Look the Part

by Jewel E. Ann

  By midnight, I’m still wide awake, thinking about Ellen. I stare at my phone and decide to call her.

  “It’s past your bedtime, Mr. Hopkins.”

  I smile. “I didn’t know if you’d be home yet.”

  “Just walked in the door fifteen minutes ago. I’m playing with my babies.”

  I try not to cringe, but my face automatically goes there when she mentions those rats. “Did Amanda spill all of my deep dark secrets?”

  “Sadly … no. She’s loyal to a fault. I don’t know why you insist on firing her every day. She didn’t even ask about the ‘heat’ between us.”

  “She’s snarky to a fault … like someone else I know.”

  “How is Harry?”

  I chuckle. “He’s challenging. We went to dinner tonight. Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be able to return to that same restaurant ever again.”

  “Do tell.”

  I tell her about our conversation. She laughs and tries to reassure me it could have been worse. I’m not convinced of it. She tells me about her girls’ night out. She wins. Harrison’s display was not even close to how those women acted.

  After the laughter dies down, a moment of silence settles on the line.

  “So …” she says. “About this date …”

  I laugh. “You mean the no-sex, no-physical-contact date?”

  “Yeah, that one. Are you going to call me, text me, or pass me a note at work?”

  “I’m offended you find me so unoriginal. I usually go for skywriting, but I’d bet you’d rather jump from the plane than have it write you a message, since you’re so cool.”

  “Intrigued about my life, are you? Looks like we’ll have plenty to discuss on our no-sex date. I want to know all about your brief football career. I like football. We should play sometime.”

  “Rats and football? You’re full of surprises.”

  “Would you want me any other way?”

  No. I wouldn’t. She’s shown me a glimpse of the tragedy in her past, but I know there’s some good stuff too. I want to know everything, but I want to take my time.

  “Who’s your favorite football team?” I ask.

  “Pro or College?”

  “Both.”

  “Patriots and University of Miami.”

  “Ah … are you serious? How did this happen?”

  She laughs. “I’m from New England, but I went to college in Miami. I’m sure you’re a Minnesota fan.”

  “Of course.”

  “And college?”

  “Nebraska.”

  She laughs again. “Harrison had no clue where you went to college.”

  “Of course he didn’t.”

  “He’s great. I love my time with him.”

  “He thinks you’re his friend. He said I should find my own friends.”

  “Well, you only have one. He really should share me.”

  I lean back and run my hand through my hair. “Can’t blame him. I don’t want to share you.”

  “Sorry. If I end up having to choose between the two of you, I’m going to have to go with Harry because he loves music and he loves my rats.”

  “Rats.” I shake my head. “At what point did you forego the obvious choice of a cat or dog and decide on rodents?”

  “That’s…” I can hear the yawn in her voice “…a story for another time.”

  “I’ll let you go to sleep.”

  “What are you doing Saturday?”

  “The usual. Exercise. Working in the yard and my greenhouse. Dragging my son out of his room to get fresh air.”

  “Let me make dinner at my place for you and Harrison.”

  “You cook?”

  She giggles. “Yes. Don’t act so surprised.”

  “Harrison has a strict diet.”

  “I know. Text me a list of things he can’t have.”

  “I’ll feel like a third wheel.”

  “Poor baby. We’ll try to include you in the rat play.”

  “Maybe we should have dinner at my house.”

  “Harry likes to play with my rats. Do you want them at your house?”

  “Good point. What time?”

  “Six?”

  “Six it is. Goodnight.”

  “Night, Flint.”

  I toss my phone on the bed beside me and grin like a fool. My face doesn’t know how to handle the upward turn of my lips. For now … I let myself believe I deserve this chance, this feeling, this woman. Nothing lasts, but I want to take this as far as I can because it feels so fucking incredible to feel again.

  *

  Ellen

  I SPEND SATURDAY morning tidying up my apartment and cleaning the rat cages, even though Flint’s unexpected visit the other night happened to be when things were a bit messy. Hopefully the naked-and-willing woman distracted him from focusing on the clutter.

