“And work?”
“Work’s good, Mom.” Finally, the truth. “Busy.” Also true. “I have to go. Adonis needs to go out.”
He woofed.
“Goodness, she sounds like a large schnauzer.”
“He’s a Great Dane. Like Marmaduke. Except prettier.” She scrubbed Adonis’s head, admiring his white-with-black splotched coat. He smiled, tongue lolling. “We’re bonding.”
“Well, sounds like he’s a great fill-in while nursing your broken heart.”
At her mother’s statement a pang speared the center of her chest. Rachel had been brokenhearted and had gone through it alone. Rather than share too much with Bree, Rachel had stayed busy. With work, moving, and getting used to her new bartending gig, it wasn’t hard to distract herself. Now, in Oliver’s silent apartment with only Adonis for company, she was feeling that uncertainty and pain from the breakup anew.
“You call me every evening, okay? I want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Mom. No.” She was not doing the check-in thing.
“I’ll worry.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I will.”
“I love you,” Rachel said.
“I could worry myself literally sick and then how bad would you feel?” asked Keri Foster, master of manipulation.
“Tell Dad hi.”
“Love you too,” her mother said, giving up. “Can I downgrade my call to a text?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Fine.” A sigh.
“Good night.”
Rachel pocketed her phone with a smile. She loved her parents. They were the reason she was doing what she was doing. Her mom bragged to everyone who would listen about her daughter who was “making it” in the big city. In the small Ohio town where Rachel grew up, Chicago was big time. So big, her parents had only ventured out her way twice in the two and a half years since she’d moved here.
She didn’t want to disappoint them, and while they may not be disappointed in her job as a bartender, they would definitely be more concerned and possibly offer to send her money, which she would flat-out refuse to take.
If only they knew what her life was really like.
Two days ago she’d put on a ridiculously tight dress and boots, hell-bent on teaching her upstairs neighbor a lesson. Tag had seen right through her, and after she’d clopped back into Oliver’s apartment, she realized she was not surprised.
She’d felt more self-conscious than sexy wearing that getup, and she’d witnessed how confounded Tag had been. He’d backed away as she stepped forward. Not exactly the actions of a man who was interested. Not that she was interested, she thought, chewing on the side of her cheek.
Maybe her mother had uncovered the crux of Rachel’s bizarre behavior when she mentioned Shaun and heartbreak. Rachel didn’t feel like herself and had never, ever done something as bold as slink into a man’s apartment wearing six-inch-heeled boots.
It was nice of Tag to buy Adonis all of those toys, though. She took her mug of soup and a sleeve of crackers into the living room and placed them on the coffee table. She reached into the shopping bag, pulled out the stuffed squirrel, and squeaked it. Adonis’s head cocked to one side and she threw the toy down the hallway.
Adonis turned his head but refocused his attention on the crackers.
“These taste about the same as what’s in your bowl,” she said, giving up and handing over a Ritz. Then she ate one. Heaven. Buttery, salty heaven. “Well, maybe not.”
She finished her soup, sharing more crackers with Adonis, her mind on Tag and the way he’d looked at her when she suggested that women liked to brush his hair. It made her laugh when she remembered it right afterward, and it made her laugh now as she washed the mug and spoon and put them into the dishwasher.
Tag was ridiculously outside of her playing field, though, right? He was massive, both wide and tall, had a thick but well-groomed beard, and longer hair than she’d ever seen on anyone—male or female. She hadn’t been far off with the Tarzan zinger, either. He looked like a trail guide in a jungle, or maybe a wrestler on television, grimacing and flexing until the veins in his neck popped out.
She laughed aloud but it paired with her fanning her face. Because imagining Tag oiled up and shirtless…or sweat-covered in a safari outfit… Those were warming thoughts indeed.
Two months wasn’t that long to be without someone, but it was longer if she counted back to the last time she and Shaun had sex. She had done the math once, and the halting of “love you, Rach” and the death of their sex life coincided. They also coincided with the hiring of a cute girl in the design department who had purple streaks in her hair.
That chest-crushing feeling returned. Rachel had trusted him. With her heart, and as a friend. Shaun taking credit for her hard work was reason enough for her to end things. But there was a sting of embarrassment when she thought about how clueless she’d been for so long. How much she’d trusted him—how well she thought she knew him.
Never could she have guessed underneath that neatly buttoned shirt and penchant for double espressos was a man who would step on her head as he climbed the ladder instead of lifting her alongside him.
Adonis chuffed, snapping her out of her reverie.
“What’s it matter, right, boy?” she asked his gray eyes. He chuffed again. “Want to go for a walk?”
He danced in a circle and she smiled.
The apartment and dog were more than a step toward independence; they were a step in helping her deal with unresolved feelings over Shaun.
This time, for good.
* * *
Biceps straining, Tag blew out a breath from his mouth and pushed the bar up to his best friend’s smiling face. He made it, and then because he knew Lucas was waiting to catch him quitting early, lowered it to do another.
Lucas laughed. “Oh man. He’s doing it.” He looked to his right, talking to someone Tag couldn’t see. “He hates to lose money.” Then he bent over Tag’s face—Tag’s sweaty, red face by the feel of it—and readied his hands. “Just say when, you pussy. I’ll take it off your hands.”
Smug bastard.
With a grunt of achievement, and a hell of a lot of effort, Tag pushed the bar to the brackets and dropped it with a heavy clang! A few of the guys in the gym clapped their hands, and Lucas swore under his breath. By the time Tag sat up and rested his spent arms on his knees, a folded twenty-dollar bill landed on the bench between his legs.
“I have to quit giving you my money.” Lucas sat on the leg machine across from Tag. He tipped a water bottle to his mouth and drank. “You probably keep the cash you win from me in a big bin and swim in it like Scrooge McDuck.”
Tag laughed and reached for his towel, wiping his brow. He’d been friends with Luc for going on a dozen years. They’d met in high school when Lucas moved here in his junior year, and learned they’d had the same thing on their minds then and now.
Girls.
Even when Luc went to college, they still met and picked up girls—competing to collect the most phone numbers. Then Lucas won the lottery. He won Gena, sassy black-haired bombshell, now wife and mother of two to Lucas’s rug rats. Gena took no shit and was as cool as they came.