Good Pet

by Jamie Knight

  Almost as if she reads my thoughts and whatever light is in my eyes, Melissa blushes. She bats her eyelashes at me, but it’s not in a conscious, flirty way. It’s in a beautiful, innocent way. She takes the wine bottle away from the rim of my glass and carefully puts the cork in it.

  I murmur my thanks to her, thinking, she deserves better treatment than that. I would be more than happy to be the better boyfriend, the better man to her, but she just had her ex break up with her. She’s probably more heartbroken over it than she’s letting on, so I really shouldn’t push myself into her life. Not so quickly or so soon, but damn!

  I’m sipping on my wine thoughtfully, just looking at her. Her beautiful, shoulder-length, black hair. The way it frames her face. Her big, liquid eyes. They both shine bright and soft in the low light of the restaurant. Her big, full lips. Her flawless, ivory skin, and small, carefully-molded hands. She is so, so beautiful. So, so sweet. If there was anyone who could do a good job of loving her, protecting her, and showing her what she’s worth, it’s me!

  I sigh, feeling both impatient and satisfied. Somehow, even though I want more than anything to be able to tell her how great and wonderful I think she is, and what a great job I know I would do being a boyfriend to her, I’m just overjoyed to know that she’s free now. She’s available for me to protect, love, and dote on in little secret ways.

  After a minute or so of letting my mind wander to all the different ways that I might dote on her — bring her some food at lunch, maybe give her a few little gifts through the inter-office mail, go out for drinks on the weekdays after work — I snap out of it. I clear my throat and say, “I’m sorry to hear that your ex-boyfriend did that to you. He sounds like a shitty person.” I pause, careful to move my glass, so I don’t knock it over. “But how are you handling it? How are you feeling after it all?”

  Melissa lets out a strange mix between a sigh and a laugh. She doesn’t look at me right away, but when she does, I see relief in her eyes, along with lingering pain. “To be honest with you, I wasn’t doing so well initially. Last week was really tough. I had to leave work early the day he broke up with me. Something I haven’t done in the ten years I’ve worked here, but I just couldn’t deal with it.” She clears her throat while tracing some designs on the tablecloth. “But now? I feel relieved. I feel fine with letting him go. I’ve realized what a selfish, immature person he really was, despite being the older one out of the two of us.”

  I shift happily in my seat. I hate to be happy over her heartbreak, but I can’t help it. It means that I get to finally be the knight in shining armor I’ve always wanted to be. The goodly hero I always played in my role-playing games but never got to be in real life. At least, not until now.

  She looks at me, and I still my body. She gives me an odd smile. It’s somewhat calculating and shrewd. “And I’ve decided to make my ex pay for what he’s put me through. The emotional labor and the monetary burden,” she says. I raise my eyebrows. Melissa continues, smiling wider over my expression. “I’ve decided I’m going to file charges against him. Sue him for the money I’ve given to him for various things. I’ve looked into some law, and I found that since we were in a kind of ‘common-law’ relationship because of the time we lived together, he and I actually would have shared assets. I could actually ask that he pay something in damages or restitution for infidelity while in this relationship. I’ve already told Kane about my plans, and he’s agreed to look into it for me.”

  The trays of food begin to arrive. As the food gets put into the middle of our table, and all the delicious smells start to flow and mingle between us, I’ve got so much on my mind. But not just from the food. From my current train of thought. Thoughts regarding this legal action Melissa’s just implied. Though I know I’m not a practicing lawyer yet, I can’t help but begin to imagine what it would be like to truly be her defense. Not only as her lover but as her attorney. How good it makes me feel to imagine being the strong, righteous person in the courtroom. Using my words and my knowledge to help Melissa win her wealth and her freedom back from her ex-boyfriend.

