” I say, forcing a polite smile for Raney, who looks much less smug than she did this past weekend. But she’s on my turf now, without her boyfriend to back her up. Luckily for her, I’m not the kind of person to press a home court advantage. “Ready to see your fur baby?”
“So ready,” Raney says, rubbing her palms anxiously on her acid-washed jeans. “I hope he isn’t mad at me. Killer is the sweetest, but boy can he hold a grudge. The one time Blinky and I left him by himself overnight to go to my stepsister’s wedding, he didn’t talk to us for a week. He was so pissed. Even though we gave him tons of food and put on that smooth jazz channel he likes while we were gone.”
“My dogs love jazz, too,” Sheila says warmly. “Killer might be a little stressed out from his time in the woods, but we’ll just sip our tea and give him time to come out of the crate on his own. What kind of tea do you prefer, Raney? I have Earl Grey, orange ginger, or chamomile.”
“The chamomile smells like feet, though,” I whisper, earning a good-natured eye roll from Sheila and an uncertain smile from Raney, as if she can’t tell if I’m making a joke at her expense. “Seriously,” I say. “I steer clear of the chamomile, but it can be soothing if you can tolerate the stink.”
“I’ll do the orange ginger then, I guess,” Raney says, glancing between us. “Thanks.”
“Same for me, please, Sheila,” I say.
“Perfect,” she says, gently unlatching the clasp on the crate sitting on the floor about five feet from the sofa and letting it swing open on its own. “I’ll go get that and be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
As the door closes behind her, Raney let’s out a soft sobbing sound. I look back to see her eyes filled with tears.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head, clearly fighting the tears. “I feel like shit. My baby’s scared to come out of that crate and be with me and it’s all my fault. I’m the one who put him in that costume and made him run off. I could tell he didn’t like it, but he looked so fucking cute, and there was a five-hundred-dollar prize for best pet costume…” She sniffs and shakes her head. “I could just slap myself. What if he’d been hurt out there in the woods? Or killed? He’s a house cat. He’s never been outside before, not even to play in the backyard. Blinky’s a big bird watcher and doesn’t want to put the bird population at risk.”
Wow. That’s not what I expected from Raney.
Or Blinky.
Maybe my old nemesis has a softer, gentler side, after all.
Coming to perch on the arm of the sofa beside her, I say, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes and it’s obvious you care a lot about him.”
“I do,” she rushes to assure me as we both watch the open crate and the ball of angry black fur crouched stubbornly at the back of it.
“He knows that. Just give him time. He’ll come around.” I turn to face her more fully. “I bet if we just chat and relax with our tea, he’ll feel left out and want to come join the fun.”
“I’m not a big tea drinker,” she says. “But it was cool of her to offer. She seems like a real nice lady. She your boss?”
“Kind of. We work in different departments, but she’s been here a lot longer. I absolutely defer to her expertise. She’s really sweet and would do anything for a furry friend in need. Killer couldn’t have asked for a better rescuer.”
Raney’s shoulders relax away from her ears. “I’m so glad she found him.” She glances past me before fixing her gaze on my face with more intensity than before. “Before she gets back, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for saying that mean shit at the fair. There’s nothing wrong with you. Your ex is an asshole and you’re better off without him. He treated my friend like garbage, too. You’ve definitely leveled up with Christian McGuire.”
I’m about to assure her Christian and I are just friends, and he was only being protective on Saturday, when she pushes on in a softer voice, “But be careful with him, too, okay? I’ve heard some rumors about his bike shop. Bad rumors. I don’t know if he’s mixed up in the sketchy shit going down there or not, but if he is, he isn’t safe for you to be hanging around. You could get into trouble for just being his girl, you know. And I don’t want that for you. You’re a good person. I’ve always known that.” She glances down at the floor with a self-conscious shrug. “I was just jealous when we were kids. That’s why I did the things I did to you. But I always thought you were nice, and you proved that today. You could have kept the fact that your boss found Killer a secret and let him be adopted by someone else. But you didn’t and…that means a lot to me.”
“Of course. Truce?” I ask.
When she glances up from the floor, I offer her a real smile.
She nods, her lips curving, too. “Yeah. Truce. Why keep old enemies when you can make new friends, right?”
“Right,” I agree. I’m about to ask her more about Christian’s shop—what she’s heard is happening there and why I should be careful—but Killer chooses that moment to dash from his crate, straight into Raney’s lap.
“Oh my God, you scared me, psycho.” She giggles as she hugs the giant cat, who instantly rolls onto his back, yowling and chewing on her hands.
But he doesn’t break the skin or hurt Raney, and in a few seconds, he’s purring with his big eyes narrowed into happy slits. Then Sheila comes in and we’re all trying to balance tea and playing with a catnip mouse and before I know it, Raney is headed out the door with Killer on his leash—looking much happier to be there now that he’s not wearing an eye patch or peg leg—and the moment has passed.
I could call Raney at work again and see if she’s willing to talk more, but I decide I’d rather go straight to the source.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Christian is on the right side of the law, but maybe he has an idea what Raney’s talking about. Maybe there’s a guy with a bad reputation working at the shop or he’s heard rumors, too, and knows what they’re about.
If not, I can always reach back out to Raney later. But for now, I trust Christian way more than my old childhood nemesis, even if we are newfound friends.
With that in mind, I craft a short note and drop it by Christian’s desk on my way to the bathroom— Need to talk to you in private re: some gossip I heard about your bike shop. Meet me at my place around 5:30 with Bella? We can hang out in the backyard, let the animals play, have a beer and chat? No funny stuff, I promise.
When I get back to my desk, Christian is still hard at work, but there’s a small note tucked beneath my keyboard— Sounds good. And I have a confession to make while we’re there. Nothing I intended to do but your note got me thinking and… Well, let’s just say a little “begging for your forgiveness and making amends” might be in order.
Intrigued, I cut a glance his way, but he’s on the phone, chatting up a donor interested in sponsoring a puppy bowl team for the Superbowl fundraiser in February. I force my attention back to my own work, but I’d be lying if I said my mind wasn’t racing with possibilities.
What on earth could he need to beg my forgiveness for?
What kind of amends are we talking about?
And is it okay if a wicked part of me plans on requesting sexual favors instead of whatever act of contrition he has in mind?
I decide that as long as I request the favors take place somewhere other than my house or his, it’s just fine. Christian has made it clear that most sexual things are on the table.
It’s just one of the many things I’m coming to really, really like about him.
Thoughts filling with a role-playing fantasy involving a college student failing to live up to his potential (Christian) and a naughty professor intent on bringing out the best in him on the couch in her office (me), I pass the time until the end of the day in my own happy little bubble, clueless as to the series of kinkily unfortunate events already unraveling behind the scenes…