Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Gray

My evening had been occupied by the delivery of a new mattress and obsessively checking my phone for texts.

I’d just spent three years cooped up in a place I couldn’t leave—without women and eating shitty food. And here I was, alone on a Saturday night eating crappy Chinese food in my apartment all by my lonesome self.

After checking my phone yet again, I tossed it on the couch and blew out a sigh of frustration.

I should be out at some dive bar, meeting a woman who wanted no more than a hard cock between her legs. But instead I was home being loyal to a woman who was most likely out on a fucking date.

Layla Hutton.

A part of me thought maybe my obsession would wear off once I’d gotten to see her again and say my piece after a year of having to remember what she looked like, what she smelled like.

No such luck. The woman was deep under my skin, and I couldn’t shake her—unlike the woman whose two-thousand-dollar Breville espresso machine I was currently tossing into a box to send to the local Goodwill store.

I’d expected the condo I owned and shared with Max to be empty when I walked in after a three-year absence. But it was just the opposite. She’d left everything that had been inside when I started my sentence. Even her clothes were still in the closet. Although with the amount of money she’d swindled, I’m sure it was no skin off her nose to start over on her collection of fine goods.

Since my afternoon had been light, I’d decided to go on a cleaning spree—basically getting rid of all her shit. I didn’t care if it was new or something I could use. I wanted everything she’d brought into my life gone.

The hallway to my penthouse was now filled with boxes and bags of donations.

Prada shoes.

Hermes bags.

Cartier sunglasses.

Max had expensive taste. I’d probably be donating over fifty grand worth of overpriced crap. But the purge of the remnants of my life with her was worth any price.

Throwing out a KitchenAid mixer she’d bought and never used, I looked around my half-empty apartment. Out with the old, in with the new. Other than the new mattress I’d had delivered today, there wasn’t much I had the urge to replace right away.

I wasn’t sure if Max had picked up the unopened, thirty-year-old bottle of scotch I currently had my eye on, but hey, I’d get rid of it tonight—after it was empty.

I took a seat in my favorite beat-up old leather chair, which sat across from a designer couch, and sipped the aged liquor while staring out at the city. My Tribeca condo overlooked lower Manhattan from the living room and had a view of the Hudson River from my bedroom. The city was dark, but the crisp, bright skyline illuminated the evening. The more I stared at it, the more I found myself wondering where Layla was tonight.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think winning her back would be quick and easy. But the thought of her out there with some other guy wasn’t something I would be able to handle for very long. Even if I couldn’t have her, I needed to find a way to make sure no one else did either.

My phone buzzed from where I’d tossed it on the couch. Looking at my watch, it was a little after eleven, so I figured it was likely one of my business partners. They both lived on the west coast and never slept either.

But a little sunshine peeked from the dark horizon when I saw Layla’s name on my screen.

Layla: I’m sorry to hear about Etta. Of course I’ll help her.

I rattled the ice in my glass, deciding on a response. I’d done well not making contact lately, giving her the room to figure out we weren’t done yet on her own. While Etta’s situation was not something I’d ever be happy about, just seeing Layla’s text response brought me some relief that she hadn’t decided to cut me off completely.

Gray: Thank you.

I couldn’t stop myself from sending another one.

Gray: It’s late. Just get in?

Layla: Yes.

Gray: Date?

I watched the dots jump around, then stop, then start again.

Layla: Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I was out with Oliver.

The thought of her out with another man should have pissed me off, but instead I smiled to myself and tossed back the remainder of my drink.

No sleepover. That’s my girl.

I texted back.

Gray: I haven’t been getting laid either.

She went radio silent for a full five minutes. Perhaps I’d pushed it too far. Teasing over text isn’t the same as in person. I raked my fingers through my hair and texted again.

Gray: Sorry. Was joking around.

Another ten minutes went by, but this time, I watched the dots jump and stop. Jump and stop. Jump and stop. Clearly, something was on her mind, and she had reservations about sharing it with me. I was just about to text again when her response arrived.

Layla: You’re ruining my chance of having a nice, normal relationship.

Shit.

I started to text back and then thought better of it. Instead, I hit call. She picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” she breathed out.

One word, and I knew she was feeling more emotional than angry. I needed to tread softly.