  I’m lost in these thoughts, and similar ones like them as Melissa begins to dish up the food for us, giving me sizable portions of everything: duck, cheesy au gratin potatoes and garlic, pan-seared greens. I wish I could find a way to be your lover and your lawyer, I think. Except one, more than the other, is going to be an obvious conflict of interest. But maybe, just maybe, there will be a way around it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Melissa

  We eat our dinner the way I love to eat it: slowly, savoring each bit of it, enjoying more conversation. A conversation that’s turned to a lighter tone now. Away from ex-boyfriends and scuzzy, predatory bosses. While our conversation did turn to Ms. Vanacore during part of the main course, we kept it to a minimum.

  I simply reminded Tommy to be prepared to gather evidence and be prepared to take this “willing” act of his to a believable level if he’s going to go forward in getting this evidence.

  Now, the desert has rolled around — literally on some silver platters on rolling carts, and we are free to pick and choose from any of it. But, my eyes zero in on Tommy’s shabby, much-too-big suit. It’s the same as the one he’s been wearing for nearly a week and a half now. Whether it’s the same one he wore for his interview, or a whole other matching set (I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a whole closet of the same suit to wear every day) it doesn’t matter. I’m eager to see him in something else. Something worthy or of his good looks and his talent. Something more elegant and stylish. Something a practicing lawyer should be seen in.

  It’s my turn to drink him in now, as I’ve seen him do to me a few times tonight. I study his full features. Though he has a bit of weight around his face, it only makes him look that much more boyish — young and filled with wonder, but he also has an intensity. In his face, I see a sense of justice and righteousness, which he also embodies. The way he sits his large body in the chair, it’s like he’s always meditating on his destiny, his self-actualization into a fully empowered, fully realized being. It’s a beautiful thing to see. It’s energy without arrogance, confidence without criticism, and determination without cruelty or coldness. Things that Dennis could never and would never have.

  With all the light and energy in his face and body, I just can’t stand how he covers it up. How he buries it and tries to distract from his handsomeness, his regal bearing, with such cheap and thoughtless clothing. To me, these pieces of clothing have always screamed of unworthiness and laziness. Even more so in our surroundings. In the dim light of the restaurant, his clothing is even more self-deprecating.

  That man has really got to start loving himself. He’s really got to start understanding what some good clothes, some finely crafted wardrobe pieces, can do for one’s confidence. One’s sense of worth and bravery. And it looks like I’m going to have to be the one to show him how to love himself and dress like he’s worthy of not only love and a good-paying job, but of seeing his own beauty and embracing it fully. He treats himself like an afterthought when he should treat himself like a work of art.

  I grab myself a small tart from the series of silver trays and platters left for us by our waiter. I ordered a kind of dessert buffet, and it doesn’t surprise me how much selection and choice we’ve been given. The tart I’ve gotten is a raspberry one. I pick up a strawberry one for Tommy, but he’s more interested in the custards or in the puddings and other bits of cake.

  As I start to eat my dessert and the sweet fruity flavors explode on my tongue, I remember something he said about his dad. How his dad picked his suit out for him, that his dad mocked him in it. He told Tommy that maybe that would work to hide his fat. At that moment, I feel tears threatening to overwhelm my eyes. I also come up with my plan. I’m going to take this boy who feels worthless, and like an afterthought, and turn him into a piece of art and his own greatest lover.

  I’m going to take him shopping. I’m going to introduce him to t
he world of fashion and how the world of elegance and style are all about showing yourself off, no matter what your size or features you have and not hiding them.

  Dennis did that for me when we first got together. Before I met him, I was much like Tommy is now: insecure and unsure of my place in life. I was unsure of my worthiness to even have a place, let alone any thought that I should be beautiful, grab attention, or keep it all for myself. But I learned. I learned it was okay to be noticed, and it was okay to want and grab attention.

  I don’t think that I would have the career, friends, or life that I have now without it. And I can only imagine what that kind of confidence is going to do for Tommy. For the life of his that is just about to take off. It’s all just about to take shape, even though he’s tried to walk around as a faceless, nameless mass. Even though he’s done that, he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be more. He wants to be unique, special, and cherished, and I’m going to help do that for him. I’m going to help give him the ability to shape his future and his present the same way Dennis did for me, except I’m going to be there for him even after I’ve shown him how to look after his appearance and his self-esteem.

