by Xavier Neal
“Meaning?”
Her shoulders drop, and she turns back towards me seconds before I have a sip of my beer. “Pretty much anything drawn and made to move or even CGI now. I’ve always been obsessed with drawing, and the movies that require it instead of people. I love it so much I went to school for and now I actually draw character art for a video game company.”
Surprise smothers my face. “No shit? That’s incredible.”
She attempts to hide her pride. “It’s not really a big deal. They’re a little indie company-” Ollie pauses in quiet deliberation, “Well technically, a big indie company to many in the gaming world, but little in comparison to some of the huge companies like PA and Pipe Leak.” The addition seems to not have been an intended part of her initial explanation by the way she shrugs it off. “It pays well, and I get to decide to make the characters look however I want as long as I reach the criteria provided. Occasionally adjustments have to be made, but never anything major. Never any overhaul worth complaining about.”
Awe, not only from the amount of talent she most likely possesses, but the excitement over it, stuns me silent.
Ollie quickly grows uncomfortable and diverts her attention back to the flat screen across from us. “It’s really nothing special. Just a job.”
“That you love.”
“A lot.”
“I like that.”
Her eyes swing back towards mine.
“A lot.”
What the hell am I saying? Why the hell do I keep…flirting with her? We’re supposed to be co-parenting…maybe friends, at some point, but flirting is not on the menu. Flirting should never be on the menu even if she’s irresistibly sexy with her curly hair pulled up into a messy bun and a makeup free face that allows me to the see the beauty marks by her eyebrow and chin.
She quietly questions, “What did um…What did Carol Ann do for a living?”
The name forces me to have another sip of my beer. “Depended on the day. In the beginning when I was just starting Runt’s Beer-”
“Wait! You named your beer Runt’s?”
“Small name, but still the pick of the litter.”
Ollie giggles yet nods in approval. “Nice marketing line.”
“Thank you. I came up with it myself.” I replace my beer with my burger. “Anyway, when I finally grew a pair and started Runt’s with my brother Blake, Carol Ann worked at this little bridal store in Middlebrook. She used to huff and complain she was always the one to sell the dress, never to wear it…but I always had a hard time wrapping my mind around trying to marry someone who was famous for breaking up with me on a whim.” Realizing I’ve probably said too much, I clear throat and finish, “As the company got bigger and I started traveling to the city more to encourage local bars to carry my brand, she found a management position at an upscale bridal boutique.”
“There was probably no shutting her up about weddings after that, huh?”
I shake my head, roll my eyes, and have a bite.
If anything it put more pressure on proposing despite everything in my brain telling me not to do it. Despite Blake telling me it would be a waste of time and Mama all but threatening to give me an ‘I Told You So’ lecture when she left again. Beginning to wonder if the reason I like Ollie is because we’re equally hard headed…
Thankfully, she doesn’t press the subject. She has a swig of her beer and smacks unapprovingly at the taste.
Once I’ve swallowed, I chuckle, “You don’t have to drink the beer if it’s not your thing.”
“Oh thank God,” she gags and pushes the bottle at me.
“More of fruity flavor fan?”
“Whiskey.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“Wilcox to be exact.”
“That’s the only thing next to my beer that Pop will drink.”
She shrugs nonchalantly, finally pick up her burger too. “I’ll give your beer a shot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. If it’s half as amazing as you are than it’ll be the best beer I’ve ever had.”
The compliment expands my smile but burns her cheeks instantly.
Ollie shoves a bite into her mouth before it can betray her again.
At least I’m not the only one whose brain seems to be mis-wired today. I’ll willingly admit I like when she says shit like that to me. I like the way she blurts it out. The way her face changes shades. The way her eyes bulge. I like her response to me…more than I should.
Why did I think being a pig owner was a good idea? And why didn’t I take one of the many many many outs Ford offered me yesterday? He practically begged to take her away to prevent me from being stressed over something I didn’t have to be. To protect me from the havoc this adorable pink creature would wreak on my life. I liked that. I like how he was never just concerned with Princess Pinky, but both of us. Which is completely nuts. He shouldn’t be! We’re strangers! Okay, not strangers any more since we spent the entire day and most of the night together. After shopping for Princess Pinky’s things and a very in-depth giggle fest worthy lesson on farm life, we spent the evening watching Clint Eastwood westerns with terrible beer. Not only did I learn a new love for cowboys outside of Toy Story, I found myself swooning over Ford’s accent while he quoted along and the adorable way he cuddled with the reason we were initially hanging out. He was gentle and sweet. Kind. Warm. To both of us. All the things I’ve never had from someone of the opposite sex. All things my best friend Camilla swears only exist in romance novels, which she pretends not to read, but I’ve seen her secret stash in the back of her closet. Before meeting Ford, I more than willingly agreed with her…After? Not so sure.
