Welcome to Blissville

by Walker, Aimee Nicole

  Sure, Kyle and I had a lot in common, but we didn’t push each other to become better. We didn’t spark an insane need to be inside one another. Playing it safe with our emotions wasn’t going to enrich our lives on any level, and I suddenly wanted that for myself at thirty-five years old.

  I wasn’t implying that Josh was “the one” I would grow old with, but I knew he was “the one” I wanted to take a chance on—if only he could find a way to like me after I botched things. I had tried on numerous occasions to apologize to him. I was glad that he never let it happen and that I had to force my words on him that night. Truthfully, my earlier apologies would’ve been based on my guilt rather than enlightenment. I meant what I told him that evening.

  I had been narrow-minded in my thinking and I failed to recognize that beauty exists in more places than just ripped muscles, chest hair, and deep voices. I don’t know when I changed, or how, but I suspected it was just something about Josh himself that had me sitting up straight and taking notice. I admired his long, lean frame and the fluid way his body moved while walking, dancing, and fucking. Josh had appropriately proportioned muscles to fit his frame and the smoothest skin that I had ever felt. I discovered I liked the differences between our bodies—from our heights, our skin tones, and our weight. I never once thought of his attributes as feminine when I had him in my arms or my bed. I had been a judgmental ass, and I was determined to prove that my old way of thinking was well and truly in my past.

  The rain let up and became just a downpour instead of a monsoon. Since the visibility had improved, I drove the rest of the way home. I ran from my car to my house faster than I did when I was trying out for the first string tight end for my varsity football team in high school. I worked hard during the offseason in the gym and on the track to gain physical strength and speed. It was something I wanted really bad, and I worked for it.

  I knew I needed that same dedication if I was going to win Josh over. Win him over? I shook my head, more from my surprising thoughts than from my drenched hair, as I unlocked my door and let myself into my house. A cold chill permeated my body, so I kicked the furnace up a notch and decided to make another cup of coffee.

  Once I warmed up, my thoughts went right back to Josh, and I began to catalog the differences I noticed in him since the night of his attack. The first thing that stuck out to me was that he had grown a beard that was a shade or two darker than his platinum hair. I liked the way it looked on him; I liked it a lot. I wanted to run my fingers over the beard to see if it was soft or bristly, then I wanted to feel it against other parts of my body.

  The wariness in his eyes when he looked at me had faded somewhat. It was still there, but not as strong. It used to be that his wariness lingered in his eyes longer than the annoyance or dislike he felt for me. He still had his reservations about me, but they weren’t as strong.

  On some level, he knew he could trust me because I was the one he called the night of the attack, not 911. I suspected that he had put my number in his phone rather than pull out my business card from his wallet. That was precious time he didn’t have that night.

  A shiver worked through me as I recalled just how close he had come to dying. Shooting and killing a man wasn’t something I enjoyed, even if he was a cold-blooded killer. I still relived that night for a solid month in my sleep and had to work with the police psychologist to make sure I was still capable of doing my job. I had a support system, but did Josh?

  I had called to check on him the days that followed, but he either didn’t respond, or his answer was the same, “I’m fine.” He made it clear that he didn’t want to talk to me about the situation, which only made me worry about him more. I didn’t push Josh because I knew I would lose any ground I had made with him, which I suspected was very little.

  He let me hold him tight against my chest and comfort him until the police officers arrived on the scene, but he rejected the hug I tried to give him when I left his house that night. I had wanted to ask him to come home with me, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that the answer would’ve been no, even if I promised to sleep on the couch.

  Damn, the guy drove me nuts. There had to be someone out there that I was attracted to and didn’t drive me crazy. Okay, what I felt for Josh was more than the garden variety attraction, but my concept was right. I just needed to talk myself into looking for that other person, but hell, I wasn’t ready to give up on Josh yet.