  I take another bite of my tart, sipping at a dessert wine I have ordered. This one’s a lot sweeter than I’m used to, but it is a good complement for the desert and deserts of all kinds. Fruit or chocolate, or more butter-centered, it all works with this. As I chew thoughtfully on that bite, I say, “That suit. Those clothes, Tommy. They don’t do you justice.”

  Seeming to have only heard the word about his clothes, Tommy blushes. He straightens up defensively and looks at me like I might do him some greater injury. “What about my clothes, Melissa?”

  “They don’t do you justice, Tommy,” I repeat gently and earnestly. “I told you the day I met you when you were getting ready for your interview, that you could and should do much better than that. That you’re too handsome — now too successful — to be dressing in a suit like that.”

  Tommy blushes again. He fidgets nervously. I can see he’s getting upset, but that’s exactly what I want to avoid.

  “It’s okay if that’s all you have for now,” I say, realizing that’s probably more the case than any lack of interest or motivation in taking better care of himself. “If that’s all you have, fine. But then let me offer this: why don’t we go out next weekend, just the two of us, and I’ll help you pick out a whole new wardrobe, hmm?”

  I see the shock and surprise play across his face, and continue, “I know your father obviously doesn’t care or have enough fashion sense to give you something that will look and make you feel like the successful, brilliant man you are, so I’m stepping up to help reflect that back to you. I’ll help you embody that, Tommy. I don’t know what your father has told you, and I don’t care to know, but I want you to know what you’re worth. I want you to know your value, Tommy. I’d like to be allowed to do just that. To spend some time with you, and create with you, a wardrobe that truly exemplifies and expresses the value and worth you bring to the company and to people’s lives, including your own.” Here, I see Tommy tearing up a bit, and I do the same. “It’s about time you looked after your needs and desires, honey. Parents, especially fathers to sons, they can be monsters at worst. At best they can be emotionally unavailable and too concerned with maintaining their own toxic masculinity to care for children the way we need caring for.” I reach over and hold his hand again, not feeling self-conscious this time. “Is that something you’d be interested in?” I pause, already feeling giddy and overwhelmed by what I’m about to ask him next. “Would you like to go shopping with me, Tommy?”

  Tommy nods, looking like he’s having an out of body experience. Much the same way I’m beginning to feel, even with no verbal response from him.

  “You would?”

  Again, he nods, and again I see how in-heaven he’s looking now. How far away any bad memories with his boss are now. And I’m happy that I’m the one taking him away from all that and giving him something better and brighter to focus on.

  “Then it’s a date,” I say softly, squeezing his hand. “We’ll go shopping next weekend, just you and I, and you’ll come back to work on that Monday looking every bit the successful, handsome man I know you to be, Tommy.”

  Tommy nods. He wipes some tears away. “Thank you, Melissa. That’s so kind of you.” His adorable boyish face scrunches up under some tears, and they make his fuller cheeks look all cuter. “I would love to do something like that with you, but only if I get to pay for myself. You’ve already paid for enough for me.” He gestures to the desserts and the surrounding restaurant. “With this extravagant meal on such short notice, with the lunch from before…” He looks speechless at my kindness and at how ready and willing I am to shower it on him.

  “Don’t worry about it, Tommy,” I say just as gently as before, “but if you would like to pay for your own wardrobe, I’m not going to say yes or no. I’m going to let you do as you like.” I stroke the top of his hand with my thumb, smiling. “You are my boss, after all.” Just by saying that, I’m feeling warm and tingly in many places.