I snap on my snorkel mask and ditch the tube. My hands plant themselves firmly on my hips. “You ready for this?”
Princess Pinky oinks at me as if in disagreement.
“This is happening. And nothing can stop it.”
Seconds before I lean down towards her, the doorbell rings, and she squeals in delight.
I point a stern finger at her. “This isn’t over, young lady. This is just a pause.”
Quickly, I hustle out of the guest bathroom and straight to the front door.
The moment I open it, Ford’s face immediately shifts. “What the hell are you doing?”
My hand lands on my lounge shorts covered hips. “About to give Princess Pinky a bath.”
He tilts his head to the side. “And the mask is for…?”
“Eye protection.”
His mouth twitches to respond but abruptly stops. He simply lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head.
“Aren’t you early for dinner?” I motion my head towards the pizza boxes in his hand. “It’s like 4 o’clock.”
“I shot you a text to see if-” he cuts his own sentence short. “Ollie, where is Princess Pinky right now?”
“Waiting for me in the tub.”
“Tell me you weren’t going to get in it with her.”
My jaw drops in disgust.
“Tell me you weren’t about to have some weird modern version of deliverance.”
Unable to express my growing horror over the thought, I merely squeak and leave my mouth unhinged.
Ford tosses his head back in unabashed laughter. The temptation to slam the door in his face for teasing me is almost as strong as the one to stand here and observe the strikingly beautiful action in progress. His laughter is not only contagious, it’s almost magical. It envelops your entire presence. Burrows into your system making it impossible not to smile. His perfect parted lips and bouncing broad shoulders add to the list of reasons why looking anywhere else isn’t an option. How the hell is it possible for one human being to look this attractive while laughing at my expense?
With a wide grin, I shake my head. “Do I need to take away your visitation rights?”
He catches his breath and returns his smile to a calming one. “You know you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“That’s not true. Like�
�scientifically speaking.”
“Did you Google it?”
I twitch a glare which causes him to playfully smirk.
Difference between his jackass tendencies and Daryl’s? Ford never seems like he means it. The little jabs he makes always seem to be littered with the intent to do something just to see me smile again. I could be wrong. I’m probably wrong. I’m usually wrong. There’s no way in hell he gives a shit about me like that…even if a small part of me hopes he does.
“Just meant,” he sighs softly, “you’re more likely to get whatever you want out of me with sweet persuasion rather than threats.”
His tongue crosses his lips and I find myself desperate for that to be a double-entendre. Desperate to have those lips grazing my neck…my nipples…my clit…
The corner of his lip kicks up implying I got the point he was trying to make. At the sight of my face flushing, Ford offers, “Why don’t I put the pizza in the oven, the whiskey in the freezer, and help you give our piglet a bath?”
Backing into the apartment, I allow him to follow me inside. Once the door is shut and our eyes are locked, I state, “You might wanna ditch the shirt if it’s the only one you have. Something tells me this task is going to get very wet and slippery.”
Something strikingly similar to a moan lingers behind his sealed lips. As soon as his face begins to flash a deeper color, I give him a wink to let him know two can play his weird word choice game.
Wouldn’t mind him making me either of those things, and I know for a fact now it’s not just the unwanted abstinence talking.
While Ford places our dinner items in the kitchen, I make my way back to our pink problem at hand.
She may be adorable and probably sweeter than any dog I’ve ever met, but her tendency to get dirty no matter how much I try to avoid it is frustrating. And I know she’s a pig. They’re supposed to be dirty. They’re supposed to be gross. But she doesn’t have to be this bad in the two days I’ve had her. How she managed to get peanut butter and syrup on her is a mystery! I didn’t have either of those for breakfast or lunch!
Princess Pinky looks up at me with wide eyes when I return.
I fold my arms back across my Mario brother’s t-shirt. “That’s right, missy. I’m back. And I brought reinforcements.”
Her tiny squeals sound like sassy back talk.
Before I can get another word in Ford enters the tiny bathroom, his large size effortlessly conquering the space.
She oinks her tiny happiness at his return.
My lips press tightly together to prevent from voicing my understanding of her excitement.
It was so strange how much I missed him after he left. Daryl and I dated for almost five months and not once did I ever feel that…sad when he walked out the front door. Not even when we first started dating and people swear they feel like they can’t breathe without the other person. I never went through those emotions with him. I never had the craving or anxious feelings wondering when he would return. I was practically giddy when Ford texted me goodnight five minutes after his departure, even giddier when he asked could he come by for dinner, and the giddiest when I woke up to his good morning message. I know it’s irrational to feel this way, but as long as I feel it and never mention it, then it should be fine…That’s what I’m going to keep telling myself to refrain from checking into therapy for a physic evaluation.
