by Sierra Hill
He continues with shaky breath, as if he’s just run a marathon. “Patrick is gone. Left for China yesterday. I’m watching his apartment and Woody for the next two months while he’s overseas.”
Theo bends over at his waist and his hands land on his knees. I think he might be hyperventilating.
His breaths are choppy. Winded. When I place my hand gently on his back, he startles.
“Sorry…why don’t you come sit down. You’re not looking well.”
I guide him over to my couch and he sits down, as I stand over him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Woody slowly slink out from underneath the chair.
“Come ‘ere, Woody.”
Woody prances over to me and I pick him up, cradling him in my arms and stroking the top of his head.
I’m kind of surprised to hear that Patrick left the care of his precious pup to this guy, who obviously doesn’t know Woody at all. Or even seem to like him. And it’s obvious how Woody feels about him.
Why wouldn’t Pat leave him in my care? He knows I love the furry little guy as if he were my own. And for that matter, why didn’t Pat inform me he was leaving? I knew he was going on a business trip because he mentioned it the other night when I came over. The night I met Theo. But it seems weird that Pat didn’t come say goodbye to me.
I’ll deal with giving Pat a piece of my mind later. For now, I need to resolve this problem so I can climb back into my bed.
Theo leans forward, places his elbows on his knees which make the cut of his biceps underneath his t-shirt bulge, before looking up at me with imploringly eyes.
The other night when we met, all I really saw was his face shielded by his baseball cap and within minutes, he had fallen asleep. His eyes hadn’t been on display like they are now.
But now that I have a good vantage point, I can see what Pat finds appealing about him.
Theo’s very handsome. Not in a rugged way, but not complete pretty-boy either. He has a nice jawline that dips down into a pointed chin, his narrow nose creating a perfect symmetry in his face. His dark blond hair is swept to the right as if he’s run his hands through it all morning.
And then there’s his hazel-green eyes that have specks of silver and gold in them. They remind me of the old bowling ball my dad used to own when he was on a league. I used to get a kick out of taking it out of his bag and placing it on the conveyor. It was a swirling kaleidoscope of color. His eyes are just as fascinating.
Theo’s voice houses frustration. “I’ve tried for the last hour to get him to take his medicine. I’ve gone through six of these snack thingies,” he explains, holding up a small baggie filled with treats. “He just eats around it and spits out the pill.”
Woody licks his lips as if to say, ‘sucker.’
I almost laugh out loud, but bite my tongue.
“Patrick made it sound so easy – you know, bada bing, bada boom. Pop it in, hold his mouth closed, blah, blah, blah. But that dog is just messing with me. I know it.”
I can no longer hold it back, as the laughter spills out of my mouth. My self-control is shit prior to coffee. That’s why I never go to class without first having a pot of the strongest stuff possible.
Theo looks wounded.
“I’m sorry, but it’s kind of funny that you think Woody’s messing with you just for kicks. Here you are this big, strong man and he’s just this teeny, tiny, itty-bitty dog. Of course he’s not going to do anything you want if you don’t first prove that you’re the alpha in this situation.”
It makes me wonder if Patrick is the top when they’re intimate. My face flushes a bright red, which I’m sure he can see the minute he quirks a brow at me.
“Alpha. Hm. I see…since you’re so smart, why don’t you give it a try.”
He holds out his hand and thrusts the bag of treats into mine.
“Fine,” I capitulate, gently placing Woody on the floor between us.
I open the baggie, pull out the sticky snack that smells weirdly of stinky feet, stuff one of the pills in it and pinch the treat closed.
Dropping to my knees, I command Woody to come with a hand gesture.
“Good boy. Sit.”
He sits.
I hold the treat a little higher than his head in front of his snout so he’s craning his neck, he opens, I place it on his tongue, he closes, I grab his snout gently and hold.
“Good boy, eat it all gone. Now swallow.”