  Dinner was a frozen square of lasagna that took forever to bake in the oven, a bowl of salad, and cold beer while I watched college football on my big screen TV. It wasn’t an exciting evening by any stretch, but it was peaceful, if not lonely. I thought about Josh’s pets and wondered if maybe I should get a fur buddy of my own. I felt content in my life at the moment, but I wouldn’t go so far as say that I was happy.

  I looked around my living room and tried to see it as a stranger would. I saw oversized, non-descript brown furniture surrounding a large glass coffee table that I ate my dinners on nightly. My TV was the most predominant piece of furniture in the room, taking up a huge portion of the living room wall. I had CDs and DVDs sitting on my bookshelves, but no decorations or pictures of my family. I didn’t have art on my walls or throw pillows on my couch to accent the curtains. My bedroom was just as nondescript. I had a large, comfortable bed, a chest of drawers situated across from my bed with a TV on top, and two bedside tables. Hell, even my bedding was a boring navy blue with white pinstripes. It sure looked good against Josh’s fair skin though.

  Josh’s house was opposite in every way. I could tell he spent a lot of time making each room look nice, yet comfortable at the same time. His house wasn’t like my grandmother’s where everything was for looks only. We were afraid to sit on her furniture or breathe near her fancy hand towels in the downstairs guest bathroom. It wasn’t pleasant spending time there as a kid or even as an adult. Josh’s living space was warm and inviting, not fussy.

  I went to bed once the game was over. I told myself I had done enough self-reflection for one evening but couldn’t seem to shut my brain down when I climbed between the sheets. It was the same thing that happened to me every time I ran into Josh. The emotions had changed a bit over the past few months, but I was still baffled when it came to him. He was an exotic animal I wanted to pet but feared it might bite me.

  I was chuckling at my inner musings when I heard a pitiful whining sound coming from outside. It sounded like an unhappy dog was right below my bedroom window. The mournful whining became a hopeless howl and tugged at my heart. The temperature was supposed to reach the freezing point, and then the rain would turn to ice. It was not fit for man or beast out there, which was why I got dressed, put on my coat, and went outside to get the dog.

  I found the animal just below my window as I suspected. The dog looked at me so woefully when I rounded the corner, as if he or she was afraid of me, but realized I was the only hope on a night like that. I felt a strong tug on my heart and squatted down to its level so that I’d look less threatening.

  “Come here, pooch,” I said in the softest, non-threatening voice I could muster. “I’m not going to hurt you, buddy.” I extended my hand out, and the dog hung its head for a few seconds before slowly walking toward me. I didn’t reach out to pick the dog up because I wasn’t sure how scared it was and I didn’t want to get bitten. The shaking could’ve been from being scared or the cold, but I suspected it was both. “I have a warm towel and some lunchmeat with your name all over it.” I rose to my feet and started walking backward. I coaxed him with my hands until we were both in the house and out of the cold rain.

  The dog shook all over, sending rain and mud all over my foyer. It eyed me cautiously, and I wondered what kind of hell the weary animal had been through before I found him. “Hmm, let’s get you a snack and then we’ll get you cleaned off in a warm bath.” My new friend cocked his head to the side like it knew what the word meant.

  I gave the dog a few pieces of ham and then coaxed it i
nto the bathroom. I discovered during bath time that I was working with a boy dog. He looked grateful that he was getting clean when I lathered and rinsed him twice. Once I finished, I checked him over for wounds and was pleased to find none.

  He was a pretty boy and looked to be a shepherd and lab mix. I hadn’t seen him in the neighborhood before and wondered how far he had traveled. I toweled him off good and took him back downstairs to get a bit more to eat and a bowl of water. I didn’t have a dog bowl so I used a mixing bowl that my mom bought me on the off chance that I would bake. It was like she didn’t even know me sometimes.