“I missed your voice.”

“You missed it after a week?” she said. “You didn’t hear it for a full year and did just fine.”

I lifted my bare feet up onto the coffee table in front of me. “Ah. But I did hear your voice. I reread your letters every day. Pretty sure some of them are memorized by now. In my head, I heard your voice saying all the things you wrote in them.”

“Perhaps you should dig them out if you still have them. You can use them when you feel the need, rather than call me.”

I chuckled. “They were only a substitute because it was physically impossible to have the real thing.”

“It’s still physically impossible.” I heard the smile in her voice.

“Not at all. Just say the word, and I’ll be at your door in twenty minutes.”

She went quiet for a minute, so I teased, “If you’re debating it, I’m going to head over so we don’t waste any time on the off chance you land on yes.”

I didn’t expect the confession that came next. “I haven’t had sex since before I met you.”

“Why haven’t you?”

She was quiet for a few moments while my hopes ran wild. Then, “I didn’t want to.”

“Because you want to have it with me?”

“No. I don’t want to have it with you.”

“You don’t want to or you don’t want to want to. There’s a big difference, Freckles.”

More silence. “I don’t want to want to. I don’t even want to want to talk to you.”

That hurt like hell to hear. But it was understandable that she was afraid. I needed to earn her trust back.

“If it makes you feel any better,” I said. “I haven’t had sex since I met you either.”

From her tone, I pictured her rolling her eyes. “Poor baby. You’ve been free for three weeks and can’t find anyone to fulfill your needs?”

“Don’t fool yourself. Ass comes easy for me, too, Layla. But there’s only one ass I want, and that’s yours.”

I heard her breathing, so I knew she hadn’t hung up. Fuck it. Might as well go for broke. I hadn’t thought this conversation would be happening anytime soon. Sometimes you need to push open the door and run inside before it gets slammed in your face.

“Have dinner with me? Lunch even. Breakfast? I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

“I don’t know, Gray.” She went quiet again. “I have to go. Text me Etta’s number, and I’ll call her in the morning.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

I waited until she hung up to move the phone from my ear. “She didn’t say no,” I mumbled to myself. Progress.

***

“Hello?”

I rolled onto my back with my cell pressed to my ear. Morning light streamed in from the small space where the blinds were missing a slat. That reminded me, I needed to toss those things, too. The slat had fallen off the first night my new bride and I had returned from the Dominican Republic, when a drunken make-out session had included backing her up against the window.

“Don’t tell me you’re still in bed, boy. You just wasted three years of your life. You should be up at the ass crack of dawn, raring to do things.”

Etta.

I rubbed sleep from my eyes with one hand. “What time is it?”

“It’s after seven in the morning.”

“Four in the afternoon is after seven in the morning, Etta. How about something more specific?”

She ignored me. “Are you free later?”

“If later means hours after seven in the morning, yes.”

“My door lock isn’t working.”

I sat up in bed. “Okay. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll head over.”

“No. No. I have the top lock on, and my neighborhood is still safe. The girls are coming over to play mahjong today. Why don’t you come over about four? I’ll make you your favorite meal.”

My mouth watered. “Gumbo?”

“And homemade peach cobbler if you stop at the store and pick something up for me.”

“I’ll rob a store if you’ll make me gumbo and peach cobbler, Etta.”

“Now now…I think it might be too soon for those type of jokes after getting out of the slammer. Never know who might be listening on the phones these days.”

I laughed. “What do you need me to pick up?”

“Some wine. Red.”

“You hate wine.”

“Well, I’m hankering for some, and I don’t know my way around the wine section of a liquor store.”

“No problem. I’ll pick you up something on the way.”

“See you this afternoon.”

Since I was up early, I figured Etta was right. There were things I would’ve given anything to be able to do over the last three years. Yet now that I could, I hadn’t made any attempt to appreciate the opportunity I had. So I dragged my lazy ass out of my comfy new bed and started my day with a long run through Central Park. Then I went to the animal shelter. I’d had to give my dog up for adoption when Max moved in because she was allergic.

I still felt guilty about it, even though I’d thoroughly vetted the couple who’d adopted him. In hindsight, I should have gotten rid of Max and kept my dog.