  The place smells like apples and cinnamon from the crisp in the oven, and I made a pot of chicken noodle soup with gluten-free noodles. I also changed my outfit five times like a sixteen-year-old on her first date. There’s no need to be nervous. Flint found me desirable in fuzzy socks and messy hair, but this no-sex thing makes me nervous. I want to make sure he continues to find me desirable until we can work something out with Harry.

  God … I hope we can work something out with Harry.

  Tonight is step one in my plan. If all three of us hang out enough, he might see how well Flint and I get along, and—fingers crossed, prayers said to any god willing to listen—he will change his mind about the no physical contact rule.

  Long shot. I know. But a girl’s gotta try.

  “They’re here!” I clench my fists and shake with way too much excitement from the knock on my door. I’m thirty-two. I should have mastered getting a grip by now.

  “Hey, guys!”

  “Hey.” Harry gives me a half smile and brushes past me, guitar case in hand. “Can I let your rats out?”

  I laugh. “Absolutely. Just tell them to ‘come.’”

  Stepping out into the hallway, I close the door behind me. Flint peaks an eyebrow, lips twisting into something too irresistible not to kiss.

  “An untucked button-down and jeans? I feel cheated of my sex-in-a-suit fix.” Fisting his shirt, I lean up on my tippy toes and kiss him. His hands palm my butt, eliciting a hum of pure pleasure—and torture.

  I pull away and rub my lips together.

  He makes a quick inspection of my white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, short skirt, knee-high socks, and ankle boots.

  “Good lord, you’re a tease. You can’t do this to a man with a child-enforced vow of celibacy.”

  “I just don’t want you to lose interest in what you can’t have at the moment.” I open the door and head inside.

  “You do realize people desire most what they can’t have.”

  “Mmm, I’m counting on it.” I lead him down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Smells good.”

  I shut off the oven, but leave the crisp in to stay warm until after dinner. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Lady Gaga came out for me.” Harry carries my naked rat into the living room.

  “You’re a rat whisperer.” I wink at him.

  “I didn’t whisper. I just said ‘come’ in my regular voice.”

  Flint and I share grins.

  “A whisperer is someone who is good with a specific kind of animal. Dog whisperer. Horse whisperer,” I say.

  “Huh …” Harry lets Lady Gaga climb up his chest to his shoulder. “I guess I could be a rat whisperer someday.”

  “I can already feel myself swelling with fatherly pride. ‘What does your son do? He’s a highly sought after rat whisperer.’”

  “You know…” I plant my hands on my waist “…some rats can detect tuberculosis, and there’s a specific breed of rats that can locate landmines. So basically, rats are saving lives.”

  “Really? That’s cool.” Harry continues to play with Lady Gaga as my
other babies make their way into the room.

  Flint lifts his feet onto the rung of the barstool and gives me a poorly restrained smile. “I love the case you make for rats. If I ever have to defend the actions of one in court, you’ll be my expert witness.”

  “Aw, that means a lot coming from my favorite shyster. I mean … legal beagle.”

  This grin works its way up Flint’s handsome face. It’s different than any other grin he’s given me … not that he hands them out with any sort of generosity. Sometimes I wonder if his laughter, his smile, and his life died with Harry’s mother. I wouldn’t blame him one bit if they did.

  I meant what I said to him the other day. Sometimes the world ends and forgets to take you with it.

  Alex said it to me after he lost his hands. And those same words echoed in my mind when my mom died and when Alex served me with divorce papers.

  But just now … Flint grinned like someone told him there was in fact life after death—something magical, something good—and he gave me that look. I don’t know where this journey will take us, but I will always remember this one look and how it made me feel physically touched while standing out of arm’s reach.

  “Harry, will you say ‘cage’ to my lady and gentlemen? We’ll play more after dinner, and you can feed them theirs.”

