Six
Oliver
No. No. No. No. “No!”
The final “no”—the one that I didn’t realize I’d said out loud—wakes her up.
She jumps from the timbre of my voice, and the innocent look in those giant brown eyes makes her look like a startled deer.
I almost feel bad for waking her up. She brought a full getup this time—blanket, pillow, the works.
She’s curled facing the bottom of my door, her fingers sneaking under the door itself.
I swear if she was trying to hold the damn dog’s paw…
“You,” she growls, and my guilt evaporates. Of course my mind also takes this moment to consider how absolutely filthy this floor probably is. Does she realize that people track germs on their shoes? And who knows what else? God, I hope she takes a shower when she gets back to her apartment…
“Me?” I say, actually pointing at my chest in disbelief.
“No, no, lady, there is no universe in which I am the bad guy in this scenario,” I say somewhat harshly.
As soon as the word “lady” leaves my lips, her eyes widen like I’ve just slapped her across the face.
In the back of my mind, I’m trying to discern if “lady” is better or worse than “ma’am. ”
She stands up, ready to pounce. “Are you kidding me?”
Worse. Definitely worse.
“Ma—” Damn, since when did I say “ma’am” so much? Maybe I’m just so used to trying to sound cordial at the hospital that it’s just become a habit. “Elle—” She’s taken aback when I say her name. “Please keep your voice down. I don’t need any other tenants coming after me in the middle of the night.”
“Are you afraid of them? You’re as big as a fucking tree.
Woman up, dude,” she says, animated hand motions accompanying every word.
I take this moment when she doesn’t actively look like she’s going to lunge for my throat to notice that she’s wearing a thin t-shirt, which is a strange choice for an unheated hallway in March, but I guess it explains the blanket.
Letting her tirade wash over me, my eyes track lower.
She’s wearing pajama pants with… dogs in pajamas on them.
Her pants have dogs with pajamas on them.
Pictures of cartoon dogs of varying shapes, sizes, and colors are spread across the fabric, each wearing a unique holiday sweater. I am so not equipped to handle this.
Then there’s the fact that she’s not wearing a bra.
Mother of hell. She has dogs wearing pajamas on her pajamas and I have a full view of her boobs through her shirt.
“Are you seriously looking at my chest right now?”
Aw, fuck.
I rub my fingers so deep into my eyes it hurts. I already feel the lack of sleep getting to me, even after one night shift. This new routine is killing me.
“I really do not have the energy for this,” I mumble, taking a step toward my door. I look at my watch. 6:22. If I go inside now, I can walk Thor, do a quick twenty minutes on the treadmill and be showered and in bed by 7:30.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have the energy for anything anymore because I never get any sleep!” she snaps back.
I take the calm approach, my training guiding me to talk softly and appear reasonable, just as if I was dealing with an unstable patient. Which clearly, I am.
“To be fair,” I start, putting my hands up like I’m approaching with caution. “You are the one sleeping on the floor outside of a stranger’s apartment. You could simply invest in some earplugs. Seems like a—”
“No, no,” she interrupts, the bun on her head bobbing with every wave of her hand. “This is not a me problem. The problem is that you are the worst dog owner in the history of the planet. That poor thing is miserable when you’re gone. Don’t you feel bad at all?”
“Of course I do, but I have a job, and I think he’ll get used to it. It’s only been a few days,” I say, trying to rationalize with her and with the pang of guilt building in my chest. I do feel bad for leaving Thor, but what can I do?
“Did you get him from a shelter?” she asks. I sidestep the fact that is the first not-vile thing she’s said to me, and answer it plainly.
“My sister did, yeah,” I mumble through a yawn.
“And what do you think happened when the people who worked at the shelter went home for the night?”
“What?”
“What do you think he thought?” she asks matter-of-factly.
“I don’t—” What do I think he thought? Thor? She wants me to put myself in the dog’s head? I don’t even know how to respond to that.
“Do you think maybe he thought no one was going to come back in the morning?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Look, I don’t have to listen to this—” 6:26. This girl is messing with my schedule. I realize she doesn’t know or understand how much my schedule means to me, but my brain does. And if my schedule is off, then my sleep will be off, and… I like my schedule.
“Yes, you do. And you have to let me meet him,” she demands.
“Um, no?”
“Yes, because the poor thing has heard us talking and I’m not done yelling at you, so open the damn door.”
“So I can listen to more yelling? Sign me up,” I drawl.
“Oh, just do it!” she whines, stomping her foot.
She takes a step closer to me and folds her arms across her chest. I try to ignore the way the hairs on my arms stand up once she moves in.
I look at her and run my eyes up and down her body, sizing up if she’s actually going to stay there.
This girl is a real pain-in-the-ass, but she’s determined. I’ll give her that.
“Oh, oh, I’m convinced!” I mock, raising my hands in surrender before rolling my eyes. Still, she makes no move to step out of my personal space.
“Wow, isn’t it exhausting being such an asshole all the time? I’m surprised you have to tire yourself out on the treadmill every night.”
I shake my head in disbelief. I’m really trying to be the bigger man here, but she is making it hard. Part of me admires Elle. She is clearly someone who cares so deeply that she is willing to sleep outside my door to comfort a dog she’s never met. But is she also a little crazy? Sure.
