Checked Out

by Hazel James

  “Trixie, stop!” I shouted as she neared the mailboxes. Of course she didn’t listen. Why would she? Why would anything work in my favor tonight? Instead of getting half-naked with my girlfriend, I was being cock blocked by a cocker spaniel that had no intention of slowing down. And how in the hell was she so fast? Mrs. Fairchild said Trixie was an old dog, but runner-up for an Iditarod team was more like it.

  For the next five minutes, Tuesday and I chased the damn thing from one end of the apartment complex to the other until the fireworks stopped and we could finally corner her. My first mistake was assuming it was safe to scoop her up, and my second mistake was actually doing it.

  “Oh shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Tuesday asked, jogging up beside me.

  “Literally, shit. She’s got it all over her legs.” And that meant I had it all over my jacket and shirt, which was the perfect fucking ending to this evening’s wild goose chase.

  Tuesday’s hand flew to her mouth as she took in the damage. Her shoulders began to shake softly and then she doubled over in a fit of silent laughter, either because she didn’t want to wake any sleeping neighbors or because she couldn’t breathe, I wasn’t sure.

  “Sooo funny,” I muttered, my mouth twisting into a wry smile as I lead the way back to her house. “And just so you know, we still have a raincheck to cash in. It’s late, so we can postpone it, but I’m not letting you off the hook altogether.”

  “You’re covered in poop from the waist up and you’re still thinking about that?”

  “I’m pretty sure I could be on my death bed covered in poop and I’d still be thinking about it.”

  She smiled and scrunched her nose. “That’s quite the visual. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with that level of… dedication.”

  “When it comes to things I’m interested in, my dedication is unparalleled.”

  “Good to know.” Her eyes flicked to mine and then she licked her bottom lip, which, under normal circumstances, would’ve led to yet another boner. Instead, it made laugh.

  “What?”

  “I could barely talk to girls when I was younger. I wish I could go back and tell thirteen-year-old me that one day he’d get a woman all worked up while holding a shit-covered dog. That would’ve alleviated so much stress.”

  It turned out that bathing Trixie wasn’t as easy as I thought. I was afraid if I put her in the tub, she’d jump out and track shit all over the bathroom. With no other options, I adjusted my grip on the dog and called for Tuesday.

  “Did you take Mrs. Fairchild home?” I asked when she opened the bathroom door.

  “Yep. I told her we’d bring Trixie over when you were done cleaning her up.”

  “About that… I hoped to spare you, but I’m gonna need your help.”

  After briefly discussing logistics, Tuesday tossed the bath rug in the hallway and went to the kitchen, returning with a trash bag, a jar of peanut butter, and a spoon. “I saw this online a few months ago. It’s supposed to keep dogs busy while they’re taking a bath.” She scooped a ball of peanut butter and smeared it along the edge of the tub… and to my surprise, it worked. Trixie happily stayed put, freeing my arms for our second hurdle—getting me out of my clothes.

  My jacket was easy enough. I grabbed the sleeves, took it off inside out, and carefully stuffed it into the trash bag Tuesday held open. My shirt was much more challenging. “What if we—” She motioned like she wanted to lift my shirt from the back and over my head. “Wait. The poop will smear on your face that way. Um… what about…” She reached for the hem again but stopped and shook her head. “Nope. That won’t work either.”

  “Just cut it off. That’ll be a lot easier.”

  “I don’t want to ruin a perfectly good shirt. We just need a way to protect your head. Oh! I know! Don’t move.” She darted out of the bathroom and came back with a box of aluminum foil. “This should do the trick.” She ripped off a sheet and got to work loosely covering me, but the higher up she went, the more my shoulders shook with laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “This is not what I had in mind earlier when I imagined you stripping me down and wrapping my head.” That made her giggle, and then we were both full-on belly laughing at the ridiculousness of tonight’s reality.

  “Okay, let’s try this again before the peanut butter runs out,” she finally said after pulling in a calming breath. She started at the back, maneuvering the fabric over my head and down my arms. I heard the rustle of the garbage bag before she peeled the foil off me. Her eyes were glued to my abs and her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth. The word “raincheck” floated in the space between us until Trixie yipped, snapping Tuesday out of her trance. “Um… I’ll get her some more penis butter. Peanut! Peanut butter.” Cringing, she grabbed the jar and spread another spoonful along the edge of the tub while I shamelessly stared at her ass.

  When she finished, she set the jar on the back of the toilet and started the water. “I think we should tag-team this. I’ll stand on this end to handle the rinsing and you can do the washing.” She unhooked the shower massager and lifted the knob to divert the water. “I don’t have any dog soap, so I hope you’re okay with coconut shampoo,” she said to Trixie.

  For the next hour, we ignored the elephant in the room—my half nakedness and our inability to do anything about it—to get Trixie cleaned up. Tuesday took her back over to Mrs. Fairchild’s since she was wearing more clothes. When she got back, I had my bag of dirty clothes over one shoulder as I readied myself for the quick and cold walk back to my apartment.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Home for a shower. I still feel like I’ve got dog shit on me.”

  “You don’t. Now sit down so we can watch your interview.” She plopped on the couch and patted the cushion beside her.