  Harry calls their names—their full names—even Lady Gaga’s, and he tells them “cage.”

  Flint eases off the kitchen stool and brushes his arm against mine as he makes his way to the stove. He pauses next to me long enough to run his finger along my bare outer thigh, just below the hem of my short skirt.

  I nudge him away. “Now who’s the tease?”

  He chuckles and lifts the lid to the soup pot. “Harrison loves chicken noodle soup.”

  “All kids do.” I grab three bowls and set them on the counter.

  “Are you an expert on kids?” He stirs the soup.

  I lean my back against the counter next to the stove and watch him. He makes stirring soup look sexy. How is that possible? “Well, I was a kid, so there’s that eighteen years of experience. And I work with a lot of kids, so I’d say I have some degree of expertise.”

  Flint glances over his shoulder. “Wash your hands, Harrison.”

  “They didn’t pee on me.”

  “I’m glad. Wash your hands.”

  I bite my lips together.

  “I read that rats spend most of their waking hours cleaning themselves or each other. More so than cats.” Harry rocks back and forth on his feet, wringing his hands together.

  “It’s good to know you’re spending your spare time researching rats. Did you happen to see how they clean themselves? In a bathtub? In a shower with hot water and soap? Or do they lick themselves?” Flint asks.

  “They lick themselves.”

  “So if I lick your hands, will you feel the need to wash them before you eat?”

  “That’s gross. Why would you lick my hands?”

  “I wouldn’t. Just go wash them.”

  I take the ladle, nudging Flint aside with my hip. “We swapped saliva in the hallway. Is that going to ruin your dinner?”

  “Only if you tell Harrison and get me in trouble.”

  “I would never.” I fill the bowls with soup, and Flint takes them to the table. “And for your information … I do bathe my rats.”

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Is this gluten-free?” Harry asks, taking a seat at the table.

  “Yes.” I smile, sitting next to him, forcing Flint to sit across from us.

  “No dairy?”

  “No dairy.”

  “Nuts?”

  “No nuts. It’s all been approved by your dad.”

  “He thinks the things I eat affect my brain.”

  “What do you think?” I sip the steamy soup from my spoon.

  “I don’t know. Grandma said it’s his job to be overprotective. Weird job.”

  Flint smirks, placing the napkin on his knee.

  “I’ve met some parents who need to be more protective of their children, so it’s a good thing that your dad cares about you so much.”

  Harry shrugs, blowing on his soup. “Are you going to ask Ellen on a date?”

  Flint stirs his soup, a slight shake to his head. “Oh, Harrison, you’re quite the wingman.”

  “What do you mean?” Harry asks.

  “You’re quite the helper when it comes to getting me a date.”

  I watch the commentary between them, amused with where this might be going.

  “I’m not helping you get a date. I just asked if you were going to ask.” Harry gives me a quick glance. “He wants to ask you on a date. No sex. No kissing. Dinner and a movie. And I can’t go with you.”

  I cover my mouth with my napkin, but I can feel the red flush working up my face into my cheeks and nose.

  Flint takes a spoonful of soup, eyes rolling up to glance at me.

  “Sounds like fun. I haven’t been to a movie in a long time.”

  “Just don’t go see the new Spiderman movie because I want to see it.”

  “Well, your dad hasn’t asked me on a date yet, so we don’t have to worry about picking out a movie.”

  “Are you going to ask her?”

  I tap the toe of my boot against Flint’s shoe. He eyes me while taking a drink of water.

  “Maybe,” he says. “But let’s talk about this new Spiderman movie.”

  And with that, the next half hour turns into a thorough comparison of all the superheroes. I confess my favorite superhero is Superman, specifically played by Henry Cavill. I don’t mention that Flint’s body and sexy smile bears an uncanny resemblance to Henry. Something tells me Harry would not like that comparison.

  After dessert, which earns me two thumbs up from Flint and Harry, Flint shoos me off to play rat games with Harry while he washes the dishes. If it weren’t for the seven rating and eviction notice, he’d be the perfect guy.