And just like that, I’ve demonstrated to Theo how to be alpha.
When I finally glance over to him, he’s shaking his head, rolling his eyes in disbelief.
And then he smiles. It’s this bright, wide smile that has me losing my balance. I teeter on my feet, since I’m in the squat position, and begin to topple back about to land on my butt. His reflex is fast as he reaches out to grab my arm to steady me.
His smile is way too disarming for this time of day. And let me state again for the record, prior to my morning coffee. I’d need a Starbucks warehouse and a pair of strong UV Ray Bans to protect myself against the effects of Theo’s smile.
“Whoa, you okay there?”
I try to recover. “Yeah. Damn vertigo.”
He helps me to my feet and pats the cushion next to him on the couch. “Come sit, otherwise we might need to find you a helmet.”
He snickers to himself as I look to him, then to the spot on the couch, and back to him. I can’t trust myself sitting next to him when I now know what he looks like. He’s too gorgeous and I’m too off kilter to trust myself in not trying to jump in his lap.
I remain where I’m at.
“Okay then,” he says in a self-deprecating tone. “I guess I’m not alpha with women, either.”
Oh geez. I’ve insulted his manhood.
Because my mother taught me never to be intentionally rude, my butt hits the cushion next to him begrudgingly. Our legs are inches apart and I can feel the warmth and heat from his body. He’s like an inferno and I suddenly have the chills and fever, shivering from the electric energy he gives off.
Theo catches my reaction and reaches behind us to grab my favorite blue cuddle blanket off the back of the couch.
“You cold?” he asks, handing me the bundle of downy-softness.
I love this blanket. It’s old and familiar, containing hundreds of memories within every fiber of the fabric. I pull it up to my chin trying to hide my reaction to being so close to him. Which is stupid, really. It’s one-sided. Kind of like the crush I had on Mr. Anderson in the eleventh grade.
Woody jumps up on my lap, aligns his little hotdog sized furriness into the crevice between my legs and lays his head down with a little sigh of contentment.
Theo just looks at me with wide-eyed awe. Or jealousy, whichever.
“How do you do that?”
I lift my shoulders and stroke the little radiator on my lap.
“I’ve known Woody for a while. We’re buds. Speaking of which, I’m curious why you’re watching him while Patrick’s gone. He normally asks me.”
In fact, when I talk to Pat next I’m going to give him hell for skipping out before telling me about any of this.
Theo shifts uncomfortably, picking at his thumbnail, his hands between his lean, jeans-covered thighs. And goodness gracious, his hands are perfect for man-hand porn. Theo has thick veins that run down his forearm and into the bed of his knuckles.
Strong. Masculine. Virile.
When he looks over to me, I try to disguise my thoughts but notice a sadness in his expression. It doesn’t distract from his handsome face, but there’s a story there.
“Ah, good question. I guess he did it more as a favor to me. I needed a place to live for a while.”
And now I know there’s more to Theo than meets the eye.
Chapter Four
Theo
Just call me Alpha Dog Crawford
I think Woody and I have finally settled into a routine. It’s been three days since the “alpha incident” as I like to cal
l it and all the instructions that Joey gave me I’ve adopted and implemented.
Now when I call him or administer the medication, Woody is quick to adhere to my commands. It makes me question the way I’ve lived my life up to this point.
If a dog as small as Woody picked up on the fact that I am a push-over and dare I say, Pussy, maybe that’s how I’ve been with people, too. In my relationships – my previous one with Alyssa. Her parents. My own parents.
Even my agent, for fuck’s sake.
Christ, maybe I need to do something about my constant need to people please and do something to please myself for once. I don’t mean act like a thug, or some asshole prick or anything, but maybe I need to straighten my spine a bit more. Pull my shoulders back and tip my chin up and add some swagger.
I’m about to hold my own one-man-march with a sign that reads, “You can do it, Theo” when there’s a knock at the door.
