“You’re going to looove it.”
“You evil, evil man.”
Finn was laughing as he hung up.
Guiding Batshit, Jericho shoved his phone in his pocket, made a sharp right turn, and walked up the driveway of his house to the detached garage. With a command to his phone, he opened the garage door, then smiled at Batshit. “What do you think the big idea is, huh, girl?”
She danced and woofed as she always did when he spoke to her. This dog had conversations.
The back door to the house opened and Milly stuck her head out. “Mr. Jones?”
Damn, he’d almost escaped. “Yes?” He smiled.
She walked out and came close to him, then said softly, “She wants me to go get pizza for her lunch.”
He nodded. “That’s probably okay. At least it’s not Mrs. See’s.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, well, she wants that for dessert.”
He shook his head. “Just tell her I took the car. That’ll get you off the hook. Have the pizza delivered.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “Have a nice afternoon.”
He nodded. It was a sorry sign when you felt bad for the caregiver you hired to offload you.
Jericho said, “Let me get out of the driveway before you tell her.”
She nodded with a grimace, walked back to the door, and waited there.
Jericho beeped the Prius, let Bat in, and then slid in after her. Quickly, he backed out and was on the street, driving away when he saw his mother peering out the front door.
Hardly anyone believed it, but during the years she’d been married, she’d been the most capable, driving, ambitious-for-her-husband woman alive. Hell, he barely believed it himself, but he remembered her bright smiles and enthusiasm when she’d taken him to school. Mostly, though, he heard from people she’d known at that time, like her doctor. Her husband, unlike her, had been indolent and addicted to whatever he could get his hands on. He was also stupid rich, so when he walked out the door on his wife and son, his family paid her to keep quiet about his “little problems.” She’d gotten the house in Corona del Mar, monthly alimony, and Jericho’s schooling fully paid. All that had been enough to make her lie down and quit trying. She never married again because she’d lose her support. She never worked again because—why?
Mama clung to Jericho as if he was her lifeline, and somewhere back there, when he was still little, he’d signed an invisible contract to be that. He accepted that she was sick and helpless. She accepted that he was gay, a wimp, and had no ambition, no matter how he looked. Of course, in his case, unlike hers, it was true.
“Woof, woof, woof.”
“Right, baby, we’re here.” He pulled up the small, inconspicuous street beside the ocean where Em—short for Emerson—Fairweather, the veterinarian, had hidden out from the bad guys who were hunting him for years, until Finn and Batshit had changed everything. Since then, Finn had quit his high-paying defense lawyer job in favor of joining the lower-paying prosecution, sold his expensive townhouse, and moved into the apartment with Em—and Batshit. How he got the dog was another whole story. Jericho had met Finn in the waiting room of Em’s clinic and, through puppy play dates, had been lucky enough to win them as friends.
He pulled to the apartment above a converted garage behind a main house and parked on a small gravel strip.
“Woof, woof, woof, woof—”
“Yes, yes, I get the point.” He opened the car door, and Batshit jumped out and tore up the stairs to the porch. The door opened, and Bat leaped into the waiting arms of the beautiful Finn. Of course, in the Finn and Em duo, who could say which guy was more devastating. They deserved each other.
Jericho sighed and pushed down even a hint of envy. They were brilliant, brave, and beautiful. They earned every good thing that came their way.
He slid out of the car and trotted up the steps to where Finn stood grinning, holding a squirming Batshit in his arms. Finn said, “Hey, my friend. Come on in. Em will be back from the clinic any minute.”
Jericho smiled. It was amazing what the love of a good man and a good dog had done for Finn. When Jericho first met him, he’d been driven and cynical. Now he glowed, his beautiful, flowing hair still his trademark.
Inside the big, brilliantly sunny room with its huge windows facing a restless ocean, Jericho went straight over to admire the view, then settled on the couch. “I’m ready for a big idea now.”
“How about a glass of wine, first. Besides, Em wants to be here to tell you too.”
“Yes, please. To the wine, not the waiting.”
Finn set Batshit down, and she immediately leaped onto Jericho’s lap.
Finn gave a lopsided smile. “She sure does love you.” He walked to the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“I love her too.” Jericho scratched at the top of her tail and she got that silly shit-eating grin that always went with a good tail-scritch.
Finn walked back with two glasses of white and handed one to Jericho, which he accepted with his unbusy hand.
Finn held out his glass. “Cheers.” He clinked against Jericho’s, then walked to one of the comfortable upholstered chairs scaled for a big man, which Em was. Finn wasn’t short. Finn sat, sipped, and then said, “So how was the date?”
Before he could stop himself, Jericho winced.
“Oooh, that bad?”
Batshit gave Jericho an unsolicited lick on the nose, which got him to giggle. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did Batshit like him?”
Jericho stared at his hands and shook his head.
“So, no loss then.”
Jericho said, “He was awful, but smart enough to know a loser when he saw one.”
“Come on, Jericho, that’s not true.” Finn said that with certainty, which was nice.
“Not meaning to sound whiny.” He shrugged. “But I really am a classic underachiever. Some people don’t like that. Especially in Southern California, mecca for overachievers.”
Finn leaned forward with a serious expression. “Clearly, one of the people who doesn’t seem to like that is you. You can only be a classic underachiever if you’re happy about it.”
“Oh, is that a rule?” Jericho snorted.
“What would you like to do that you’re not doing?”
Jericho raised his shoulders and dropped them. “People always assume I play football or rugby or something.”
“Do you want to play those things?” Finn sipped his wine.
“Good God, no.”
“Then…” He raised his brows.
Jericho spread his arms—and got an annoyed look from Batshit. “Sorry.” He went back to scratching. “I guess I wish I were braver and more disturbed by being a twenty-seven-year-old first-grade teacher who lives with his mother.”
Finn chuckled. “I think you’re going to have to figure out something you’re motivated by. Something you’re propelled toward. Otherwise, I’d submit, you’re happy where you are, doing what you’re doing.”
“But—”
“Woof, woof, woof, woof.” Batshit flew off Jericho’s lap and raced to the door as it opened and Em walked in.
Finn rose, looking beautiful and sexy, and walked to his big, blond partner, offered his glass to Em’s lips, then after he’d drunk a little, Finn kissed him lightly.