by Emma Renshaw
"Let's just go get the poor little guy cleaned up, shall we?"
James turns around and starts walking back toward the house dragging me along with him by the elbow. There’s a slight twitch happening below his eye that I’m choosing to ignore.
"What should we name him?" I ask, hoping if I bring him in on each aspect of this, he’ll want to keep the puppy.
"Whatever you want," James grumbles. "I wish it was a snake."
"Prince Furrybutt," I declare, ignoring his grumbling.
James stops, turning toward me and raising an eyebrow as he scoffs. "If you actually want me to keep this dog, his name sure as fuck won't be Prince Furrybutt."
"Then what do you suggest?" I ask, hoping he'll crack and give me a semblance of a smile or even just amusement in his eyes. Something.
The only thing I get is a shrug.
"Bark Twain," I suggest, trying to keep my smile to myself.
"No," James says immediately with no lip twitch.
"Droolius Caesar," I try again. The small black puppy yaps once. I don’t think he likes that one.
"No." Still no smile. The furball in my arms licks my hand as I’m petting his head making me giggle. James rolls his lips between his teeth, shaking his head.
"Dog McDoggins," I say, unable to stop my chuckle this time.
“Nope." Still nothing.
I grab his arm to stop him from walking. "You suggest something, then."
James’s eyes slide from my face to the dog in my arms. One of his fingers reaches out, rubbing along its tiny head. Wow. James’s finger is almost the size of this sweet baby.
"Sirius," James says.
"Serious?" I reply. "Yes, I'm serious. I want you to suggest something. Anything."
"No," James says. "Sirius, as in, Sirius Black."
I rear my head back. "Like from Harry Potter?" I thought James would suggest something like Tiny or Ace. I'd never in a million years think he'd suggest something from Harry Potter.
"Yeah," James says, scratching his chest. "Obviously he's smaller, but he has black fur, and it's a cool name." And, finally, there's a tiny smile on James’s face as he continues to pet the newly appointed Sirius. He’s graduated from his finger to using his entire hand. If it makes James smile, that's his name. I saw his full smile and laugh once, and I'm already hooked. I'll do just about anything to see it again.
"You're a Harry Potter fan?" I ask.
His gaze slides up to mine. A slow, charming, boyish grin slips across his face, and my heart goes tumbling over itself. His massive shoulder shrugs shyly. "Yeah."
"Books or movies?"
"Both," he replies automatically, his focus back on Sirius in my arms. He’s wiggling so frantically under James’s massive hand, I’m about to drop him.
"Really?" I ask, readjusting the squirming dog in my arms.
James stares at me, amusement lighting up his face. He extends his left arm, pointing to a spot in the tattoo sleeve near the bend of his arm. And right there in the middle of the chaos of intricate artwork that I haven't had a chance to examine closely is the Deathly Hallows symbol.
I've wanted to explore his tattoos with my hands and tongue, but when he takes off his clothes, I'm distracted by other parts of his body, and by the time we're done, I'm boneless and falling asleep. I'm remedying that situation soon.
"Wow," I whisper, running my fingers over it. I turn my gaze from the tattoo and look at his face. "I didn't know you're a reader."
"I don't read much anymore. It was an escape as a kid."
The last part is spoken so quietly, and the look of surprise on his face makes me think he didn't mean to be that honest. I’m going to push in hopes to get more. He may shut me down, but I'm desperate to try.
I shuffle Sirius into the crook of one arm and grab James’s hand with the other, taking off toward the house. "Was Harry Potter your favorite?"
"Yeah," he says softly. "It helped because it was so popular so some of the foster homes had a tattered set."
I didn't know he grew up in the foster system. My heart breaks for him. "I read Harry Potter so many times."
"I did, too," he admits. "It took me years to read the first few, though. I was shuffled around so much at that time. Not every home had it, and not every foster parent was willing to get me a library card."
My heart keeps cracking, and tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away quickly. I know if he sees them, he'll stop talking immediately and shut down. "How'd you finish them?"
