La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} (11 page)

“Maybe they didn’t want her anymore.”

She glanced at the adorable lab. How could anyone not want that beautiful creature? “Maybe.”

Pulling back, he grinned at her. “She might be hungry and she could probably use some water. I’ve been calling her Stimpy, as in ‘Ren and’. Here’s fifty dollars if you feel ambitious and want to take her to the pet store for supplies, but if not there’s ground beef in the freezer you can heat up—”

“Whoa! You’re leaving her here with me?”

He frowned. “I told you I can’t bring her to work.”

“What the hell, Riley? I didn’t sign up for dog sitting. What if I have plans?”

He pursed his lips. “Do you?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Please, Emma. She’s a good girl. Look at her.”

Turning, she watched as the oversized puppy licked the chair cushion. “She doesn’t seem too bright.” She was an adorable dog though. Sighing, she agreed, “Fine, but leave a
hundred
dollars. If I’m dog sitting you’re buying me dinner. And we’re not naming her Stimpy.”

“Stimpy’s a cool name.”

“Stimpy was the cat, Riley. No.”

“Fine.” He tossed another fifty on the table. “I gotta go. I’m already late.”

Turning, he placed a smooch on the dog’s head. “There’s my cute baby. Be a good girl,” he crooned. The dog’s tail flopped happily, drumming on the wood floor. Who didn’t love an idiot?

At the door Riley paused. “Oh, how was your girlie appointment? Everything okay with the old wizard’s sleeve?”

Everything inside of her stiffened as her eyes went wide. “Um...are you asking about my vagina?”

He, too, appeared rather surprised by the conversation shift. His feet crept closer to the door as his mouth turned down in a Robert De Niro grin. “Yes. Yes, I am. Is that a problem? We could talk about the general health of my penis if you want. It’s good, by the way. Strong.” He paused to flex. “Cat like reflexes—”

“Get out.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go.” He edged into the hall. “We won’t mention the subject of your juice box again.”

Stone faced, she asked, “My what?”

His hand curled around the knob. “Penis...fly trap?” It was like he had some sort of Tourette’s.

“Stop talking now.”

“Bajingo?”

Even the dog was staring at him, judging him. “There’s something wrong with you.”

“The down stairs?”

She was done responding.

Easing out the door, he guessed, “The bunny tuft?” The door closed and he yelled, “The Pink Mink!”

She faced the dog and shook her head. “That’s your new owner. I won’t let him name you after an ugly cat, don’t worry.”

Her tongue lulled out and she panted, which Emma took as gratitude.

As it turned out, pet supplies were wildly expensive and addicting.  Half the items in her bag were probably unnecessary, but didn’t Marla—that’s what she named her—need a matching pink, bedazzled collar to go with her bedazzled leash?

By the time they returned to the loft Emma was in love. Marla was an enormous cuddle bug, who thought she was the size of a kitten. It was like having an endless supply of affection available. With very little respect for personal boundaries, they immediately became close friends.

When Emma used the bathroom, Marla scratched at the door and barged in, squeezing into the small space so they could be together for all things. If Emma went to the kitchen to grab a drink, Marla followed.

It occurred to her that she should probably have some ground rules for the dog, like no climbing on furniture, but she was so at home Emma didn’t want to discourage her from settling in. Marla did prefer Rarity’s bed to all the others, though, and that was going to be a problem. She continuously shut the door to Rarity’s room, but Marla, being a solid eighty-pound chocolate lab, plowed right through that barrier.

They’d figure it out later. When Emma decided to call it a night, Marla was sprawled out on Rarity’s bed sound asleep. She smiled, thinking having a dog wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Once washed up and changed into her pajamas, she climbed into bed and settled. Two seconds later the soft ticking of Marla’s nails on the wood floor followed and the enormous dog bounded into bed with her, rocking the mattress like a life raft in a typhoon.

Warm and soft, she curled into Emma’s side and let out a contented snuffle. Emma smiled. She hadn’t expected to love again so quickly, nor had she expected a dog to be the focus of her affection. If anything, Marla was loyal and
that
was something Emma could appreciate—something that deserved love.