“Hey little one,” he greets warmly, his accent getting unconsciously thicker. “You ready for a bath?”
She squeaks and wiggles around the bathtub clearly concerned about what’s about to happen.
“I don’t think she wants one,” I begin, turning to face him. “I think-”
My words shatter into a million mumbles the moment Ford yanks off his white polo shirt. An unexpected, smooth, chiseled chest greets me along with digitally altered abs perfect enough to make people riot in the streets that he’s airbrushed. Princess Pinky’s squeaks get louder, but my attention doesn’t waiver. I continue to boldly stare on at a sight I loathe being close enough to admire and do absolutely nothing about.
At least I don’t think I can do anything about it. No. I definitely shouldn’t do anything about it. Rebounding with my ex’s new girlfriend’s ex fiancé is a little too close cousin to bad reality T.V. for my liking. God, why couldn’t he have been her brother? Or her second cousin twice removed? Or her next door neighbor’s best friend’s dog walker? Why on earth does the one guy I’ve come across who gives me that weird butterfly feeling, keep smiling ‘til it hurts feeling, have to be who he is?
Ford gives his stubble covered jaw a small rub. “You’re making me feel a little self-conscious, Darlin’.”
I drag my eyes up to meet his stare. “What?”
“The way you’re starin’,” he continues, green eyes clouded with a hint of uncertainty. “Not sure if your tongue is hanging out because you’re rebuffed by what you see or because you’re wishing to see more of it.”
Definitely more. Like a lot more. Like the whole thing. Like the whole thing on top of me in a hot heaving mess.
A moan attempts to escape my lips. I force myself to focus on the task at hand.
He quietly questions, “You gonna tell me, which one it is?”
“Nope.”
His light laugh echoes around the room.
My eyes threaten to close, enthralled once more by the sound.
I’ve gotta get a grip on reality or get shit faced drunk tonight to forget I have spent the entire weekend playing the updated version of Elly May Clampett with a southern dream boat who is sexy enough to sink all of my senses with minimal effort. Yeah…Getting drunk definitely appears to be the easier of the choices.
The two of us lower to our knees at the same time. He makes the attempt to settle Princess Pinky while I turn on the faucet. From the first sound of the running water she squeals and whines her grievances.
“It’s not that bad,” I scold slowly changing the temperature.
“Have you ever had an ice cold bath?”
“Why are you on her side?”
He begins to lift a hand in surrender when she slips out of his grasp and starts splashing around the tub furiously. Ford scrambles to get a better grip at the same time he’s profusely trying to calm her down. Unfortunately, he fails. On both accounts. She lets out such a heart wrenching cry of pain I shut off the water in submission.
I’ve gotta be the worst pig parent ever.
Ford’s eyes meet mine and I whisper, “She’s terrified.”
“She’ll get used to it.”
“But look at her, Farm Boy. She’s shaking.”
His hands curl around the edge of the tub. “Ollie, most creatures are scared of new things. It’s natural.”
Like me of you? Like how attracted I am to you?
“She’ll learn to muscle through. She’ll see none of this is as bad as she’s thinks.” Suddenly, he scoots around me to switch sides. “Why don’t you hold her while I warm the water a bit and then we’ll put her in it?”
“You don’t wanna hold her?”
“I don’t want you to be the bad guy. You’ll be spending more time with her than I will…”
Instead of blurting out how I hope that’s not true, I nod and turn my attention back to Princess Pinky. “You wanna get out?” I slowly extend my arms towards her. “Wanna get away from the mean water?”
She scurries towards me, slipping in the process. The action makes her squeal in irritation, but she cuddles in close the moment she’s in my grip. He gives me a wink and starts the water again. This time she screams her fear yet allows me to hold her. To protect her.
An unusual feeling tumbles through me.
No one else has ever depended on me to take care of them like this. Daryl was a bit of a baby when it came to having someone do his laundry, his cooking, and making sure his favorite wine was chilled, but he didn’t really need me.
“Talk to her,” he encourages, testing the water with his thick fingers. “Tel
l her it’s gonna be alright…”
The combination of his tone and elocution stir up the feelings I’m trying to ignore. It’s strange when he says the words, I actually believe them…We’re not just talking about the ones for Princess Pinky but the ones for me too. How bizarre is it really, to find comfort with someone who is going through the same situation? To find solace with someone who was probably just as undervalued as you were?
“It’s going to be fine.” I give her slow steady strokes, and continue watching him fill the tub. “We’re going to get you all cleaned up. And fed. And then a nap in my lap…”
