Batshit cocked her head, daintily removed a single piece of turkey bacon, and pulled it onto the tabletop, where she stuck out her tongue, and slid it into her mouth. Her head disappeared as she ate it—on Jericho’s good jeans, of course, but if he put her down, Killer would have her food in a flash. Jericho smiled as she gracefully chewed. He looked up to say something to Malcolm.
Malcolm stared at him in horror, like Jericho had just invited Godzilla to the table and fed him one of the diners. Jericho tried to make his smile reassuring. “It’s no big thing. Everyone in Corona del Mar has a dog, and they all feed them at the table.”
Malcolm literally cringed, pulling his coffee cup off the table’s surface.
Jericho added, “I suspect they do clean the tables between dogs.”
A smile squeezed past Malcolm’s lips, but he still held the coffee cup tight to his chest. “So where do you live? Can you see the ocean from your house?”
“No. I live in one of the cottages.” Malcolm’s face fell, so Jericho added, “But it’s on the ocean side of the Coast Highway. Not many houses in Corona del Mar have a view. It’s too flat. If you want a lot of views, you have to go to Laguna Beach or Pelican Point.”
“Oh yeah, that makes sense. You should invite me over to watch a game sometime.”
“I should?” Jericho’s eyebrows must have touched his hair. “Uh, I mean, yes.” He cocked his head. “What kind of game, exactly?”
Malcolm looked startled, then nodded. “Right. There’re still some basketball games on, but I meant baseball, right? The boys of summer.”
Thank God he’d cleared that up. For all Jericho knew, it could have been a rerun of Project Runway. He smiled and nodded. A good fallback strategy.
“So how big’s your screen? Seventy-five?” Malcolm grinned. “I’ll bet you’ve got one of those eighty-five inchers.”
“No. I don’t think so. I mean, I’m not sure how big it is.” He held his hands out about shoulder width. Innocently, he asked, “Does size matter?”
Malcolm didn’t even acknowledge the joke. “Shit, man. You can’t see a game on something that size.”
“You can’t?” Jericho smiled down as Batshit claimed another piece of turkey bacon.
“Maybe you can get a new one before I come over.” Malcolm showed a lot of straight teeth.
Jericho shook his head. Might as well get this over with. “I doubt I’d have any place to put such a big screen. Mama does enjoy her art, so all the big walls are taken. I’d only have my own bedroom and I really hate having a TV staring at me when I’m trying to sleep. The bright lights and everything. I keep my television in a cabinet.”
“Cabinet?”
“Yes. So I can close the doors over it when it’s not in use. I really watch very little TV. An occasional movie. Mostly I watch with Mama, so I see whatever she watches. The Great British Baking Show’s certainly marvelous.” He stroked Bat’s fur and got a look. She didn’t like to be interfered with when she was enjoying her turkey bacon, but Jericho enjoyed her soft fur. It comforted him.
“Who’s Mama?” The question was oddly flat. Jericho knew what happened next, but Malcolm had to find out sometime.
Jericho looked up and met Malcolm’s eyes. They were an oddly colorless shade of blue. “I live with my mother. She’s ill and I take care of her.” Well, she believed she was sick, anyway.
“Don’t they have places for sick people?”
A soft growl came from Jericho’s lap. Right, she was the one with taste. Jericho smiled, but it was tight. “You’d be surprised how few. Regardless, I’d never let someone else care for her if I could do it.”
“You expect me to come over and watch a game on some twenty-five-inch screen sitting on your bed while granny watches the big TV in the living room and rings her bell for service?”
Jericho sighed and didn’t try to cover it. “No, Malcolm, I don’t expect you to do anything except finish your coffee and leave.”
He slammed down his cup. “Yeah, well that’ll certainly be my pleasure. I mean, I’ve been on a few loser meetups since I posted on that dating site, but man, you’re the loser supreme.” He pushed back his chair, making a big scraping screech on the slate, and stood.
He probably stalked away looking like someone had insulted him. Jericho wasn’t sure, because with his hands shaking so hard he could barely hold it, he ate his scone and tried to inconspicuously wipe away the tears that dripped down his cheeks.
Suddenly, something wet and warm wiped his other cheek. That made him snort a half-laugh, half-sob. Batshit had licked him. He kissed her soft head.
Timmy rushed up to the table. “Oh, baby, what did that obnoxious male do?” He waved his hands wildly. “Never mind, whatever it was, it doesn’t count for shit, because he was such an obvious piece of trash. A total waste of space on the planet. Dear God, he didn’t even like Batshit.” He patted Jericho’s shoulder. “Wait right here.”
Timmy hurried away and Jericho pressed his cheek against Batshit’s silky, long fur. Timmy came rushing back carrying a champagne glass with what had to be a half orange juice, half champagne mimosa and set it in front of Jericho. “Here. You need to celebrate getting rid of that guy.”
In all his misery, that got through. Jericho laughed, picked up the glass, and took a long drink. “Well, I said I was going to give up on love if this didn’t work, and that’s what I’m doing.” He raised the glass to Timmy. “So here’s to being a six-foot-five-inch gay old maid.”
“Come on, sweetie, you’re a great guy and there has to be a perfect mate for you. If I wasn’t happily married, I’d marry you myself.”
Jericho sighed. “Thanks. I love you too. But as long as I look like this, I’ll never find a guy that wants who I really am.”
Timmy planted a hand on his hip. “They have penis enlargers, but I don’t think they have body shrinkers. Seriously, darling, the fact that you maintain all this—” He waved a hand in front of Jericho’s big body. “—with little effort and no appreciation is a source of amazement and envy to most of us.”
“Thanks.” He managed a small smile. “But you don’t have to see the looks of disappointment and disgust when the guys find out all this lives with its mother.”
Timmy’s expression turned compassionate, and he stepped over to give Jericho a hug, which made him want to cry again. To avoid it, he returned the hug with one arm and said, “Speaking of mothers, I better get home to mine.”
“How about I bring you some lemon scones to take to her?” He cocked his head. “Or is this one of her bad days?”
“Not sure yet. I left kind of early. Milly was just getting her up. But if she won’t eat them, I sure will.”
“I’ll grab some and the check.”
“Thanks, dear.”
Timmy hurried away and Jericho made room for Killer on his lap. The little furry had finished devouring turkey bacon and the stick and was ready to move on to the next activity. Batshit caught Killer’s restlessness. “Woof.” She looked around. “Woof, woof.”