  “Oh my god … they play basketball.”

  I adore the excitement on Harry’s face when I show him how Bach and Chopin play basketball with their tiny hoop and ball. Then I teach him how to set up an obstacle course they can do—except my diva Gaga—and hand him treats to give them as rewards.

  “I’m going to go make sure your dad doesn’t need help in the kitchen. He won’t know where my dishes belong.”

  “K.” Harry mumbles, too enthralled with my rat pack to even look up at me.

  I slide up onto the kitchen counter next to my Superman. “I didn’t think I could like you more than I do in a suit.” I cross my legs, eliciting a quick glance from my dishwasher. “But when you roll up your sleeves and get all domestic on me, it’s kinda hot. Like Gardener Flint, the dirtier you get, the dirtier my thoughts get.”

  He tips his chin down, staying focused on the pan and sink of sudsy water, his teeth digging gently into his lower lip.

  “I have him set up with obstacle courses and snacks for my babies. I bet we don’t see him for a while. What do you think about a quickie in the bathroom?”

  He gives me the slightest chuckle, handing me the pan to dry. “You think this is fun?”

  “Dishes?” I rub the towel over the pan. “No. I hate doing dishes. But I think a quickie in the bathroom could be quite fun.” I hop off the counter and take the pan to the drawer under my stove top. “Ouch!” I drop the pan in the drawer with a clunk and straighten my back, my hand reaching for the back of my leg, just below my butt cheek. There’s a stinging welt.

  Flint holds the end of the twisted damp towel in his hand like a whip.

  “Oh my gosh! Did you seriously just whip me with a towel?” I say in a loud whisper. “There’s a welt. You marked me.”

  “Your skirt is too short. When you bent over to put that pan in the drawer, I could see black lace.”

  “So you whipped me?”

  He stalks toward me until I’m forced to crane my neck to maintain eye contact. “No,” he
whispers. “I whipped you because you’re a fucking tease.”

  “You’re a terrible role model. Would you want Harry whipping some poor unsuspecting woman on the ass?”

  His eyes focus on my cleavage for a few seconds before returning to meet my gaze. No signs of apology that I just caught him staring at my boobs. “He’s twelve. So I think that might not be a good idea at this point in his life, but if the day comes that he finds a feisty, sexy, playful woman in need of a little reprimanding, then I’d have to say the idea of him giving her a little nip on the backside would make me pretty proud. Much more proud than whispering to rats.”

  “You’re stubborn and infuriating.” I narrow my eyes.

  He glances in the direction of the bedrooms and presses his lips to his middle and index fingers. Bending over, he slides his hand up my leg until the fingers he just kissed cover my welt. “And you’re the first breath of oxygen that’s touched my lungs in ten years,” he whispers in my ear.

  Tears instantly sting my eyes. I thought I’d forgiven Alex. But when Flint says things like this to me, I feel this surge of pain all over again, stirring the anger to life. I should have always been the oxygen in Alex’s lungs.

  Flint’s hand slides out as slowly and seductively as it slid to my welted leg. His brows draw together. “It hurts that bad?”

  I blink back the tears and smile. “Yes. But not my leg.”

  His dark eyes search mine.

  “What’s this?” Harry calls.

  I wipe the corners of my eyes and follow his voice to my bedroom.

  “Harrison you can’t snoop around in her bedroom without permission.”

  “I’m not snooping. I followed Mozart in here. What’s this?” He points to my turntable.

  “It’s a record player, a turntable. My mom found it and bought it as a graduation gift for me along with a bunch of vinyl records.”

  “This is how you listened to music when you were my age?”

  I laugh. “Not really. I used cassette tapes and eventually CDs. But my dad has a vinyl record player and he still uses it.” I grab a record off the shelf below the turntable. “‘Abbey Road.’ The Beatles?”

  Harry stares blankly at me. Flint takes a seat on the edge of my bed.