  “How do you know I don’t?”

  “Because I’d be able to smell it.”

  I gripped the bag tighter, like it was a lifeline saving me from watching the nightmare she’d cued up on her DVR. “How about you watch it and tell me all about it later?” I could only imagine what Blaine would do with the footage and my soundbites. He’d probably make it look like no one showed up and I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground. I couldn’t even remember what he’d asked me or what I’d said. I guess that’s what I get for focusing on Tuesday instead of his questions.

  “Don’t be scared. Between me and Blaine, you were in great hands. I have no doubt you totally killed this interview.”

  My jaw flexed at the words “between me and Blaine.” The only thing I wanted between them was a brick wall or maybe a large continent. Why couldn’t he have become a foreign correspondent in Timbuktu? Maybe it wasn’t too late… I’d happily cover the cost of his one-way ticket. I’d even spring for first class. With any luck, his first story would be about a plague of locusts or sand fleas.

  “Hey.” Tuesday poked me with the remote when I sat beside her. “If you don’t relax, I’m going to make you start reciting inspirational quotes like Aunt Alma made me do.”

  I smiled and playfully rolled my eyes, pushing Ricky to the back of my mind where he belonged. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be stern.”

  “I’m serious. I could spout off those quotes in my sleep. Don’t think I won’t unleash the same punishment.”

  “Fine, let’s get this over with.” She wrapped us in the same blanket she’d used on Mrs. Fairchild and clicked play on the remote. To my surprise, the segment wasn’t a train wreck.

  Ricky talked about the library and how it was our first trunk-or-treating event, then segued into Mayor Carter’s interview about the importance of local businesses investing in our youth. While she spoke, the clip flipped to footage of Diego and Erin teaching the mayor’s kids how to say “trick or treat” in sign language. My interview came last.

  “Is tonight living up to your expectations?” Ricky asked.

  “It definitely is. It’s
great to see the neighborhood come together for a family-friendly event. We’re thankful for our volunteers, community partners, and of course the men and women of the Newcastle Police Department and Fire and Rescue Services.” I smiled a little too widely when I said “police department” because that’s the moment Tuesday mouthed That’s my boyfriend.

  Aside from that little hiccup—which just made it look like I really liked the police department—the story was relatively decent. Ricky wrapped up with the library’s address and website where viewers could get more information and then the meteorologist came on screen with the weekend forecast.

  Tuesday hit the pause button and turned to me with a knowing smirk. “See? I told you! That was awesome!”

  Relief flooded my chest. I’d spent so many hours planning that event, and then had the added stress of a wildcard interview with the person I hated most. Somehow, Tuesday managed to swoop in at the eleventh hour and save the day without batting an eye. I pulled her into my chest and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know how to thank you. If you weren’t there, I would’ve sounded like an incompetent jackass.”

  She chuckled and met my gaze. “You would’ve been just fine without me, but I’m glad I got to be there and see you shine.”

  I moved to kiss her and ended up yawning instead, which I’m sure was the universe’s way of reminding me that being an incompetent jackass was still very much possible.

  “Let’s call it a night.” She was taking pity on me, but her smile let me know she wouldn’t hold it against me. “I’ve got a full day tomorrow anyway.”

  “What’s going on tomorrow?”

  “I didn’t tell you?” She glanced off to the side. “Huh. I must’ve forgotten with the excitement of your interview and finding Trixie.” Now she smiled and sat up a little taller. “For the rest of this week and the first few days of next week, I’ll be at Channel 3. I have to do paperwork and tours and get a lay of the land before they turn me loose for my regular early bird shift on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays.”

  “How early is ‘early bird?’”

  “Midnight to eight a.m.”

  I winced. “Damn, that sucks.”

  “It totally sucks. Gotta pay my dues, though,” she said, shrugging. “The good part is I’ll be working on the newscasts that run from five to seven thirty, so the experience I’ll get should be pretty awesome.”

  “Why don’t you come over tomorrow for breakfast to celebrate your first day and so I can thank you for making me look good on camera?”

  “The ‘thank you’ part is unnecessary, but the offer sounds amazing. When do you want me there?”

  “When do you have to be at Channel 3?”

  “At nine.”

  “How about six? That should give you plenty of time to get ready and do the rush-hour commute.” Of course, that meant I’d be up at four forty-five, but I was more than willing to make the sacrifice.

  “It’s a date.”

  This time, I managed to kiss her without yawning, and then I walked home in a fuzzy blanket with blue balls and a bag full of shit-covered clothes. I’d never been happier.

  Tuesday

  “Oh my God, that was incredible,” I moaned, my eyes half-closed. When Jack invited me over for breakfast this morning, I had no idea he’d bust out a gourmet meal of French toast stuffed with candied bacon. Homemade candied bacon. I didn’t know any bachelors who knew how to make that, let alone ones who didn’t mind putting in the effort this early in the morning.

  “I’m glad you liked it.” He sat back with a satisfied smirk and folded his arms across his plain white t-shirt. The small movement accentuated his biceps and pecs, adding to this morning’s case of sensory overload.

  “Are you kidding? I’d bathe in this stuff if I could.”

