“He is a cute little fella. Llama think on it a bit?” She stifles a chuckle.
“If you don’t get it, you’ll regret it fur-ever.” My reply is completely deadpan.
“Oh that was awful. I’ll buy it if you promise not to use that one again.” She giggles and pays the vendor.
While she digs through a table full of textiles, I offer to carry her purchases back to the SUV so we don’t have to lug them around.
As I’m walking back to the car, holding each trunk by the handle with one hand, a toy vendor catches my eye. I walk over and set the two trunks down where I can see them while I peruse a table full of kewpie dolls and Rubik’s cubes. The guy gives me a quick, “How’s it going,” and I return the greeting. He has everything from monkeys that clang cymbals, to a battered and bruised Stretch Armstrong doll.
I start to walk away, when something catches my eye. The long, dark box holds a board game I know well. Clair and I have spent countless hours playing it together. The square, tan label in the center tells me it’s definitely vintage, and might be original.
“May I?” I point to the box on the side shelf.
“Help yourself,” the guy off-handedly replies as he goes back to explaining the finer points of Cabbage Patch dolls to a young woman and her daughter.
I open the box, and carefully lift out a burgundy playing board with lightly faded corners. I open it, and the pale gray playing surface is in good shape. Inside, four wooden racks bear the patina of age, and the edges of the little wooden tiles are slightly softened with wear. I put the pieces back in the box and flip the lid over, looking at the information below the instructions.
I find the information I’m looking for. Copyright 1948 – P & M Corp. It’s an original, 1948, first edition copy of Scrabble. I can’t believe my luck.
“Hey, buddy.” I pull the vendor’s attention away from the doll shoppers. “How much for the Scrabble set?”
“That’s an old one—from the early fifties at least. It’s complete, though. Eh, how about forty bucks.”
His brows furrow as if he’s digging in on the price. It’s an original, worth a little more, but he has no idea what he has. I tuck the game safely inside one of the chests, and pull out my wallet. I hand him a fifty.
“Keep the change.” He cocks his head to the side, looks me up and down, and shrugs, shoving the bill into a wad of cash which he then tucks back into his apron.
I walk to the truck and put Clair’s things safely in the back. I pull the game out, and wrap it in a jacket that I had tossed in the back at some point, and tuck it out of site in the seat-back pocket. It will make a nice surprise. What better gift for the girl who loves words than an original copy of the game we’ve spent so many hours together playing?
I return to find Clair in front of a pen filled with puppies. As I approach, she has a fluffy little white one with brown and black splotches clutched to her chest.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take him home?” The woman standing beside a card table in a rescue charity t-shirt asks.
“Oh, I’d love to, but I just can’t. I’m not home enough to take care of him.” She holds the little guy up in the air to face her. “See you later little buddy.” She gives him a sad grin. He lets out a whimper and licks her nose. I swear she looks like she’s about to cry.
When she puts the puppy down, she walks over to the card table, pulls her credit card from her purse, and swipes it on the rescue group’s tablet card reader.
“Making a donation?” I ask as I walk up beside her.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “I’m in no position to give one…or, you know, five of these little guys a home right now, but I can keep them in kibble and warm blankets for a little while. I had some money tucked away for a new pair of designer boots. Who needs more boots in Texas, though, right?”
She playfully pushes her shoulder against mine and the impossible happens: my heart melts a little more for this woman.
As she finishes her transaction, I swipe my own card on the tablet next to her and make a sizable donation of my own. I do love animals. In my lifetime, I’ve found them to be far less judgmental than most people, after all.
.-- --- -. -.. . .-.
After the flea market, we grab a couple of burgers and take them back to Clair’s place. I unload her shopping haul, and we sit on the living room floor, using a low box as a makeshift table.
“So, tell me about the new projects you’re working on.” She shamelessly steals a sweet potato fry from my paper plate.