"I'd sit in a library sometimes and read it off the shelf. It was really popular, so even if I had a chance to do that, they weren't always in stock."
"Why Harry Potter?"
The only noises are Sirius’s panting and our feet scraping over the ground. "I think I identified. Unwanted kid who had no idea where he was from. Some of the truths he found weren't great. He still sacrificed for those he loved and tried to be honorable. That's all I try to be."
I halt, yanking James to a stop. His eyes roam over my face before settling on mine. "I think you're honorable," I whisper.
His cheeks turn pink. I wonder if he reacts to compliments with blushes because he wasn't shown affection as a kid. My heart is bursting with sadness and a fierce need to give him everything I can.
"Thank you," he whispers, running a finger down my cheek. "I promise that as long as we're doing what we're doing, I'll do my best to honor you in every way I know how."
I fill with pride that I know this man, and that he's giving me something I don't think he freely gives others. I wonder if his friends even know this much about him.
"What was it like in the foster system?" I ask hesitantly.
He sighs, turning us to keep trudging back to the house that just came into view. "Another day. Okay?”
I simply nod. His voice is rough and uncertain when he stuns me with his next question. "What was it like with a loving family?"
A grin breaks across my face. "It'll be better if I show you."
Chapter 26
James
Tatum and I haven't reached her parents’ house yet, and I already feel like I don't belong in this neighborhood with these insane homes and luxury cars parked in the drive. "This isn't a good idea," I grumble.
"Sure it is," Tatum says happily. "Take a left at that stop sign. It's that house with the pumpkins on the mailbox."
"The one that says 'Fuck Yeah! Fall!'?" I ask skeptically.
"Yep, that's the one. That's new. I like it." Tatum pulls out her phone snapping a picture as we pass it turning into her driveway.
"The mailbox is new?" I ask, pulling into the driveway. Who buys mailboxes for every season?
"No," she answers, laying a hand on my bicep. Sirius is curled into her lap, softly snoring. "My mom paints the mailbox whenever she feels like it. Last time I was here, it was just leaves. When the HOA pisses her off, she usually paints something like that." She gestures toward the mailbox.
Huh. That's kind of cool. A tiny bit of relief courses through me, hoping that her family isn't awful. She says they're not, but how will they feel when she brings her new "friend" in to meet them? The tiny bit of relief dies a swift death when I look up at the house. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose after throwing it in park.
It would be the biggest house in the neighborhood.
Fuck. I've never done this before.
Met a girl's parents. This isn't even me meeting them as her boyfriend, which I'm not. The only parents I've met are Savannah's, and that doesn't count. She's like my sister. I didn't have a problem looking her father in the eye because I didn't want to touch his daughter.
"So," Tatum says, petting Sirius with a small smile. She's been happy since we found out that he's just a puppy and didn't have a chip. The vet suspects that someone dumped a litter on the side of the road and he wandered into my property.
I still don't think it's a good idea. I'll probably accidentally crush him, he's so tiny. He won't get much larger either.
<
br /> "So," I supply, still waiting for Tatum to finish her thought.
"I'm guessing you want me to say you're my friend, not my boyfriend," she says.
I don't reply, just stare at her. She waits me out, not saying a word. Finally, I relent. "Do what you think is best."
"What are you comfortable with?" The hand petting Sirius freezes mid-stroke. Even Sirius has paused wagging his tail. They’re both staring at me, not breathing, waiting for the answer.
"Going home," I reply automatically, somewhat joking, somewhat being honest.
"Hilarious," she says, rolling her eyes, resuming petting the fuzzy dog in her arms. "You wanted to know what my family is like, I'm giving you the answer."
"Friend," I say.
She nods. "Okay, let's do this."
Reluctantly, I step out of the car, going around to open the door for her. I take Sirius from her hands, cradling him in the nook of my elbow, holding my other hand out to help Tatum out of the car.
She leads me into the massive house, turning right through the entryway and walking down a long hallway. There's framed art and photos decorating the walls. She is walking too fast for me to take all of them in, but I do see school pictures of her and a boy—her brother, I'm assuming.
