Fall Out Girl (6 page)

Aunt Lace took one last hit off the joint, stubbed it, and relieved me of a bag. “What did you get?”

“Same as always,” I replied, stowing the groceries away.

“Did you get Spam?”

“Yes. Here.” I handed her a can and stacked the rest in the cabinet. I despised the food, but to Aunt Lace, it was the highest form of culinary art. One would be amazed of how creative she could get with Spam.

“Where are your manners? Give Margi one.” She snapped the can open.

Great, one more mouth to feed. I handed a can of the offensive food to Marjorie.

“These dishes won’t wash themselves, you know,” Aunt Lace said.

No shit, Sherlock. “I’ll do it later,” I responded, gathering the last item to stash in my room. It was Nutella, Jake’s favorite.

“Nope, you’re gonna wash them now.” She dipped her finger, scooping the nasty food and bringing it to her mouth. My stomach churned.

“This is not your papa’s house where you are a spoiled little princess. And make sure you scrub the floor. It’s filthy,” Aunt Lace said, making loud smacking noises as she chewed.

I opened my mouth to argue but closed it. It wasn’t worth it to throw a hissy fit. I took note of the kitchen, lime green wobbly table, unmatched chairs, chipped linoleum floor, dilapidated cabinets, and dark green walls. A heap of dirty dishes overflowed the sink like a pile of jackstraws. All the scrubbing in the world couldn’t make it better.

I opened the window for fresh air—second-hand smoke wasn’t overrated. I attacked the task. Homework would have to wait.

Great, I was running late. I climbed into the car, slid the key in the ignition, and drove away.

Using supreme discipline, I drove to the animal shelter without violating any traffic laws. I was a perfect driver—clean record. For obvious reasons, I avoided being pulled over. The last thing I needed was a cop sniffing around my car.

A metallic blue Audi glared at me from the parking lot. I groaned. I had seen Caleb driving the car to school. No, I wasn’t keeping tabs on him. Okay, I may have paid attention to his whereabouts. No, it couldn’t be held against me. It wasn’t a secret that I was an observant person, especially regarding potential customers.

Thanks to some divine intervention, I snuck into the kennel without making my presence known. Avoiding Caleb would be my first and foremost mission.

Almost at the end of my shift, I was equally disappointed and happy that I had succeeded to dodge Caleb. My mixed emotions ended in the middle of the cat’s social time. Caleb’s enigmatic smile caught my eye as he swaggered my way.

“It’s official. I’m a volunteer. Just finished orientation,” he said, waving a handbook.

“Yay,” I mumbled. Ignoring him, I turned my attention to Snowball. She was shy and required encouragement to engage with other cats. “Hey, girl, time to play.” I used a soothing voice to cajole her out of her cage. (Not the best display of how badass I was.) She licked her paw, meowed, but remained inside. Probably Mr. Hotshot standing behind me intimidated her. “I get it, girl, but don’t let him get the best of you,” I whispered, scooping her up and placing her next to Fern and Teardrop.

“There, your friends are waiting.” She circled my legs and tucked herself between my feet, refusing to interact with her buddies.

“You’re very good with them,” Mr. Obvious stated.

“Make yourself useful and play with a cat. They need to socialize.”

He looked at me for a moment before he picked up Snowball from between my feet. He held her close to his face and murmured, “Hey there, beauty. What’s your name?” The kitten immediately let out a lazy purr. I had grounds to accuse her of treason, but I couldn’t condemn her for reacting that way beneath his touch. His hands were beautiful.

“Snowball,” I said.

“Excuse me?” He glanced up, and our gaze met for a moment.

“Her name. It’s Snowball.”

“Oh.” His lips turned into a sinfully delicious smile. “Who has such a pretty name? Who?” He held Snowball close to his face. “It suits you. Yeah, it does.” He cooed and proceeded to snuggle her against his wide… strong… virile chest.

Excuse me while I retch. First, because of the direction my thoughts insisted on heading. And secondly, why do people coo to animals and babies? Sickening. But apparently Snowball disagreed. With a satisfied purr, she languidly stretched her limbs, nuzzled on his chest, and settled in the crook of his elbow.

Though I refused to admit, like Snowball, I wasn’t immune to his husky voice and athletic build. It had a strange effect on me. It boiled the blood surging through my body, stirring up uncanny emotions.

Disregarding Caleb’s intoxicating presence, I opened the gate for Buddy. He was an old cat, grumpy, and unfriendly. He reminded me of myself. He had come to us underweight and dehydrated. His owner, an eighty-six year old woman, had fallen in her kitchen; three days had passed until a neighbor found her on the floor. She was healing a broken hip in a convalescent home, where she may become a resident. If she didn’t return home, I knew Buddy’s fate. Families favored young and friendly kittens for adoption.

I picked him up, ignoring when he grunted a complaint. If these were his last days on earth, I wanted him to feel loved. “Hey there, Buddy. Are you hungry? I have a special treat for you.” On my trip to the store, I had gotten dog and cat treats. I fished in my pocket for a tuna bite and opened my hand, displaying it. As he snatched the treat, he nibbled on the sensitive skin of the palm of my hand. “That tickles, Buddy,” I said, smiling.