“I’ve got a couple of things going at the moment. One project is in the early experimental phases right now. We’re using microtechnology to see how small we can get neurostimulators.”
“Sounds fascinating. Explain it in layman’s terms, please.” She grins between bites of burger, her attention rapt.
“Think of a pacemaker. Now imagine that same concept could be miniaturized, and dozens of them used in large muscles. That’s what we’re working on.” I think about the field, and add, “Well, us and about two dozen other companies, but we’re the smallest firm doing research at this level.”
“That sounds fascinating. Think of the applications!” She exclaims. She cocks her head to the side and looks up—a sure sign that brain of hers is churning over ideas. “Shortening recovery times for soft tissue injuries without the risk of weight-bearing. Muscular stimulation for patients who are in comatose states…maybe someday it could help with a cure for spinal cord injuries.”
“Exactly. We’re decades away, but imagine the possibilities if we could make strides in that type of technology.”
I’m proud of this work, and it’s an area of research that I think is so important, I’m happy to pour some of our profits into funding it, even if there are no short-term gains to be had. That’s what I love about my company—I can support projects I believe in.
“That’s clearly a labor of love.” Clair looks at me from under soft, full lashes and dark brows. “So what’s the next big breakthrough. What’s the thing that will put you on another magazine cover?”
I smile wide. Our newest breakthrough is one I thought would take years to perfect. A breakthrough in percussive technology propelled our research forward recently, and we’ve made huge strides.
“I could tell you about it, but I’d rather show you. Want to run by the lab and check it out?” I hope I can show off my latest achievement.
“I’d love to, but…,” she looks down at her smartwatch. “I can’t. I promised my parents I’d come over for a visit.” She furrows her brow a little and pouts just a little.
Suddenly, the pout slides away, replaced by a mischievous grin. “Come with me! Come to the ranch! Llama tell you, it’ll be a great time!”
“Ooh, you did not just say that!” I laugh. “You should be pun-ished for that.”
The amusement dances in her eyes as laughter rolls over her. “Come on! My dad could spin one of his famous yarns for you.” She wriggles her eyebrows.
“Wait, llama check the weather for you.”
“Don’t worry—alpaca sweater.” She winks and I laugh out loud.
I shake my head. “You better get going…don’t llama keep you.”
Clair stands and follows me as I head toward the front door. “Text me this week. Come by one night after work. I’m usually there pretty late. I’ll show you all the coolest new toys.”
“I might do that…But not Thursday night. Thursday night is date night.” She wriggles her brows up and down, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she rocks back on her heels. “And I expect a full rundown on Friday. All the deets.”
“You got it.” I look at her over my frames.
She takes her hands out of her pockets and puts the right one up to my shoulder.
“Oh, and wear that sweater and tee you had on when you met me at Tipsy Alchemist.” She places her left palm on my chest. “It shows off your muscles. You look really hot in that.”
I put my palm
over the hand she has on my chest and slide the other arm around her for a hug, then tip my chin up, looking down at her.
“Wait, did you say I looked hot?”
My circulatory system has no idea where to concentrate the blood flow in my body right now. My brain is whirring with confused thoughts on what that means and why she’d say it. My cheeks are flushing, and I can feel the heat rising in them. At the same time, my dick twitches, and wants its fair share of the supply.
Clair tiptoes up to kiss my cheek, and moves her arms around my neck.
“Of course you looked hot.” She chuckles. “You’re the total package, Dex. Brilliant, sweet, and yes, hot. Tabitha’s going to love you. Why wouldn’t she?”
Why don’t you, Clair?
I shake the thought from my head as we break our goodbye hug and I step through her door, hearing it click shut behind me.
My mind is a computer, aggregating all the data at its disposal. Since she’s been back, Clair has paid a compliment to my appearance every time I’ve seen her. The other night she called me handsome. Today, she called me hot. Me. Dexter Flynn. Hot. On the other hand, she went out with Cole, and she helped me line up a date with another girl.