"That old bitch," I hear shouted from a room at the end of the hall.
Tatum turns her head toward me, lifting an eyebrow while smirking. "Welcome to this crazy mess."
She pushes open a door, sets Sirius on the floor, and calls out, "Who's an old bitch?"
I swallow, steeling myself for judgment before stepping into the room behind her. An old man is leaning against a barstool smoking a cigar with a pool stick resting between his legs. A guy about my age is leaned over the table, lining up a shot, and a middle-aged couple is standing behind the bar in the corner.
"Sweetheart," the old man on the stool calls out, holding open an arm. He sticks the cigar in an ashtray. Tatum walks over to him, giving him a big hug. I stand awkwardly in the entrance. The old man's eyes meet mine over Tatum's shoulder. I try my best to smile; it's not something that comes naturally at the drop of a hat for me. "Who's this?"
Tatum turns, keeping an arm around his shoulders and turning her radiant smile on me. "This is my friend, James."
I step forward, holding out my hand. "I'm James. It's nice to meet you, sir."
"Sir?" he asks. "Don't call me that shit. You'll make me feel old."
This comment pulls a genuine smile from me. He has to be in his late seventies, but I suppose as long as you don't feel old.
"Besides," her grandfather says, "I wasn't talking about him. I'm talking about the rat. Who's that rat?"
"He's not a rat." Tatum gasps, putting her hands on her hips. "That's Sirius, James’s dog."
"That's your dog?" Tatum's brother asks with a smirk, looking at the tiny black dog trotting around the room happily and sniffing at every nook and cranny.
"According to Tatum," I reply dryly. "Didn't give me much choice in the matter."
Everyone in the room laughs. "That's my girl," her grandfather says proudly. "Hammond, remember this—any girl worth your time has gumption like your sister."
Tatum kisses her grandfather's cheek.
"Anyway, let me finish introductions. James, this is Pop Pop, my grandfather."
I'm not calling him Pop Pop. No fuckin' way.
Her grandfather grasps my hand, giving it a firm shake. "Call me Walt," he says, grinning. "I like your tattoos."
I can't tell if he's being sarcastic and letting me know I clearly don't belong with someone like Tatum, or if he's being genuine. The smile on his face feels genuine, but I don't trust this quite yet.
"Thank you," I manage.
Tatum unhooks her arm from her grandfather's neck, grabbing my hand to lead me toward the others.
"James, this is my brother, Hammond. Hammond, this is James."
"Hey, man," Hammond says, sticking out his hand.
I shake it once before dropping it and clearing my throat. "Hey."
"And these crazy people over here," Tatum says, gesturing to the bar, "are my parents, Daniel and Eliza."
I shake hands with Tatum's dad and nod a simple greeting.
Tatum's mom comes around the bar and wraps me in an awkward hug. I have to bend my knees a little so she can reach my neck. Heat creeps up my neck, discomforted from being locked in an embrace with someone I don't know. I pat her back softly and awkwardly.
"It's great to meet you, James," Eliza says, breaking the hug. "Tatum speaks highly of you."
I turn toward Tatum, fucking thrilled when I find her blushing. When the red stains her cheeks, it makes her eyes look like blue flames. They burn brighter the closer I get to her and the more I touch her. Every time I see the heat creeping up her face, I want to make it spread and the flames dance.
I raise an eyebrow and smirk. "That's good to hear."
"Would you like a drink?" Daniel asks. I hesitate, looking around the room at the glasses in everyone’s hands. It's early afternoon on a Sunday. I don't want to ask for a beer if it would be inappropriate. "Eliza ordered me some hard cider from a farm in Vermont, haven't had a chance to crack one open. Would you like one of those?"
"Sounds good," I say, opening the fist that was clenched at my side and exhaling a long breath.
"Pop Pop," Tatum says with her perfect lips twitching. "Who's the old bitch I heard you yelling about?"
"Did you see the mailbox?" he asks, his gaze shining on Tatum’s mom.
"Sure did," Tatum says, grinning and leans back on the wall next to me crossing one ankle over the other.