I watch her tighten her arms around her chest and rub one tricep with her palm. She’s cold. She’s laying outside my door in a freezing cold hallway because she feels bad for my dog. I never thought I’d have this particular problem in my life. But man, this girl makes it really hard to hate her.
I push past her, kicking her pillow and blanket to the side and jam the key into my door. I don’t want her to think that she’s won, but I also want to get her inside to warm up. Thor greets us both at the door, his tail wagging, butt-wiggling, and whining like a pig.
I decide not to comment on the fact that the little traitor completely sidesteps me to get to Elle. He is definitely not getting cream cheese off of my bagel tomorrow. Today? What is time anymore?
When the door closes behind her, Elle takes in my apartment before dropping to the floor and giving Thor all of her attention.
“Hello, my friend! How are you?” Her voice goes through varying levels of high pitch squeals as she rubs every inch of Thor, who soaks it up like he’s never been given a minute of attention in his life.
She sits down and Thor does a somersault into her lap, letting her scratch his chest and belly as his legs go limp.
“Oh, did that mean man leave you alone again? He is the worst,” Elle says, baby-talking Thor as he licks her nose.
“I hate to break up this love fest, but Thor does have to go outside and some of us would like to go to bed,” I say, leaning against the counter, trying to save any energy I have to get this crazy lady out of my apartment. 6:29. Dammit.
Elle rolls her eyes at me but makes no move to leave. “Why did you name him Thor?”
“He’s my sister’s dog,” I say, crossing my arms. “My sister—who does not think anything through—adopted him about a month before deciding to move to Italy for a year. The same sister probably thought he was going to be really big, hence, the name.”
She looks up at me, pursing her lips—which are a bit mesmerizing. She really is beautiful. Shrill and a total nag, but beautiful. Part of me, maybe a big part, regrets that we got off on the wrong foot.
“What kind of work do you do?” she asks plainly.
I wish I had the balls to say, “It’s none of your business,” but I opt for the truth.
“I’m an internal medicine resident at Mount Sinai,” I say. “And you?”
“I’m a book editor,” she says with a wave of her hand, as if that could make her words less significant.
I try not to focus on the rise and fall of her chest as she takes a deep breath and gives Thor a final pat on the stomach.
She looks like she’s contemplating something.
She opens her mouth to speak several times, until she finally stands up with a sense of determination.
She takes a step toward me and I focus on maintaining eye contact with her, so my gaze doesn’t drift downward.
We’re in close enough range that she could slap me now.
She looks at me, almost like when she first opened her eyes and saw me the other night, and finally speaks.
“Look, we can’t go on like this,” Elle starts.
“Like what, exactly?”
“You’re probably not a horrible person, saving people and stuff as you do,” she adds, shrugging her shoulders. “Thanks for that by the way.” I nod my head, trying not to laugh at the way she says it so casually. “But unfortunately I have no other evidence to support that you aren’t.”
“A horrible person?” I confirm.
“Indeed,” she says, interlacing her hands in front of her. “And the well-being of a dog is at stake, a matter which I do not take likely.”
“A matter which is also none of your business,” I add.
“If it affects my sleep, it’s my business. I love sleep,” she says, widening her eyes. “Plus, you have to—if you have any heart at all—admit that you feel bad about leaving this guy alone all night.” She gestures to Thor who is sitting at her feet.
“Of course I do. I’m not a monster,” I reply.
“So you say,” she says passively. “Nevertheless, I’m left with no other choice. I have to intervene.”
“Do you?” I wince. I squint and clench my teeth, like I’m bracing for impact. She rolls her eyes at me again. Man, that is either really starting to piss me off, or really turn me on. I can’t decide which.
“So, here’s my offer,” she says, pulling back her shoulders and standing confidently. “I’ll babysit Thor while you go to work.”
“You want to watch my dog at night?”
“For free,” she says, confidently. “That is how much I love my sleep.”
“How do I know you won’t just straight-up steal him? No offense, well, maybe some offense, but you seem like a little bit of a squeeze-them-so-hard-you-choke-them level of animal lover.”
“No offense taken. But you know where I live. I’m not going anywhere with him.” She folds her hands in front of her and rocks on her feet, clearly waiting for my answer.
I take a moment to admire her when she looks down to pet Thor again.
I wish I could suggest a do-over with Elle.
A version of our relationship that doesn’t begin with her screaming at me, where I’m not the bad guy she thinks I am.
Maybe even one where I show her what it does to me when she rolls those gorgeous eyes.
I’m not sure what to say to her ridiculous proposal.
My initial answer is no, because Elle really is a stranger to me.
I shouldn’t leave my—well, Sophia’s—dog with her.
But she’s right, she does live right downstairs.
And as unreasonable as sleeping in the hallway is, it shows that she does care about animals.
I don’t think she’d hurt him. And I have to admit it would take a massive weight off my shoulders.
She must take my hesitancy as a form of agreement, because she speaks before I have a chance to.
“You can drop Thor off before your shift, bring any toys he likes and food if he doesn’t eat,” she says. I can tell she’s trying to be serious, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face.
She gives Thor a quick pat on the head, shoots me one more satisfied look, and walks out the door. Thor comes over and sits in front of me and wags his tail innocently. I’m sure the look of complete disbelief is still on my face long after she leaves.