I stand, for a moment, in her driveway, contemplating whether there was subtext there I should be considering, or if she’s just being a complimentary friend. I briefly entertain the idea of going back to her door, bursting through it, sweeping her up into my arms, and kissing her the way the hero kisses the girl in all the best movies.
As I stand there with my fingertips on the door handle of the SUV, deciding what I should do, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and the name on the screen yanks me from Dexland and back into reality.
It’s the name of a guy that belongs with a girl like Sinclair.
“Hey, Cole. What’s up?”
“Dude, you gotta help me. I think I blew it with Sinclair. I need you to tell me how to get back on track with her.” He blows out an exaggerated breath. “Can I come over?”
“I’m headed to the lab. Meet me there?” He agrees, and we hang up.
In the imaginary world I retreat to in my head when things get hard, I get the girl, win a Nobel, and use technology to cure something devastating. Maybe cancer. In Dexland, I’m the hero, and Sinclair is mine.
I don’t live in Dexland, though. I live in the real world. And in the real world, it’s guys like Cole who get the girl. Guys like me end up holding his coat while he kisses her.
CHAPTER 7
Sinclair
ON THE EAST SIDE of Dallas, I hit highway eighty and drive for just over an hour to the town of Mineola. There, I stop by Donut King and grab a dozen before heading out to the ranch. My dad loves donuts more than just about anything, so I know he, especially, will appreciate the gesture.
When I pull up to the sprawling two-story farmhouse with the wide, wraparound porch, I’m immediately greeted by a trio of wagging tails. Athos and Artemis are my parents’ border collies. The third member of the fluffy threesome is Porthos, the Australian shepherd.
“Hello, handsome boys.” I give them each a tousle on top of the head. “Okay, everybody sit!” I raise a finger in the air in time with my words.
All three look at me expectantly, sitting, tails wagging, eyes fixed on me, mouths parted in smiling expectation. I pull a single, plain cake donut from the box and break it into three pieces.
I hold up a piece, and say Athos’ name before I toss it in his direction. He gleefully snatches it from the air as his jaws clamp over the airborne treat. Porthos is next, and he licks his lips after he consumes the single bite. Hoping to find some errant crumbs, he futilely sniffs the ground. Finally, I say Artemis’ name, and toss him the last piece, which he daintily catches, then tipping his head back, lets slide down his gullet.
How Mom ever trained them to exhibit such patience and restraint is beyond me, but they are a-dor-a-ble. They’re each about seven now, and I swear, they still act like puppies.
I knock, and open the door, calling out before I enter. There’s no answer, so I go in. Walking through to the kitchen, I deposit the box of donuts on the counter, and wash my hands. Not seeing my parents in the living room, I start to head out to the deck, when I spot hem through the window, standing by the grill. They’re kissing. Not the sweet peck I’ve seen them exchange countless times over the years. This is a real kiss.
I don’t want to stare. I mean, no one wants to see their parents making out, right? But it’s so incredibly sweet, this moment between them. There’s something about the way my dad is holding mom’s face gingerly with his fingertips, and the way she is grasping at his sides as she tips her head back to meet his lips, that has me completely transfixed. He loves this woman. She adores this man. It’s completely clear that they love each other as much as when they got married. Maybe even more.
I pull my gaze away and step back, leaning back against the wall. An unexpected wave of emotion washes over me. My mind whirs with so many thoughts. I think about Kelly and how excited she is to finally be getting married after wanting it for so long. I think about my mother, urging me to find someone and settle down.
I think about sweet Dex. How adorable he was when I told him he looked hot the other night, and the blush rose to his cheeks. I think about the hours we’ve spent laughing and talking over the years. I think about the way it felt to have his arms wrapped around me earlier as he hugged me goodbye.
