“What’s so funny?”
“He doesn’t have a tail!”
I scowled. “That’s not his fault. He got hit by a car.”
“He looks like he hates me already.” He chuckled.
“You’re laughing at him. You got hit by a car and I didn’t laugh at you.”
Vince smirked tiredly. “Nah. You just made out with me.”
“I was trying to give you mouth to mouth!”
“Dude, I was still breathing.”
“I panicked,” I defended myself.
He squeezed me tighter. “You can panic on my tongue anytime.”
I helped him to the couch rather than say anything in response. It seemed safer. Everything felt all topsy-turvy, and I didn’t want to risk opening my mouth and making it worse. I tended to do that quite often, and this situation felt perilous.
I could hear Wheels following us, his toenails clacking on the tile, his wheels squeaking as he rolled behind us. He was sniffing in these short, tiny bursts, and I knew he was smelling Vince, trying to figure out who the fuck I’d brought into his house. I also wanted to sniff Vince repeatedly, but that was something I figured I’d better keep to myself. He wasn’t cocaine, after all. Well, not that I did cocaine or anything. I’d seen Scarface. I knew what it did to people.
Vince groaned as I set him on the couch. I felt twinges of sympathy pain in my own ribs, but then I realized it was because he was still holding on to me, digging his fingers into my side. He was trying to pull me down onto the couch with him, and I didn’t want to go there. Not yet, I thought before I could stop myself. But wouldn’t it be fun?
I worked my way out of his grasp, and he grunted, knowing exactly what I was doing. He finally gave in and let go, settling back against the cushions. “You want something to drink?” I asked him, trying to keep from wringing my hands in front of me. “You can’t take the muscle relaxers yet. We have to keep you up for a few hours to make sure you don’t have brain damage.”
“I don’t have brain damage,” he assured me.
“That remains to be seen,” I said before I could stop myself.
He looked at me weird. “I could use a beer,” he said finally.
I gaped at him. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning! On a Wednesday.”
“I’m on vacation, apparently.”
“You can have water. Or juice.”
He scowled at me. “We should have gone to my house. That way I could have done whatever I wanted.”
“Too late. You wanted to come here. Water or juice.”
“Beer.”
I waited.
He rolled his eyes as Wheels sniffed his leg, and I realized he was still in bike shorts and my shirt. That got me a little hot and bothered. “Water,” he said finally. He leaned forward with a slight moan and looked down at Wheels, who froze again, looking up at him.
I left them to stare at each other, telling Vince to not touch the dog’s cart because Wheels tended to freak out if anyone who wasn’t me touched it. I clicked on the TV before I left, making sure it was loud enough that I wouldn’t be overheard. As soon as I hit the kitchen, I whipped out my cell phone, hit speed dial, and started to sweat profusely.
“This is Sandy, how can I help you?” he said when he answered his work line.
“I am so fucked,” I groaned into the phone.
“Paul.” He didn’t sound surprised to hear from me at all. “You know, I’ve been sitting here this morning, looking at your em
pty desk, wondering at just what point in your life you were taught that it was okay to hit hot men with your car. Where did I go wrong with you? Was it something I did? Do you have unresolved issues with your father?”