Chapter Thirteen
Camden
I stop at the pet store on the way home.
Dot’s order covered the basics, but I’ve never had a pet—and I fully intend to spoil Soot rotten.
Bonus: the store’s hosting a pop-up vet clinic, so she gets a checkup and shots before she even sets foot in the condo.
By the time I pull up, I’ve acquired a new mushroom-themed cat tree, a ten-pack of jangly catnip-laced mice, one of those shindigs with the stick and the feathers, and a laser pointer.
The condo feels too quiet when I walk in—no Dot humming, no dogs snoring. Just me and the soft scrape of Soot’s crate on the tile.
I leave her to it while I erect the cat tree. Soot tiptoes out to inspect her new home. When she’s not being harassed, she’s a curious little critter. I watch her from the corner of my eye as she peruses the accommodations, sniffing here and there as she goes.
“That had better be good enough for now,” I tell her.
I go to the fridge for a beer, despite the relatively early hour.
After the last few days, I think I’ve earned it.
I flop onto the couch and sigh. Dogs are cute, but the quiet of my apartment and my new roommate are a welcome relief.
My head’s buzzing from too many miles, too much adrenaline, too much almost. I’m grateful for the quiet, but the quiet makes me miss her more.
Soot sniffs the cat tree, meows once, and trots over to the sofa. In one smooth leap, she jumps onto the couch. Another hop puts her right in my lap.
“Hey, there.” I tickle her chin. “You want some lovins, huh?”
Soot climbs up onto my chest and kneads at the material, purring all the while.
“Do you think Dot’s thinking about us right now? I mean… she’s definitely thinking about you. Do you think she misses me?”
Soot yawns.
“Yeah, I know. I’m a broken record.”
A knock on the door makes us both jump. Soot’s back arches.
“It’s okay. No reason to worry.” I cradle her in one arm—I am not foolish enough to let another animal escape through an open door—and go to answer.
Geo’s lips purse when he sees Soot. “Finally getting some pussy, I see.”
“She bites, sheds, and has zero interest in me. You and she will get along great.” I roll my eyes at him even as I usher him through the door. “This is Soot. A little souvenir from the trip I took with Dot.”
“My parents brought back a souvenir from their honeymoon. Nine months later. It was me.” George wiggles his eyebrows. “Any chance…?”
“Hell, no. There was none of that, and if there had been, I would have used a condom.” God knows there were enough of those lying around.
George’s expression is one of pure incredulity. “You had an overnight away from everyone and… nothing? Why not?”
“Because she’s still raw, and I don’t want to be another bruise that never heals,” I say quietly. “She trusts me. Anything more is… new.” I grab a second beer from the fridge, press it into his hand, and return with Soot to the sofa. “Can we talk about anything else?”
“Sure.” George uses the bottle opener on his keyring to pop the cap. He sits down next to me at an angle to get a better view. “New topic: have you asked Dot on a date yet?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
George hooks a finger behind one ear. “What was that? I didn’t hear you clearly.”
“No. I didn’t ask.”
George tuts at me. “You are such a disappointment. I have a friend in the NHL. I thought you’d be great for material. What do I get from you? Nada. Zilch. Butkus. Nothing.”
I pretend to wipe a tear from my eye. “I thought you befriended me for my personality.”
“Please. That’s barely saving you at this point. Is there a reason you haven’t asked her yet?”
“Only about a million.”
“One million reasons?” George sips his beer. “Let’s hear ‘em.”
When I was a kid, I felt like I had to blend in to be accepted. That hasn’t changed, but pretending that my brain is somewhat linear has gotten easier with time. George is one of the few people who gets access to the full brunt of my tendency to overthink things.
“Here goes.” I suck in some air before letting it all out in a rush.
“I like Dot a lot, but what if this is a bad time? Her emotions are all over the place, and she’s got her hands full with everything.
I don’t want to upset her, but what if I shoot my shot now and I put her on the spot?
Then she might decide that she doesn’t want me around, and I won’t get to see her at all.
Or what if she is into me, but in a casual way?
Like a rebound for non-romantic emotional upheaval. It’s shit timing, Geo.”