  He let out a half-laugh, half-groan and scrubbed his hands over his face. “That isn’t fair.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “I’m picturing you in a bathtub covered in maple syrup.”

  “Well I had to actually stare at my bare-chested boyfriend in my bathroom last night. That was way worse.”

  “I was bathing a dog covered in poop. That hardly counted.”

  “Based on the dream I had last night, it most certainly counted.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly aglow with mischief. “You dreamed about me?”

  “Mm hmm.” Heat spread across my cheeks, not from embarrassment but because holy crap, I didn’t just dream about him, I Dreamed about him—capital D. And no, his dream D did not disappoint. Neither did my dream O.

  “Care to share any details?”

  “Well…” I sunk my teeth into the corner of my smile and crooked a finger in his direction, loving the heck out of the way his Adam’s apple bobbed above the hem of his shirt. His gaze locked on mine, and his lips parted in anticipation of what I’d say. I was pretty sure the room could spontaneously burst into flames and I’d still be his sole focus. Talk about feeling powerful. “It was a phenomenal dream,” I continued, my voice far breathier than it was before, “but… a woman never kisses and tells.”

  His mouth fell open and he wheezed quietly, like he was experiencing a slow-motion version of something painful. He glared at me and shook his head against my laughter. “You are evil.”

  “And yet, you still like me.” I rose and placed a kiss against his cheek, then gathered our plates and took them to the kitchen.

  He joined me at the sink a few seconds later, his hands settling on my hips as he dropped his mouth and grazed the shell of my ear with his lips. “Thanks for coming over for breakfast.”

  His gravelly voice sent goose bumps down my arms and a zing of heat straight to my lady parts. I wanted nothing more than to lean into him and savor the way his body felt against mine. Okay, that was a lie. What I really wanted was to march back to his bedroom and collect on the raincheck that’d been dangling over our heads like a golden freaking carrot for the last twelve hours.

  Judging by the bulge pressing against my lower back, I wasn’t the only one thinking about it. Or, maybe he just really liked candied bacon. I couldn’t blame him.

  Jack Price was a man of many talents.

  “Who’s not playing fair now?” I managed to eke out.

  “Who said anything about playing fair?” He pulled me to his chest, and then his lips were on my neck, nipping and kissing the sensitive skin below my ear. It’d been eons since a man had kissed me there, but I didn’t recall it feeling this good. I gasped and tilted my head to give him better access. “So beautiful,” he murmured. The stubble of his unshaved jaw scratched against my skin, creating a new crop of goose bumps down my arms.

  I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was six forty-five and I needed to be back at my apartment by seven to give me enough time to get ready for my first day at Channel 3. “We have fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s plenty of time,” he murmured, trailing his hands up my sides to the swell of my breasts. I didn’t have any makeup on yet and my hair was in a ponytail, but that didn’t matter. Just like last night in his office, Jack made me feel sexy and powerful. I arched into his touch and threaded my fingers over his, both of us kneading my breasts.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “Your fingers,” I whispered.

  “My fingers where?”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

  He nodded and grinned like the devil he was. “Where do you want my fingers?”

  I tried dirty talk once, years ago, and ended up feeling ridiculous. But nothing about the way Jack was staring at me was ridiculous. Focusing on that, I took a deep breath and said, “Inside me.”

  He spun me around and dipped his hands beneath the back of my yoga pants, squeezing my cheeks before shoving everything down to my knees. He circled my clit with the pad of one finger, then skated down my seam and back up again. It was pleasure and torture all in one. I threaded my hand through his h
air and dragged his mouth to mine. “Jack, if you don’t put your fingers inside me right now, I might die.”

  He grinned again. “I’d say something about being dramatic, but you look pretty serious and we can’t have Channel 3’s newest employee dying on the first day of work.”

  “That would definitely not look good.”

  I’d hardly finished my sentence when he eased his middle finger inside me and matched the movements of his hand with his tongue, pumping both in and out like his sole mission was to keep me alive. I should put in a good word for him with my boss, as soon as I found out who that was.

  When he added another finger, I abandoned my grip on the back of his head and instead grabbed ahold of his forearm to shamelessly grind my hips against the palm of his hand. The friction sent my body from a four to a nine in a matter of seconds. “Please,” I moaned, my voice raw with need.

  Jack smirked and brought the pace of his fingers to a grinding halt—no pun intended. “Please what?”

  My body bucked in protest at the loss of movement. “Please don’t stop. I’m so close.” Those must’ve been the magic words, because his magic fingers were back in action and before I knew it, I was shouting his name to his ceiling and praying there was adequate soundproofing between him and his upstairs neighbor.

  If there wasn’t, I’d totally blame it on the bacon.

  With my car door locked and my keys stowed in my purse, I took a quick selfie in front of the Employee Parking Only sign and sent it to my sister-in-law.

  Me: I’m allowed to park here!

  Selena: Of course you are, dork. Have a great day.

  She added a party hat emoji and an animated sticker that said “Knock ‘em dead!”

  Me: Is it weird that I’m nervous even though I won’t actually do my job until next week?

  Selena: Not at all. I’m sure Diane Sawyer was nervous on her first day too.