21. Bruce
CHAPTER 21
brUCE
I gape at the lacy piece of fabric in my dog’s mouth.
Could that be…?
Yep. Based on the blush spreading over Lilly’s face, that’s her underwear.
I repeat, lucky dog.
She dashes to get her undies, but Colossus decides he wants to keep them and escapes her grabbing hands.
“Please,” she says. “Give that back.”
He wags his tail but doesn’t let go of the panties.
She’s clearly distressed because the solution is pretty obvious here, and I’m not even a dog trainer.
Leaping to my feet, I walk up to the fridge and open it.
Just like that, Colossus releases the panties and rushes over to check what I’m about to pull out.
With a satisfied smirk, I get his food and set it on the floor.
As usual, he attacks it like his survival depends on this meal.
Lilly leaps for her underwear, but I catch a better look at it before she stashes it in her pocket.
It’s a thong.
Fuck. That must be why her ass looked so good in those yoga pants.
And… I’m hard again. I sit back down at the table to hide it.
“That was a good idea,” she mutters as she gets her lunch and sets it near me. “Thank you.”
I was just about to chastise her about the choking hazard she created for my dog, but something about her rosy cheeks makes me swallow the criticism—along with a forkful of sweet potato mash.
“You still okay if I eat here?” she asks.
I nod, my mouth full.
“How are you liking the game?” she asks.
“Addictive,” I reply, “but not as good as the source material. Speaking of, what do you think of the book?”
“I’ll admit, it’s great. But I’m not sure I want to even compare it to the game.”
“Right,” I say. “Because it would win.”
She rolls her eyes. “Because it’s like comparing apples and oranges.”
“I don’t get that idiom,” I say. “Apples are better, obviously.”
“That’s the New Yorker in you talking,” she says. “As a native Floridian, I’m contractually obligated to prefer oranges.”
The conversation devolves into another New York versus Florida fight, but this one is less heated than before.
We’re interrupted by Mrs. Campbell, who walks into the room carrying a stack of green squares.
“Ah, the lick mats,” Lilly says. “Colossus will finally be able to savor a meal.”
Curious, I let Lilly spread a little bit of peanut butter on one of the mats and hand it to the puppy as a test.
Interesting. It takes him a couple of minutes to do what usually would take a single heartbeat, and he seems to enjoy it rather than be frustrated, which I had feared.
Once again, Lilly was right.
I might just trust her from now on—when it comes to dog matters, that is. Either way, it’s a rarity for me.
“Can I ask you something private?” Lilly asks, blushing again.
“You can ask,” I surprise myself by saying. “I don’t have to answer.”
She waves her fork dismissively. “Forget it.”
“I don’t think I will be able to at this point,” I say. “Just go ahead and ask me.” And since when does she pretend to have tact?
She looks to the ceiling as if for divine help. “I already regret bringing it up.”
“Bringing what up?” And why does my blood pressure always spike when she’s around me?
“Fine.” She bites her lip. “Does misophonia make it hard for you to date?”
I frown. Maybe it was a mistake to insist. Still, for some reason, I feel compelled to say, “People can date without having to eat together. There are museums. Opera. Golf.” Am I overdoing it on activities people consider rich people clichés?
“You’re right,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
I blow out a breath. “No. I know what you mean. I imagine it would be a problem in a serious relationship, especially after moving in together or something like that. None of mine have been serious so far, and I’ve been able to meet women who are willing to put up with a few eccentricities—especially when they get gifts that involve diamonds.”
She rolls her eyes at that last bit—as I expected she might. There’s definitely a socialist streak in her, or whatever you call people who don’t like the wealthy.
“So…” she says cautiously. “Your current girlfriend has never seen you eat?”
I put my fork down. “My current girlfriend?” What sort of imaginary creature is that?
“Colossus’s original mom,” she says sheepishly. “You know… the woman from the video call.”
“Angela?”
She nods.
I chuckle. “She’s my sister—and it’s The Witcher that I’m a fan of, not Game of Thrones .”
Lilly’s cheeks flush once more, and I fight the odd urge to peck one. “Now that you say it, that makes so much more sense. Why else would you adopt her dog?”
“Don’t get me started on that last one. She’s my sister, yet I’m still not sure why I said yes.”
She glances down. “I think I do.”
If she means the puppy is too cute to resist, she might have a point—not that I’m ready to admit that out loud. Especially not when the little troublemaker is listening. That way lie the most spoiled of dogs.
“What about you?” I ask.
She bats her thick eyelashes. “What about me?”
Nice try. “Does being a socialist interfere with your dating life?”
She snorts. “There’s not much of a dating life to speak of.”
Why do I like the sound of that?
“Nothing serious?” I clarify. “Ever?”
Wait. I should take that back. At work, the head of HR would tell me such questions are inappropriate.