I’m holding the script on my lap that I’ve been reading over the last hour, as I have a casting call tomorrow morning, but I throw it over onto the glass table in front of the sofa and head toward the door.
Woody circles in front of the door, giving a little bark of delight. I’ve only seen him that excited over Patrick and Joey, so I assume it’s her. Unlocking the deadbolts, I swing the door open to find the lovely Josephine from 2B standing in front of me in the hallway.
She looks exasperated, disheveled, and deadly gorgeous.
She’s wearing some flowy-white blouse and a navy-blue pencil skirt that ends at the top of her knees. As my eyes scan her delectable body, I notice her sensible flats and the way her shapely legs are silky bare. When my gaze returns to her face, I see her cheeks tinged a bright pink, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of frustration, confusion and interest.
“Hello, neighbor,” I say in greeting.
Her small hand lands on the doorframe, an unpainted nail agitatedly tapping against it.
She bends her head, staring down at the space between our feet and lets out a loud, desperate sigh.
“I’ve had the shittiest day ever. The kids were horrible. I was passed over for the part-time job I’d applied for to make ends meet this summer, and I locked myself out of my apartment. Is there a sign on my back that reads, “I’m a loser?” she asks, turning her head in both directions to look behind her.
It’s a dick move, but I laugh. I can’t help it. She’s adorable when she’s flustered – a true opposite of what she was the other morning at her place. Then she was in control and sure of herself. Right now, she’s a tightly wound woman who is in desperate need of a drink.
Or a foot massage.
Or a hard fuck.
Hm. I like the sound of that. I could make good on any or all three of them. Wonder what she would say if I proposed that? It’s the only neighborly thing to do, don’t you think?
Joey steps across the threshold and the door slams behind her. She takes a few steps toward the kitchen.
“I don’t know how it happened, but somewhere between school and home, I lost my keys,” she explains, opening a cupboard and pulling out a low ball glass. “I really need a shot of Patrick’s Irish whiskey. And then my spare key. Do you mind?”
Her body looks like it’s about to wither and crash to the floor. My first instinct is to wrap my arms around her and drag her in close for a reassuring hug.
The thought has merit, but even though she’s had a day from hell, and I know her body would be warm and luscious against mine, I resist the urge. We really don’t know each other very well and she might just knee me in the nuts for being pervy.
Plus, that’s what the old Theo would do. Comfort the woman in distress. Not the new me. No, Tough Theo doesn’t fall for that shit.
I need to hold my ground. Be the alpha. Man-up or whatever shit they say that turns girly men into Big Dogs. I can’t just bend over backwards for a woman I barely know and let her take advantage of the situation just because she needs a shoulder to cry on.
I watch her as she rummages around the kitchen, locating the bottle of whisky and pouring a finger into the glass. She catches me staring at her round breasts pressed firmly against the shirt, her nipples pebbling hard into tantalizing peaks that I have the urge to flick and nip with my mouth.
Her look of confusion, or disgust, squashes that image as soon as it came to mind.
“I’m sorry. I just barged in her and started bitching about my day. Do you want a shot?”
Instead of words, I nod my response because my throat went dry picturing her wet, hard nipples.
Shit. I need to get laid. It’s been months.
Joey pours me a drink and hands it to me before circling the counter and throwing herself down onto the L-shaped couch, Woody scampering behind her to catch up. Her glass barely makes the coffee table as she buries her face in the pillow with a deep sigh of relief, just as Woody climbs up to curl underneath her arm.
She mumbles something I can’t make out as I plop down on the end of the couch, nearest her head, the top of her head butting up against my thigh. I swallow down a sip of the Jameson.
A cough escapes my throat from the peaty liquid and I nearly gag with the reminder that not even a week ago I had the hangover from hell from this stuff. When I swore to myself that I’d never drink again. But then my senses are calmed by the low-burn and mossy scent of the liquor, and the warm, sultry scent of Joey.