––––––––

T
he afternoon sun warmed his face as he relaxed on the picnic blanket. Voices carried over the soft breeze as people wandered across the grass. The dog appeared quite happy to learn there was a park so close to her new home.

Emma sighed. “I’ve been thinking we should put signs up with Marla’s picture in case her real owners are looking for her.”

Riley watched as Emma played a slow game of toss with the dog, which was now called Marla. They’d left their number with the local vets and pet store, but hadn’t heard anything. “That’s probably the right thing to do.” But imagining someone taking the cuddly brown animal away wasn’t easy. One sign should do the trick, one sign, hung upside down on a payphone, by the far East Side.

“Marla, fetch!” she tossed the pink tennis ball from where she sat on the grass. Everything the dog owned was pink, which made the morning walks a test of masculine security. But Emma was happy and, strangely, that made him happy.

“I don’t see what was wrong with the name Stimpy.”

“Stimpy was ugly.”

“And you named her Marla after...”

“Marla Hooch from
League of Their Own,”
she mumbled.

“Oh, and she was a looker.”

“Shut up. Her name is Marla.”

He grinned.

There were so many hidden parts of Central Park. It was nice to take the time to enjoy the open space. Having a dog gave them an excuse to lounge around in the grass and sun and still believe they were accomplishing something, because dogs needed exercise.

“My sister comes back tomorrow.”

“I know. She’s going to freak out when she finds out we have a dog.”

He worried Emma might forget about him when Rarity returned. “Do you think things will be different when she comes home?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged, trying not to appear overly concerned. “I don’t know. Us hanging out, you and Rarity doing your thing.”

“We could all hang out together.”

“Sure,” he agreed, but that wasn’t the same.

Once Rarity returned, Emma would have her best friend around for all her little adventures and feats. She’d confide in Rarity and sooner or later he’d just be the roommate again.

Marla returned, dropped the saturated ball on the grass, and collapsed beside them. Emma filled a tiny pink travel bowl with bottled water.

“There you go, baby.”

The dog panted and lapped up the entire offering then nestled beside them on the quilt.

He eased back and made a pillow of the dog and Emma did the same. Clouds drifted overhead and there was a quiet moment of peace shared between the three of them.

“That one looks like a sailboat.” She pointed to the sky.

“This is what our conversations have reduced to, cloud watching?”

Nose wrinkled, she grouched, “What’s wrong with cloud watching?”

“Nothing. It just means we have nothing else in common to talk about. It’s sad really, the death of intrigue between new friends.”

“Aren’t you in a dark mood.”

“No, I’m not. I’d just prefer more stimulating conversation than ‘Oh, that one looks like a dinosaur’.”

“Fine. What’s your greatest fear,” she asked and he grinned at the challenge.

“Ice age. Era not movie.”

“An ice age, really?”

“Yes, really. And don’t roll your eyes. More are coming. They decapitate mountains and cover the earth in sheets of ice eight times the height of the Empire State Building. You’d never survive one.”

She laughed. “And you would?”

“I’d have a better shot than you. It’s just the nature of the beast. I’m a survivor. You’d be in a heap on the floor watching Hugh Grant movies while hugging a pillow.”

She smacked his arm. “I should probably be insulted.”

“But?”

“You’re probably right.”

He chuckled. “Now, a zombie apocalypse,
that
you might have a shot at surviving.”

“Because it’s totally improbable?”

“Oh, zombies are real and when they come, I’ll be ready. Get yourself a crossbow and some sturdy boots and I might let you join my regiment.”

“You’re a moron.”

He faced her. “What’s your biggest fear?” Her eyes were closed, the sun painting her cheeks in a soft gold hue.

“That I’ll never be enough.”

His brow creased. She’d lost him. “Enough for what?”

“Someone’s love... trust, loyalty... everything that’s worth anything. I want to be worth something.”

“You are.” He scowled. How could she believe she was worthless?

“I mean, by just being myself. I’m so tired of pushing to be more than I actually am. We have to be so much. It’s a lot of pressure and I always feel like I’m coming up short no matter how hard I try. I wish it was enough to just be me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re afraid of zombies and ice ages.”