***

“Yeah, buddy. I know how you feel.” I stuck my fingers through the cage to pet an odd mix of Basset Hound and…something.

“Sir, please do not put your hands into the cage. Some of the dogs get aggressive when they’re in cages. If you’d like to meet one of our adoptees, just let one of our volunteers in the blue shirts know.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

I slipped my fingers from the cage. Aggressive when you’re locked up, huh? I hear that. Looks like you guys don’t have a gym around to burn it off. No bocce court either.

I continued my walk. There were a shitload of cages, each with an information card hanging from the top.

Polly. Age: Two. Breed: Terrier mix. She hovered in the back of the cage. I said hello and moved on.

Buster. Age: Twelve. Pug/Pekingese mix.

“Hey, buddy,” I said. He looked unimpressed by my greeting.

Snowy. Age: Eight weeks.Staffie mix.

“You’re fucking adorable. Some little girl is going to sucker her dad into bringing you home within days. You don’t need me.”

Snowy lifted her nose into the air like she knew it.

I walked two more rows of cages, looking for my dog. No one jumped out at me, until I hit the last cage on the bottom of the last row. Unlike all the others, there was no information sign hanging from the cage. When I crouched down to look inside, the dirtiest face greeted me. He was lying on a shoe and lifted his chin in the universal bro language that said what’s up.

I reciprocated. “What the hell happened to you, buddy?” I thought there might be a springer spaniel underneath all that matted mud.

I stopped a volunteer as she walked by. “What happened to this guy?”

“He just came in today. That’s what he looks like after the bath. Sad story. He was the pet of an older gentleman who lived alone. He died in the house while he was working on transplanting a bunch of plants, and this little guy couldn’t get anyone to listen to his barks for days. Had no food, so he chewed into a bottle of glue and somehow got himself covered in it and then apparently rolled around in some potter’s dirt, making mud. It’s all caked to his skin and hair now. We didn’t want to bother him too much today, since he just came in. Tomorrow we’ll shave him and try to get the rest out.”

“Can you take him out of the cage for me?”

The woman’s brows drew down. “You want me to put that dirty boy into a visitor pen?”

I smiled. “Why not? I just came back from a run. He might be just as put off by what I look and smell like.”

Me and Mudface headed to one of the small private rooms where people looking to adopt could play with the dogs and get to know them. The volunteer brought the shoe and set it down beside him.

“What’s up with the old shoe?”

“It was his owner’s. He growls if any of us try to take it away. But other than that, he’s really lovable. We think he’s just attached because he misses his owner.”

I crouched down and offered my hand for him to sniff. Mudface took one step and leaned in to smell me. Not wanting to scare him, I thought I’d let him take his time. Only Mudface had other thoughts. After about twenty seconds of sniffing, he pulled his head back and tilted it, studying me. Then he suddenly charged at me, knocking me back on my ass, and began to lick my face.

I laughed. “Jesus, dog. Your breath is almost as bad as you look.” He continued standing on his hind legs, with one paw on each of my shoulders, to keep licking.

“No.” The volunteer who’d brought us in stood and walked over from where she’d been sitting nearby, playing with her phone. She tugged at the dog’s collar. “No, Freckles.”

I looked up at her. “What did you just say?”

“I’m trying to get him off of you.”

“But what did you say?”

“I said, ‘No, Freckles’.”

“Freckles?”

“That’s his name. If you look closely, buried underneath all that mud and glue, his white nose has a bunch of brown dots.” She shrugged. “They look like freckles. Probably why the owner named him that.”

I looked closer at the dog. Sure enough, there were spots under that mess. “Freckles, huh?”

He responded by licking me again.

I nodded. “Okay, buddy. If that didn’t seal the deal, I don’t know what will.” I looked up at the volunteer. “I want to adopt Freckles.”

***

I caught myself whistling as I rang Etta’s bell. It was a beautiful spring day, tomorrow I’d go pick up my new little buddy at the shelter, Etta was making me gumbo and peach cobbler, and Layla hadn’t said no to having lunch or dinner with me. What else could I ask for?

The door opened, and that question was most definitely fucking answered. It had been a damn good day, but the prospect for an even better one had just grown exponentially.

Because it was Layla who opened Etta’s door.