Kai lifted a finger. “Hold that thought.”
Flick pouted and he nearly relented, really wanting to her taste those sulky lips. “I’d rather kiss you.”
“Yeah but if we kiss then we’re going to end up in bed, and that’s complicated, remember?” Kai pushed himself up and tipped his head towards the door. “Besides, we have company.”
Flick frowned. “Who?”
"Your damned dog."
Flick muttered an obscenity. “I left him in the back yard…dammit, he must’ve dug a hole under the fence and escaped.”
“He was lucky he didn’t get hit by a car. This is a pretty busy road.”
Kai shook his head at Rufus, who was sitting on his haunches, his interest caught by something down the street. Kai followed the direction of his gaze and saw the old man and the rat and....
Shit!
With a howl, Rufus bounded across the road, ears flapping and tongue lolling and Kai sprinted to the front door, chasing the woman-he-wasn’t-going-to-sleep-with-again’s dog.
There was something very wrong with this picture, he thought, sprinting down the main street, his eyes on the crazy dog and the squealing gent. He was shouting at Rufus, who was having a fine time trying to hump the miniature dachshund’s head.
Kai ignored the outraged and slightly girly squawks coming from Mr. Pink Stilettos—God, this town! He lunged toward Rufus, grabbing his collar and managing, just, to pull him away from what looked like an overcooked hot dog on legs. Rufus howled his distress and looked up at Kai.
Maybe Flickshouldget you fixed, he thought, placing his hand on Rufus’s rump to get him to sit.
Hell, he was having a silent conversation with a dog. Kai shook his head, tightened his grip on Rufus’s collar to keep him at his side, and looked at the older man, who had the hotdog/rat/pseudo dog tucked into his neck. Oh God, the man was wearing a jeweled collar and a pink shirt with ruffles.
Mercy.Kai closed his eyes, trying hard not to laugh. Cute.
And also completely crazy.
Flick was still laughing when she walked into her house. In the hallway, she made Rufus sit and she tried to look stern, but she really couldn’t. She could still see the tableau: a hot, sexy, and confused Kai, a pissed-off Rufus, and Mr.Greystone frantically petting Candy and alternatively chewing off his lip-gloss and sending Kai “you’re-smokin'-hot” vibes.
Another laugh erupted and she gave up trying to discipline Rufus. Instead, she pointed him in the direction of the kitchen and his basket and scooped up the calico kitten weaving a path between her legs.
Cuddling the kitten, she walked into the living room, where Pippa was tucked up in the corner of the couch. The TV was on low and she was flipping through a magazine.
“Oh, Pips, you should’ve seen it. Rufus tried to attack Candy and Kai ran after him. Then he saw that it was Mr.Greystone’s day to dress up and he was wearing this sparkly collar and Mrs. G’s pink ruffled blouse and Kai was all'what the fuck?'”
Mr.Greystone was a high school art teacher, now retired, and Mercy’s favorite cross-dresser. After years of trying to hide her husband’s peccadillos, Mrs. G finally threw in the towel and compromised: one night a month Mr. G could raid her closet and wear what he liked. Mercy residents looked forward to his eclectic outfits and they were avidly discussed the next morning over coffee. Or now, no doubt, on the online forum. Flick hoped that the anonymous comments would be, at the very least, kind.
Flick waited for Pippa to laugh, but when she didn’t, Flick frowned and walked into the room. Pippa just continued to stare at her magazine, her mouth pulled into a tight line.
“What’s wrong?”
Pippa tossed the magazine onto the floor and jumped to her feet. Her eyes were bright with anger and unshed tears and Flick felt her stomach plummet to the floor. “Where do I start?”
Oh, crap, the volume of Pippa’s voice was climbing. Flick could tell that the storm was about to break. Pippa rarely lost her self-control, but when she did, small animals and big people ran for cover. Flick put the kitten on the back of the chair and sat on the arm of the couch. When Pippa was this upset, the trick was to keep her cool, to keep calm. If she didn’t, the house might not survive.
“I called Mom tonight, as I always do.”
Oh. Crap. This wasn’t good. “How was she?”
“You should know, you spoke to her earlier. When I called she was a bit doped up and she was confused. She thought I was you.”
Of course—because this was her crappy life—she did. Flick, deciding to err on the side of caution, kept quiet.
“She kept begging me, you, not to tell.”