“Touché.” He studied her for a long moment. “I think you’re just fine the way you are, Em.”

“It’s only natural to want to improve.”

“True, but work with what you got. Don’t go trying to redefine everything you are. You’re an awesome person. If you change too much, people will miss the real Emma and she’s something great.”

She turned and their eyes locked. Something tightened low in his gut as everything inside of him insisted he look away, but he was trapped there, under her close, compelling stare. The breeze passed overhead, intensifying the scent of grass and her delicately perfumed hair. She always smelled so clean, like cotton and sunshine.

“Are you hungry?” she whispered, but her eyes seemed to be saying something different.

He swallowed. “Yeah. I could eat.”

“We should eat.”

The sudden urge to lean close and take a nibble of her plump lower lip took hold of him and he jolted upright, his body sending all sorts of haywire signals to his lower regions. Shit.

Where the hell were these urges coming from? Rubbing his face roughly with his palms, he groaned and thought of the unsexiest place to get food in the city. “Wanna go to Flushing and grab some Chinese? They sell gizzards on sticks.”

“Queens?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure. But I’m not eating gizzard.” She sat up and the dog lifted her head. “We should probably take Marla back to the loft first. She’s tired.”

Nodding, he stood and busied himself with gathering the blanket and dog toys. Emma fumbled with getting her shoes on and he stilled, transfixed by her pudgy little toes.

Dear God, he was chubbing up—chubbing up over Emma—which was abso-freaking-lutely not okay. Turning away, he stuffed anything and everything into their bag.

As soon as he had their stuff packed he started walking at a clipped pace toward home.

“Riley, wait up. I have shorter legs than you.”

He shut his eyes as his mind filled with images of her little, curvy legs. Christ, even the thought of her deformed baby toe was doing things to him.

“I have to use the bathroom,” he lied, deciding that was the best excuse for walking ahead of her.

“Are you sick?”

His mind was definitely playing sick tricks on him at the moment. “Yes. Sick.”

“Okay, well, you go. Marla and I will catch up,” she yelled from several yards behind.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. The entire way home he jockeyed his way through crowds of pedestrians and practically sprinted over crosswalks and through alleyways. What the hell was wrong with him?

It was like a switch was flipped and he could no longer separate Emma his friend from Emma the delicious little cupcake he wanted to nibble. When he made it to the loft he tossed the bag of dog toys on the floor and went to the bathroom.

Staring at his sweaty reflection, he grit his teeth. “Knock it off.”

His breathing gradually slowed as he stared at himself, degrading every baser instinct he possessed until the storm finally settled and he was back to normal. Then the front door opened.

“Riley?”

His gaze dropped to his jeans. “Damn it,” he hissed. “In the bathroom.” He quickly locked the door.

The dog’s nails scrabbled along the wood floor. He couldn’t go out there like this. Emma tapped on the door. “Do you need anything?”

His eyes closed as his head fell back and he silently groaned. “No. I’m good.”

“You’re sure? I have antacids and some stuff for cramps.”

He laughed without humor. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” His dick just needed to chill.

“How about some tea?” That voice... “I can put some ginger in it—”

“I’m okay, Emma!
Just...give me a minute. Please.” He shouldn’t have snapped.

“Okay. I’m right here if you need anything.”

Did she have to be so damn nice? Maybe a cold shower would help. Swallowing, he let out a long breath and turned on the water. After stripping off his clothes he climbed under the icy spray and gasped. “Fuck, that’s cold!”

He adjusted the taps, unable to withstand torture below a lukewarm seventy degrees, and glowered at his rock hard cock.

Grandma. Grandma in a bikini. Grandma in a bikini eating tapioca pudding without her dentures.
That was working.

Suddenly the image flipped to smooth ivory skin and a familiar birthmark in the shape of a strawberry. That was Emma’s birthmark. He noticed it when she was in a tank top. Sometimes her bra strap covered it, but every once in a while he’d get a peek at it.

Fuck. He was hard again.

Taking matters into hand, he pumped his fingers over his flesh. He needed to get laid, that was all. He squeezed, almost painfully, trying to think of any woman besides Emma. It was impossible.