George sips his beer. “Is that all? Because that wasn’t anywhere close to a million.”
“It is if it plays through my head on loop.” I don’t tell George that the only time my thought spiral calms down is when I’m actively kissing Dot. No doubt he’d say that kissing is a sure sign that she’s interested, but I’m not convinced that she’s looking for anything serious right now.
“Look.” George sets his beer aside and clasps his hands in front of him.
“I don’t know Dot, but I know you. You’ve liked her for ages.
I get why the timing is bad, but the timing is always going to be bad by your reckoning.
Asking her out is a risk, and in my humble opinion, it’s one you should have taken years ago.
Right now, she’s in distress. Later, she’ll be busy taking care of her dad.
And then getting a new job. And one of these days, she’s going to meet someone who likes her enough to make a move, and you’ll be left alone. You get what I’m saying?”
“I get it,” I mumble.
“Great.” George claps his hands. “And with that, I’m out. I have a show later, and since you refuse to be the menace to society that I had once hoped, I need to scrounge up some other material.”
When the door clicks shut, Soot crawls back onto my chest. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Timing sucks. But she’s mine to wait for.”
* * *
I’ve been apart from Dot for less than twenty-four hours, and it’s occurred to me that my separation anxiety is almost as bad as Skinbad’s.
I want an excuse to call or text, but is it too soon?
Will she think I’m needy? Some women find that off-putting.
Sometimes I wish my brain worked differently and I could be as confident as Viktor or as smooth as Bowen.
“I’ve got it,” I tell Soot at lunchtime. “I’m going to go check on my parents’ house. Bring in their mail. Make sure there are no leaky pipes or anything.”
Soot yawns. She has no patience for my shenanigans.
When I drive by Dot’s house, though, Coach’s car is missing. Is she visiting him, or taking the dogs to the vet? I could text and ask, but there’s no good way to explain that I just happened to be driving by and just happened to notice that her dad’s car was gone.
I’m a pathetic stalker. Yup. That’s me.
I pull into my parents’ driveway to do what I came here, in theory, to accomplish. I’m gathering the mail when Cash steps outside a few doors down.
On impulse, I lift my hand and start walking toward him. Cash swears and whips around, as if to go back inside.
“Cash!” I break into a jog. “Do you have a sec?”
“No. I’m busy. I need to, uh.” He blinks a few times. “Aw, hell. What do you want?”
“I just… I need some advice.”
Cash drags one hand across his face. “Does your father not have a phone?”
I shake my head. “Not once have I called my father that he hasn’t answered on speaker phone.”
“So?”
“So, this is not the kind of conversation I want to have on speaker phone.”
Cash crosses his arms. “But you’re okay with having it on my front lawn.”
I gesture to the empty street. “Yes? Unless my mom’s somehow listening to this, in which case, I have questions.”
“Ugh. Can I talk you out of it?”
I tilt my head. I don’t know Cash as well as some of the other neighbors from my childhood, but Knight always said that his dad gave good advice. Besides, he cares enough about Dot that he called Knight to make sure she was okay. Plus, Coach and Cash are friends. He might have insight that I don’t.
“No,” I decide.
Cash flings himself down in the chair and points to the empty swing. “Dammit. Fine. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
I lower myself onto the swing. “So… I’m sure you saw me leave with Dot the other day. When you were… um… outside with your hose.”
He gives a single sharp nod. “Yes.”
“Well, we went to get some dogs for Coach. You might have, um, heard them barking.”
“Eh, they’re not too bad. And Ranger will like ‘em.” Cash sucks his teeth and looks toward the heavens. “The little one looks like Nudie. I still remember the day Ranger found that mongrel wandering the streets. Speaking of which. You know what I like about Ranger?”
I shake my head.
“That man respects my grass.” Cash’s eyes snap back to my face. “And my privacy. Any chance we could move this story along?”
“Dot and I hit a few snafus on the trip, so we had to stay overnight.”
“Let me guess.” Cash arches one eyebrow. “You spent the night in a seedy motel, but decided not to do the deed.”
“Uh.” I grip the chains that hold the swing up. “Yes?”