  “I’ll hang up some posters and see if I can find your family since you’re not wearing a collar,” I told him while I got out an old comforter from my closet and laid it on my bedroom floor for him to use as a bed. He tipped his head to the side as if he understood what I said and the sad look on his face made me think his family no longer wanted him. It was hard for me to imagine since he was such a beautiful dog, but people tossed aside beautiful things all the time. Josh appeared in my mind just then, and I realized that he too could fit into that category.

  I pointed to the dog’s bed and said, “Lie down, buddy. It’s time for bed. Tomorrow is a new day, and we’ll figure out what to do.” The dog surprisingly lay down like I commanded—well, after doing the three spin move that dogs are known to do.

  I climbed into bed and tried to shut my brain down so I could get some rest. I told my brain not to conjure up images of Josh, or I’d never get to sleep. It didn’t listen, so I lay awake for quite some time. My new friend must’ve thought I drifted off to sleep because he boldly jumped on my bed and made himself at home. He let out a relieved sigh and then soft snores drifted up from the foot of my bed.

  Instead of thinking about Josh, I began to think up names for my new dog. I had a strong feeling his owner wasn’t coming forward, and there was no way I was dropping him off at a shelter. No fucking way. Bandit. “What do you think about Bandit?” I asked the sleeping dog. He raised his head up and looked over at me. The dog would’ve shrugged if it were a possibility. “Okay, I’ll keep thinking.” After a few more minutes I asked, “Roscoe?” That time he didn’t even acknowledge me. He just snored louder. “No go,” I said, then yawned as sleep finally moved in. “I’ll figure something out tomorrow.”

  I woke up the next morning, and the dog was no longer by my feet, but was instead, lying beside me with his head on the spare pillow. “Listen, buddy,” I said, “I’m hoping to reserve that pillow for a human.” The dog wagged his tail when I said “buddy,” and I realized that would be his name.

  “Buddy?” I questioned just to be sure. That time the tail wagging was accompanied by a doggy kiss on the side of my face. The dog had a name, and I had a companion. It was a great way to start off a Sunday.

  People would often see my bold color choices for my clothes or the colored streak I’d sometimes wear in my hair and figured I was a spontaneous, exciting person. In reality, I liked consistency and routines because I could always count on them. That hadn’t always been my experience in my late teens and early 20s. The things I thought would happen didn’t, and it left me spinning with feelings of disappointment and disillusionment. People would let me down, but I could rely on routines.

  For example, on Sundays, I would always go to Brook’s Pets to get whatever supplies I needed for my fur babies after a leisurely cup of coffee and a pastry from The Brew. That morning, I sat at my usual table and noticed a flyer hanging up on the window about a lost dog that someone found. It had a picture of the pooch and a phone number where the owners could call and claim their dog.

  My heart kicked up several notches when I recognized the pattern of tile on the kitchen floor and the phone number. Although I only dialed it once, I thought about calling and texting that number on several occasions. Only memories of past hurt kept me from dialing Detective Hung Dick’s number, even to thank him for saving my life. I would’ve baked him cookies, but we just would’ve ended up fucking again, and I couldn’t let that happen.

  I stared at the flyer and smiled at the thought of Gabe taking the time to print and hang them up around town. I wondered if he truly wanted the owners to come forward or if he was just doing the right thing. The dog sure looked happy to be in Gabe’s kitchen.

  I got the answer to my question when I walked into Brook’s and found Gabe studying the display of collars, harnesses, and leashes very carefully. I should’ve just picked up the things I needed and got the hell out of there because he was so focused on making good choices for his new friend that he didn’t know I was in the store. Instead, I stood there noticing how the sun brought out golden caramel streaks in his dark hair. I knew how soft that hair felt between my fingers and…

  No! Not going there now or ever. It was a one-time thing, and I didn’t want it to happen again. Okay, I wanted it very badly, but I wouldn’t allow it to happen. Still, I stood silently and observed until he picked up a leather studded collar and harness combo and smirked. I could not pass up an opportunity like that.

