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She pushed the plate back slowly toward Flash.
“One more cookie.”
“That’s more like it,” Flash said.
She kissed Mrs. Scheinberg good-night on the cheek and walked upstairs to her apartment. It wasn’t much to look at. The “living room” was a workroom where she kept all her metalsmithing supplies stored and sorted. The bathroom was one sink and one shower stall and that was it, and her bedroom had nothing but a bed, an old blue dresser and a closet. Ian had done more with his new place in one month than she’d done with her apartment in two years. All her extra money went into her art supplies. If only she knitted or painted or wrote poetry she might have money to buy some decent furniture. But no, she had to be a metal sculptor and you can’t buy scrap metal at Target or Hobby Lobby. Too bad.
She’d just have to keep her fingers crossed one of her pieces would sell soon. If she sold any one of the pieces at the Morrison she could afford a year’s worth of supplies. But she wouldn’t think about that tonight, not with so many pleasanter things to think about like her evening with Ian.
Flash went to her bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth, took out her contacts and was ready to fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow. But she didn’t hit the pillow because her gray tabby cat Bob Ross was sound asleep on her pillow already.
“Pathetic,” she said, shaking her head at him. He didn’t even wake up when she turned the bedroom light on. “Do some housework. Earn your keep.”
Bob Ross opened one eye for one second before closing it again.
“Yeah, I figured that was your answer.”
She set her phone on her bedside charger and pulled the covers back on her bed. As soon as her head hit the sheets underneath the currently occupied pillow, her phone beeped.
Ian had sent her a text message. She grinned as she read it.
Did you make it home safe? Ian wrote.
Flash texted back quickly. Yes, I’m already in bed.
Did I wake you?
Not asleep yet.
I had fun tonight. More fun than I’ve had in six months.
Me, too.
Can we have fun tomorrow night?
That can be arranged.
What are you wearing? Ian asked. She’d seen that coming a mile away.
Cat hair.
Hot.
Want me to send you a picture of my pussy?
Yes, please and thank you.
So polite. She loved a man with manners.
“Smile, Bob,” Flash said, and took a quick pic of Bob Ross still curled on her pillow looking not unlike a furry doughnut.
She sent the picture to Ian.
Nice, he replied. Daddy likes.
Flash laughed so hard she woke up Bob Ross and he stalked off the bed in a huff.
Do I get a dick pic now? she wrote him.