  Tommy collects himself. He finishes off the last little bit of the custard pudding he was working on and says, “I am. And I will do as I like, but I will make sure to get you something nice as well, Melissa. You’ve done so much for me. So much that’s out of your job description, it’s not good for it to go unrewarded.” Delicately, he wipes at his mouth. He curls the napkin around so it can touch both corners. “You don’t get to refuse that part of it,” he adds, seeing even the slightest bit of rebuttal from me. “If this is going to be a date, then it’s going to be on my terms too, not just yours.” Color comes to his cheeks around “date” and “my terms” and I swear I can see him fantasizing about putting me over a large wooden desk, and fucking me while I answer his phone calls, all without anybody knowing.

  My cheeks go red and hot a second later. “Yes, sir,” I whisper, knowing that’s exactly what I would say if he had me over said desk, and ordered me to answer those phones, and take down notes while in such a position — with his cock in me, or his hands on my breasts, lightly squeezing them.

  “Good.” He whips out his phone and asks me for my number. “If we’re going to do this, I need to reach you,” he says, getting out his “business as usual” tone. His commanding and matter-of-fact one. One I’ve heard before, and one I’m beginning to love more and more, now that Dennis has been taken out like the trash he is.

  I gladly give him my number, asking in turn for his. With that settled, I then go about settling the check. It’s pricey, but that’s what I was expecting. I don’t allow Tommy to see the bill. Not good manners on a date or anywhere else. I stick my debit card in the billfold and hand it back to the waiter before Tommy can intervene. I apply the same tactics when the card and receipt come back, and I’m asked to sign and provide a tip for it. I do both tasks all without him ever seeing. And then, before he can even make a move to flip up the billfold left on the table, I drag him away from it. I pull him out of the restaurant and toward my car.

  If he saw that the dinner bill came to over $200 without tip, it would completely destroy the mood he’s in. It would also completely destroy the idea that this is our first date. A pseudo-first date, since there was no real plan, and it’s not like we’re going out, but a girl like me can dream, can’t she?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Melissa

  By the time I get Tommy back to his car in the parking lot of McKenzie Tech, it’s just after eight o’clock in the evening. Although I know I’ve already spent a few good hours with him, I don’t want it to be over. Part of me wants to invite Tommy over to my place for some coffee and some more time to talk and socialize, and maybe even get a little intimate.

  But I decide not to. Not because I don’t want to. I really, really want to, but my inner lady tells me to cool my jets. I need to wait to do something so intimate or needy. Dennis and I just broke up, I just let the news
out of the bag for Tommy. Something I haven’t even told Isabella, and I tell her virtually everything, so that part of me compels me to wait. To resist making such an offer, though, there’s nothing technically stopping me anymore.

  So, I just say, “Well, Tommy. I guess this is it for tonight.” I smile. “Thank you for letting me kidnap you for a few hours.”

  Tommy gives the cutest chuckle. One that shakes his whole body. “I’ve never had so much fun being kidnapped, Melissa, so thank you.”

  He smiles at me, almost looking like he’s had more serious alcohol than wine. He looks happily drunk. “I can’t wait for next weekend,” he whispers. His voice and breath shiver filled with lusty anxiety. His tone is almost begging, and I find that irresistible.

  “I can’t wait either,” I admit, my voice mirroring his. Here, both of us lean closer to each other. We close the distance between our lips.

  “Then don’t,” whispers Tommy. “What if your boss ordered you to give him something before he gets out of the car and goes home to his crappy dad for the weekend?”

  I lick my lips, feeling them shiver and tremble with anticipation. “Then…”

  Tommy moves closer.

  “Then I would have to give him what he asked for,” I murmur. “I would have to give him a little something before letting him go home to his crappy dad. I would have to give him whatever he wants, like the good pet I am.”

  Tommy hums with interest. It’s a light, airy sound. One that I know is for my benefit as well is my compulsion. “What would that something be, pet?” He asks me quietly, but forcefully, like he is testing the words.

  I don’t answer. I just bring my lips to his and gently kiss. It’s on his lips, but not enough to cover them completely or own them. Just enough to dust them. Immediately after kissing him, I want to kiss him again, but I refrain. I force myself to keep my lips off him once I pull them away.