When I tip my head down at the beautiful, strung-out woman on the couch next to me, I decide that acting neighborly is the right call to action. She’s had a day from hell, and I consider it my duty to help her out. I’ll save the alpha-male for another time.
Joey’s strawberry blonde hair spills out over her face and the pillow, and before I can stop myself, I push back the silken curls from her face. Her wide emerald green eyes pop open and I notice goosebumps spreading across her neck and arms.
For some reason, it thrills me to know that my touch can produce such a sensation. I wonder where else on this long, gorgeous body that gooseflesh can register.
Once again, I shake the thoughts free and remind myself to be friendly, not freaky, as I hand her the drink from the table. Our fingers briefly touch in the exchange.
“Thanks,” she says, sitting up against the back of the couch and taking one large gulp, finishing the drink without even batting an eye.
I’m a little more than impressed, considering I’m a light-weight with whisky.
“Here, drink the rest of mine,” I instruct, passing her my nearly untouched glass to her and removing the empty one from her hand.
“Ugh,” she grumbles, throwing back the remainder of my drink, before choking out a cough from the strong remnants. “I might need you to get me the rest of the bottle.”
I chuckle and my eyes find hers to determine if she’s kidding or not, because I really don’t know if she’s serious. But the smirk on her full lips and the squint in her mischievous eyes tells me what I need to know.
Moving back into the kitchen, I grab the bottle from the counter and return to the couch, pouring us both another.
“Drink up. It’s not my booze. You can have as much as you want.”
This earns a beautiful, husky laugh and I take another sip from my drink. I can already feel the warmth swimming in my stomach.
I’ve never been much of a drinker. Usually just beers with my buddies or a bottle of wine with Alyssa. Her dad got us into some hoity-toity wine club and we’d get monthly deliveries of expensive bottles of wine. I actually began to enjoy the varieties and started reading up on wine in my spare time so I could be knowledgeable about the wine world.
Plus, it made me feel better about myself when we hung out with her parents, who were complete wine snobs.
Strong liquor, however, isn’t really my friend. I need to take heed of the warning signs flashing in my brain.
“Oh shit, this is strong.”
Joey cocks her head and laughs.
She teases. “We need to toughen you up a little if
you’re going to continue hanging with Pat. He drinks like a fish.”
“Don’t I know it. The trouble he got me into when we were in college is the kind that I don’t want to have a repeat or even mention in polite company.”
I tip the glass up to my lips and take another sip. This time it goes down a bit smoother.
Joey looks at me thoughtfully. “Oh, I thought you two just met? I guess I got the impression that…”
I don’t know where she’s going with that, but I interrupt her. “Oh no. We go way back to our first year in college. But went our separate ways after graduation. You know how it is…things change. People grow and find their own paths. Plus, I met someone.”
I decide not to continue that story because the pain is still too fresh and hurt’s like a motherfucker. I want to push Alyssa and all our history we shared together out the window and into the gutter because that’s where it belongs. Along with my old identity.
Hindsight being twenty/twenty, I can now clearly see how she used and manipulated me for years. I was basically her puppet. She pulled the strings and I responded.
Well fuck that. No more.
I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf. I’m not going to bend over backwards for other people. I’ll stand up for what I want and what makes me happy. I’m going to go full-throttle at making a name for myself and building my career.
Instead of prying, Joey nods her head, as if she understands the turmoil and fresh bruising on my heart and wants to avoid making it any worse.
To change the subject entirely, I ask her about her day.
“So, tell me…how bad was it? What do you do again?”
I know Pat gave me a litany of instructions and information before he left, and I vaguely recall him saying something about Joey being a teacher and being off this summer, in the event I need her to watch Woody. Other than that, I have no idea what her job entails.
She groans, dropping her head to her hands, her elbows to her knees.
“I’m a high school teacher. And this school year has been gruesome. Unbearable. It feels like my entire soul was thrown into the paper shredder.”