“A tale as old as time.” Cash nods to himself.
Shit, Knight was right. His dad’s a mind reader. I lean forward, eager to hear his advice. “It wasn’t just the motel. Dot told me she’d never, you know. Done it before. And since I’ve never done it before either…”
I swear to God, Cash does a spit-take. He’s not even holding a drink. It’s a little alarming.
“You okay?” I ask.
Cash sputters and thumps his chest with a fist. “Peachy, but wait. Back the fuck up. You’ve never done it before?”
“See, my dad already knew that part.” I fidget in the swing. “I’ve been holding out.”
“For what? The planets to align? The second coming?” He pauses. “Guess that would make it the first coming, heh.”
“Dot. I’ve been waiting for Dot. I want it to be special. I don’t know how to make it special enough for her. She deserves… everything.”
Cash slumps in his chair, stunned. The craggy, crotchety demeanor he’s so carefully cultivated is gone. I’ve thrown him for a loop. “I see. You’ve been carrying a torch for her for a while.”
“For as long as I can remember. I’ve liked her since middle school, at least, but she was my very first friend. First crush. And I want her to be my first.” And last, I think, but I make myself pump the brakes before uttering that aloud.
He whistles. “Wow. Okay. And what’s wrong with your place?”
I shake my head. “Everyone always pops into my place. Do you know Viktor Abbott and his lack of healthy boundaries?”
“Point taken. And Dot…” Cash begins.
“Lives at Coach’s… and we can’t do it at Coach’s. Ew.”
“Got it. If only we lived in a city with a whole bunch of fancy hotels. Oh, wait.” He smirks at me. “We do.”
True, but that’s not the only problem. As George so kindly reminded me earlier, I haven’t even asked her on a date yet. “How do I choose? And how do I bring it up without sounding skeezy?”
Cash sighs. He braces his hands on his thighs, a sure sign that he’s preparing to get up and end the conversation. “You’re overthinking this. Let’s make a deal. I will hook you up. And we will never speak of this again.”
I think of my romantic dinner reservation. It’s months away, but I haven’t managed to work my way up to popping the question. “How will I know when it’s the right time?”
“You won’t. I’ll let you know. Now go home.”
“But…”
Cash rises. He clasps my shoulder. “Kid, you need to think of this as a last call at the bar. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
At least one of us is good at making up his mind. I take my mail, wave farewell, and I go.
* * *
Half an hour after I get home, my phone buzzes. It’s a message from Cash:
All set up. Wynn @ 7, tomorrow night. They’ll be expecting you. Don’t ask questions. Goodbye forever.
Geeze, is he helping me, or threatening me? Given how fast my heart is racing, the sudden plans might do me in either way. I reply, Thank you. If it were anyone else, I’d say more, but Cash prefers brevity.
Then I open my contacts with trembling fingers to pull up Dot’s number. My palms are sweaty. My stomach’s doing weird origami.
Something visceral and boyish to reinforce that teenage-crush energy.
Me: Hey. Random question: what’s your stance on dinner? Like… official dinner. Me + you.
Delete. Too needy.
Try again:
Wynn tomorrow @ 7? No pressure. Just us. Also I acquired a cat tree that looks like a mushroom.
Delete. Why am I like this?
Soot headbutts my thumb. The cursor blinks like it’s judging me. Cash’s text sits above the thread like a dare.
Okay. Simple. True.
Me: Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night? 7 pm. I’ll pick you up at 6. P.S. I miss you.
I hover over Send, then hit it before I can chicken out. Immediate regret. I toss the phone on the cushion like it’s hot and pace three laps around the coffee table.
The phone buzzes.
Dot: You had me at dinner. 6 works. And for the record… I miss you too.
My knees go weird. I sink onto the couch, grinning at the ceiling like an idiot.
Me: Great. Dress code is “more-than-friendship bracelets.”
The typing bubbles pop up, disappear, return.
Dot: Copy that, husband. (Kidding. Mostly.) See you at 7.
I set the phone face down and press both hands over my stupid, sprinting heart. Soot curls into the crook of my arm and purrs like she knows I just did the scariest, best thing.
Tomorrow at seven. It’s on.