"Those craggy old bitty bitches down the street really put a bee in your mom's bonnet." Walt picks up the cue from between his legs and slams it down to send his point home. He rests his cigar on the edge of an ashtray and curses the women down the street under his breath.
"What'd they do, Mom?" Tatum’s eyes swing to her mother and she’s still controlling the smile begging to break through. Finally, she bites her lip to stop the twitching.
Eliza sighs. Daniel rolls his eyes, shaking his head while running his palm across his forehead. "This is my house," she says, placing a hand on her hip. I envision Tatum just like that, twenty years from now, looking just like her mom and throwing around her attitude.
"You signed a contract, Mom," Hammond says, leaning one head on the pool table and staring at his mom.
"You're such a lawyer," Eliza shoots back, clearly not thinking too highly of her son’s profession. "It's my house. I should be able to do whatever I see fit. Some little HOA fine is not going to stop me!"
"It was a two-hundred dollar fine, my dear," Daniel says, resting a hand on her shoulder. "That's not a little fine."
"I love fall, so sue me." Eliza flips her hair over her shoulder and waves her hand in the air.
"What'd you do, Mom?" Tatum asks again.
Her mom turns toward her, smiling. "I found these cute little orange lights I thought would look really cute around the flowerbed where I put the pumpkins. The HOA ladies claim they're Christmas lights and reminded me we can't have Christmas lights until December seventh."
"Ridiculous," Tatum mutters.
"They fined me," Eliza says, waving her hand in the air like it's no big deal to be fined. "Your father asked me to take them down so we don't receive a weekly fine, so I did. There's nothing in the HOA rules about foul language, though."
I burst into laughter, along with the rest of the room. Eliza laughs until she catches my eye and stops. Her eyes go wide as she stares at me. My laughter cuts off, too, and I’m feeling uncomfortable under her gaze.
"Wow," she says softly. Tatum hooks her arm through mine. I look down at her with a slight frown.
"I know," she says to her mother. Her face turns toward mine; she's wearing the softest smile and her eyes are filled with tenderness. For me.
Fuck.
All the oxygen in my lungs ceases to circulate. I stop breathing. My heart stops beati
ng. Everyone in the room falls away as I soak in the tenderness in Tatum’s eyes. I’ve never felt anything like this.
I swallow, but I still can’t tear my gaze from hers. When her hand skims down my arm and wraps around my hand, my heart restarts and my lungs fill with air. My eyes finally leave hers, I feel like I just went ten rounds in a boxing ring. One look from Tatum knocked me on my ass. It’s a fight I want to lose, though.
"Friends," Hammond grunts. "Right."
I tense, remembering we aren’t alone in a room. We’re in a room filled with her family. I raise my head over Tatum, and my eyes meet his. I expect him to be scowling at me, but he's just wearing a knowing smile.
"Tatum," Hammond says. "Go help Mom with the food."
"Uh…" Tatum freezes. I feel every part of her body tense. "I think I'll stay here."
"It's going to happen, honey," Eliza says, pulling Tatum away from me. "None of us buy that friend act. Just let the men get their man chat over with."
"But…" Tatum reaches for me.
"Go," I say quietly, enough for only her to hear.
"But—"
"Sunshine, just go with your mom." I bend down, scooping Sirius up and passing him to her.
Once the women leave the room—Tatum practically clawing her way to try and stay—I turn toward the men, expecting the inquisition immediately. Tatum and I aren't dating. That's not what we're doing. I'm not about to tell the men in her family that we're fuck buddies. While we're not dating, we're not exactly just friends, either.
None of them start in on any questioning. Her father hands me a bottle of cider before pulling one out for Hammond and Walt. Hammond racks the pool table, glancing up at me. "You play?"
I shrug. "A bit."
"Let's do this over a game," he says.
I lick my lips, nodding and readying myself for questions I don't want to answer, that I don't know how to answer. There isn’t a way in hell I would've been able to get out of this. I knew when Tatum and I strolled into that room, something like this would come. We could claim friendship until we're blue in the face, and this still would've happened. I hoped it wouldn't, but still knew.