“I knew it,” Caleb said smugly. “You’re capable of giggling.”

My head snapped up, and I swore under my breath. His presence was going to be the death of me. “You must be on crack. I didn’t giggle.”

“Did too,” he said with a broadening smile. “And it was sexy as hell.”

“Psychotic episode is a common side effect for the use of crack. Next, you’ll be losing your teeth. It ruins the gums. Finally, you’ll be so strung-out, that you’ll welcome jail or death.”

“I don’t do drugs.” He narrowed his eyes.

“And I’m a virgin.” Well, he didn’t know any better.

“Why would I lie to you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point.” His hand smoothly patted Snowball. And she was snoring!

“You need to socialize with them, not bore them into a coma.” I pointed to Snowball. “How do you suppose they’ll learn to charm the pants off of a family?”

“Hey, not my fault, I have a soothing touch.” He wriggled his fingers. “These hands can do wonders on a body.”

I blushed. Again. “Did you just insert an innuendo into that sentence, Mr. Hotshot?”

“You’re catching on,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“You’re mental.”

“So we don’t just have to cuddle them?”

“Talk, play, discipline. Whatever the occasion calls for.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“We’re supposed to socialize with the animals, not each other.”

“God, are you always this combative?” he asked.

“Is it so difficult to understand that we won’t be buddies, not in this life or the next?”

“Give me a reason. One reason. And I’ll leave you alone.”

“Um…” I tapped my chin and wrinkled my nose. “Oh! Yeah. I. Am. Not. Interested.”

“No, not a valid reason, try again.”

“Forget it.”

“Luna, listen. I can see you’re a skeptic. I get it. It’ll take time for me to earn your trust. But since we gonna be working together, can’t we at least try to get along?”

“We’re not going to work together, not if I can help it.”

“For the first few weeks, yes. Brandon said I’ll shadow you for a while.”

I let out a breath of defeat. “Our interaction will happen strictly when we’re at the kennel.” I had to give it to Caleb. He was persistent. “Away from here, you don’t know me. Deal?”

“Agreed,” he said.

I glanced at him. He sported a cocky smile and twinkling eyes. For the first time since we’d met, I fully accepted the horrid reality. I was unequivocally attracted to golden boy. Our interactions had a strange camaraderie that was fresh and out of the scope of the things I normally did. For that reason alone, I could have said I almost—I repeat, almost—enjoyed the hour we spent together.

IT WAS TIME to get ready to go to the shelter, and I felt butterflies in my tummy.

I paired my khakis with a tank top and a polo shirt. The same outfit I had seen my dad wear to go to work at the zoo every morning. I wondered which Luna, Caleb liked better, the gothic and gloomy one, or the polo shirt, wholesome, plain me.

The animal shelter didn’t have a dress code, other than no facial rings or big hoop earrings. But when I went there, I felt close to my dad. It was a spot between life and death where we could hang out. No, I didn’t need a psychologist, been there, done that. I knew it wasn’t real. I wasn’t having delusions or anything. I just enjoyed daydreaming about us meeting again.

I examined my reflection in the mirror and nodded in approval.

I had grown to be hyper aware of my surroundings and was able to quickly adapt as necessary. I changed my colors at a moment’s notice. Bottom line, both sides of me strived to survive in this crazy jungle we call life.

When I arrived at the shelter, my stomach turned at the sight of the blue Audi. I had to give it to Caleb, he was more punctual than I was.

Per Brandon’s request, Caleb shadowed me for the day. To my dismay, I was almost amiable, responding to his inquiries without my usual snarl. I discovered I could be nice to him, and I enjoyed his company. He was sweet and kind in a surprisingly genuine way.

“How long have you been volunteering here?” Caleb tossed a ball for Lassie to retrieve, and walked to the table. He opened a bag and pulled out a badass camera that probably cost more than my car.

“A while,” I said. We were monitoring the dogs at their free playtime.

“Don’t you get attached to them?” He changed out a lens on the camera.

“No,” I said stoically. I ripped the tag off a squeaky toy I bought for the new puppies. They needed the stimulation. “That’s a mean rig you got there.” I pointed to the camera.

“Thanks. It’s my favorite.” He sat on his heels and snapped a picture of Minka and Lassie playing with each other.

“Oh, you must really be into pictures.” Or have more money than he could use.

“Yeah, I am. I’m gonna be a photographer.” He zoomed in on Oreo. “What breed is he?”

“A mutt.”

“He’s sort of beautiful,” he said, pressing the green shutter button. A series of soft rattles came from the camera.

“Mutts have their charm, it’s compensation for their lack of pedigree,” I said.

“Pedigree shouldn’t determine a dog’s value.” He lowered the camera and stared into my eyes.

“Society disagrees with you.”

“Society can kiss my ass.”

Hmm, interesting. I would have to chew on that piece of information before coming to any conclusions.

“So...” I didn’t want to pry into his personal life, but I couldn’t help but ask, “No robe and gavel in your future?”

“No. No judge career for this Cahan.”

“Did you always know you wanted to be a photographer?”