What’s worse is she’s frowning—a rarity for her.
“I’ve only had one serious boyfriend,” she says before I can backpedal. “But things ended badly.”
My food suddenly loses all flavor. “What did he do?” And—completely unrelatedly—how much do assassins charge these days?
My tone must be rougher than I intend because she draws back. “He didn’t hurt me or anything like that—if that’s what you think. He had a short fuse, so we fought in front of my dog a lot—who reacted just like Colossus did when you and I argued the other day.”
Feeling a bite of guilt at the memory, I toss the dog a slice of cucumber from my salad—which he gladly devours.
“But then,” she continues, “when Roach got sick?—”
“Hold on,” I say. “You dated someone named Roach?”
It would be too neat of a coincidence, considering the guy sounds like someone I’d want to squash.
“No. That’s my late dog’s name,” she says. “My ex’s name was Ennis.”
That doesn’t sound all that much better—as it’s one ‘p’ added and one ‘n’ removed from “penis,” which is what this guy sounds like. Or more accurately, a dick.
Then it hits me. “Roach is a reference to the Witcher’s horse, right?” She really is as much of a fan of the game as I am of the books.
She nods. “So, as I started to say, when Roach needed surgery, Ennis thought it was a waste of money. We had a huge fight, and I finally ended things with him.”
My hand clenches over my fork. “What kind of a man puts money ahead of a dog’s life?”
“Spoken like a rich guy,” she says.
“Touché. So what happened?”
“I decided it was worth spending the money on the surgery, and thanks to that, Roach went on to live another two wonderful years. Best money I’ve ever spent.”
“I’m going to talk to my mother,” I say firmly. “She might be interested in opening a fund that provides money for people who need it for medical care of a loved one, be they four-legged or human.”
Her eyes light up. “Great idea. I’ve actually read about your parents’ philanthropy. I think it’s one of the more admirable things that the wealthy do.”
Did Karl Marx think so too? I wonder what she’d think about my own philanthropic project—the one I’ve only recently felt ready to tackle.
She’ll probably think I’m bragging, so it’s best not to go into it.
“It’s not my parents, plural,” I say instead. “It’s my mother who drives the philanthropy. Speaking of my parents—they’re coming here. Angela too. With her actual boyfriend. Who isn’t me.”
“Har har. But wow. That’s so exciting.”
“Spoken like someone from a normal family.”
She nearly chokes on her mashed potatoes. “You think my family is normal? On our last beach trip, my mom shaved my dad’s chest hair into the shape of a bra. As in, he walked around looking like he was wearing a bikini made out bear fur.”
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “A few years back, my dad’s best friend had a hangover and requested a Tylenol. As a prank, my dad gave him this special four-hundred-dollar pill instead, one that makes excrement look like it’s made of gold.” Her eyes widen, so I go on. “And if that’s not enough, my mother built an ER in my parents’ home.”
“Wait,” Lilly says, sounding faux shocked. “You don’t have an ER on this estate?”
Now I’m full-on grinning. “You’re right. That’s a horrible oversight on my part. If I were to have a heart attack, I’d have to go to the same hospital as the hoi polloi.”
She arches one of her mighty eyebrows. “Hoi polloi?”
“It means the masses.” Or the proletariat, as her comrades would call it.
She shudders theatrically. “Oh, no. You mean the filthy wretches that dwell in the ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine percent? You wouldn’t want to mix with the likes of them .”
“This might be a good segue for something that we’re doing this afternoon,” I say. Initially, I was going to send her to do this by herself, but now I’m in the mood to join for some reason.
“Are we mainlining caviar?” she asks. “Or turning poop into diamonds?”
I shake my head. “We’re going to the zoo.”
“Oh. But what about all the hoi polloi there?”
“Not going to be a problem today,” I say. “I booked the whole place.”
She gapes at me. “Why?”
I gesture at the dog—who is, as always, sitting under foot and silently willing one of us to drop a morsel from our plates. “You said he needs to socialize with animals.”
“Animals that he could meet in real life, like a cat or a squirrel. Not lions.”
I shrug. “I figure if he’s okay with a lion, he’ll be calm if he meets a cat. And if he’s cool with seeing a capybara, no other rodent will frighten him, be it a squirrel or a New York rat.”
She slowly shakes her head. “Fine, but why book the whole place?”
I narrow my eyes. “How can we control the situation if the regular patrons are there?”
“I guess that makes some warped kind of sense... in a universe where you’re trying to spend as much money as possible.”
“Should we not go?” Even asking the question makes me feel disappointed for some reason.
“Can you get a refund?” she asks.
“Of course not. The place is already empty.”
“In that case.” She looks down at Colossus with a toothy grin. “We’re headed to the zoo.”