I want that. I want arms to hold me, and someone to care about my opinions. I want someone to go with to my favorite restaurant, and to join me for board game marathons. I want someone to kiss, and tell secrets to. Someone to have incredible sex with. Someone to love. I’ve never really pined for a relationship when I haven’t had one, but now? At this place in my life…I want all of that with someone special.
My mind goes back to my date with Cole. Could he be my someone special? I’m still not sure.
He was sweet, and completely a gentleman. He asked me lots of questions about my work, and what I like to do. He held my hand as we walked from the restaurant, and didn’t push me. He seemed satisfied with a hug goodnight.
As if I’ve somehow conjured him up, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and it’s a text from Cole.
COLE: How’s your day going?
ME: Good. Yours?
COLE: Can’t complain. Got a minute to talk?
ME: Sure.
A moment later my phone rings.
“Hi. I knew you said you were going to your parents’ house today, so I thought I’d text first…didn’t want to interrupt.”
Thoughtful. Really thoughtful.
“That was very kind of you. I’m good, though. I’m at my parents’ place, but I can talk for a minute.” I walk back out the front door as we chat, and sit on the front step for some privacy. I’m immediately flanked by the fluffy musketeers, and they each get a scratch behind the ears or a pat on the head.
“I had a really good time with you last night, Sinclair.”
“I had a nice time too.” I try to be open to liking the man that I can’t help but think I should.
“Here’s the thing. I think I have to ask you for a favor.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I think I need a Mulligan.” His words are accompanied by an easy laugh.
“What do you mean?” I feel my lips curl into a smile around my reply.
“Well, I feel like you didn’t have as good a time on our date as I wanted you to. Can I be perfectly honest?” His tone is earnest.
“Absolutely. I prefer it.”
“I don’t usually date women like you. You’re different. You’re gorgeous, you’re fun, and you’re…kinda deep.” I hear the smile in his voice and give him a soft chuckle at this choice of phrase. “I like you, Sinclair. I think you’d like me too, but I feel like I didn’t bring my a-game last night. So, I’m going to suck it up and ask for a do-over. What do you say?”
“There was nothing wrong with our date, Cole. I told
you, I had a nice time.” I smile, thinking how sweet it is that he wants to impress me.
“I know. But see, I want you to have a great time. A spectacular time.” He pauses, then continues, “I want you to go home from a night out with me, and think, ‘Wow, that Cole really knows how to knock a girl’s socks off.’ So would you please let me take you out again?” His tone is full of anticipation.
He’s right, too. I had a nice time—not a spectacular time. It’s kind of adorable that he wants to knock my socks off. It sounds like the corny, sweet sort of thing Dex would say. Maybe he’s rubbing off on the guy. Maybe they’re more alike than I suspected.
“How about Thursday night?”
“Not Thursday!” He blurts out the reply, then softens his tone. “Sorry, I can’t Thursday. My friend is busy. I mean, moving. I’m helping a friend move.”
Geez. This guy takes helping a friend seriously.
“Okay, how about Friday? Or Saturday would work, too.” I give him options, since he’s clearly so set on giving it another try.
“Saturday would be perfect. In fact…I have a great idea for something we can do that I think you’ll really like.” He pauses for a moment, as if considering his next thought. “Would you prefer to meet me, or should I pick you up?”
Give that man another round of brownie points. I like that he’s not presuming he should pick me up at my place.
We make arrangements to meet at Dexter’s office which is about halfway for each of us. He says I can dress casually and I’m sort of glad he’s not planning anything fancy.
“I’ll be looking forward to it.” I grin, then add. “I’ll be sure to wear socks.”
It takes him a moment to respond. “Oh, right! For me to knock off. I’ll definitely try my best.”
We hang up, and I feel suddenly lighter. I’m looking forward to this next date with Cole far more than the last. Who doesn’t love a guy who puts in the extra effort to make you like him?
I start to go back into the house, and decide to shoot Dexter a text.
ME: have you talked to Cole?
In Other Words Page 5