  I approached him stealthily, and once I was standing directly behind him, I said, “I didn’t take you for a leather daddy.” I laughed at the shocked look on his face when he looked over his shoulder. Was it because I startled him or was it because I sought him out? I got the ball rolling so why stop? I leaned forward and lowered my voice so only he could hear. “Do you have a dungeon in your basement?”

  Gabe hung up the studded items and turned to face me. He leaned in until his lips were nearly touching my ear. I fought off a shiver that wanted to ripple its way through my body due to his nearness, but I think he knew the effect he had on me. “Do you want me to?”

  Did I? No! I wasn’t really into that kind of thing. I mean if he wanted to spank me a little or… No, no, no! “It’s not my thing,” I replied after I pretended to ponder his question. I must not have sounded too convincing because his lips tilted up into a crooked, wicked smile as if he was picturing me tied down and… I commanded my brain to cease and desist immediately. “What are you doing here?” I asked as if I didn’t just see the flyer at the coffee shop. Not like I was going to confess I had his kitchen tile and phone number memorized.

  “There was a dog whimpering outside my bedroom window last night in the pouring rain. I couldn’t just leave him out there so I brought him in, bathed him, and gave him something to eat to tide him over until I could get him some legitimate dog food. I have no idea what I’m doing here. You’d think after dating a vet that I’d…”

  He let his sentence fade away as if he thought bringing up Kyle would upset me. I already knew he moved here to be with Kyle and that their relationship ended a year later; it was a very small town after all. Knowing and liking wasn’t the same thing though. I didn’t like picturing him with Kyle, and I refused to think about why.

  “You should call him and make an appointment to have your new friend checked out,” I recommended. “In the meantime, Brook can make some good food suggestions for you. I’ve never had a dog, so I wouldn’t be much help to you.” Not that he asked.

  “I already called Kyle, and Buddy has an appointment tomorrow night.” He turned back to look at the display once more, and I was glad to have his keen eyes off me so that I didn’t accidentally give away any of the emotions he made me feel.

  “Buddy, huh?” I reached around him to pick up a simple navy blue collar that reminded me of Gabe’s comforter. I felt Gabe stiffen when my body brushed up against his. I tried not to get busted as I breathed the scent of him into my nose. He smelled just as masculine and sexy as I remembered from our one afternoon together. “Here,” I said, holding out the collar to Gabe. It looked sturdy and reliable—adjectives I was starting to associate with Buddy’s owner. Still, I wasn’t going to trust him with my heart and body.

  Gabe took the collar from my hand then picked out a leash and harness in the same color before he turned around and looked into my eyes. “Thanks.”

  “You
’re welcome.” It was the friendliest exchange we’d ever had up to that point. I don’t know, having his dick in my ass was pretty friendly. I could tell that he wanted to say more, maybe even push for more, but I wasn’t ready for that; I might not ever be ready. So, I took a step back and briefly broke eye contact. “Well, I better get my stuff and get on the road. I have several stops to make before my company comes for dinner.” Why was I telling him so much?

  “Company?” he asked, his brow furrowed as if he didn’t like the idea.

  I didn’t owe him an explanation, so I was surprised when I responded. “Mere and Chaz come over for Sunday dinner every week. Family Sunday dinners have always been a tradition, but my parents moved south after my dad retired. Mere and Chaz are my family, and I cook dinner for them every week.”

  “What are you serving?” Gabe asked. I didn’t know how I expected him to respond, but that wasn’t it.

  “Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and baked banana pudding with meringue on top.” His eyes glazed over; I half expected to see a little drool form at the corners of his mouth. For a brief second, I almost entertained the idea of inviting Gabe over for dinner, but I squelched that quickly. Sunday family dinners were sacred, and he wasn’t my family. Mere and Chaz had brought boyfriends to Sunday dinners before, and that was fine with me because it didn’t have the same significance to them as it did me. If I invited a guy to Sunday dinner, then it meant he was very important to me, as in maybe “the one.” That had never happened, and I doubted it would anytime soon, if ever.