My instinct is to deny it. Or tell him to mind his own business. Because we’ve been divorced for years. I could have the entire cast of Meet the Press in there for an orgy and it wouldn’t be his business.
Not that I—or probably anyone—wants to have an orgy with the entire cast of Meet the Press.
Before I can say anything, Max opens the door behind me.
I still have my hand on the doorknob. I tighten my grip, trying to keep the door closed, but Max doesn’t take the hint and just gives it a firm tug. The door flies open. Off-balance, I stumble back a step, landing squarely against Max’s chest. His arm goes around my waist, clamping me to him.
Clive narrows his gaze into a razor-sharp glare that he aims at Max. Giving a stiff nod, he says, “Ramsey.”
Max mimics Clive, keeping his nod just as stiff and his tone—if possible—even colder. “Thorndyke.”
I lean slightly forward, hoping Max will pick up on the sign I want him to release me. He doesn’t.
Since Clive’s head looks like it’s about to explode, I don’t push it.
“Is there something I can do for you, Clive?” I ask, my tone sounding stupidly formal given the circumstances.
He doesn’t even look at me, but continues to glare at Max. If the tension in Max’s arm is any indication, he is glaring back.
Basically, we’re one whistling theme song and a tumbleweed away from a showdown at high noon.
Or low midnight or whatever.
“Clive?” I ask again. “Do you need something?”
Finally, he looks at me. He gives me a cold smile. “I came by to check on Lou.”
Ouch. It’s a low blow, hitting me in my dog soft spot. The jerk.
“Lou?” Max asks.
I say, “My dog,” at the same time Clive says, “Our dog.”
Clive recovers and continues before I point out that while we did settle on joint custody of Skip and Lou, Clive hasn’t ever had them to his house. I even have to hire a pet sitter when I go out of town. As far as I’m concerned, our “joint custody” agreement became moot years ago.
“I thought I might take Lou out for a walk,” Clive says.
“It’s after eleven,” Max says.
“I was going to come back to pick her up in the morning.”
“So you came here in person late at night to tell Holly you wanted to take her dog for a walk tomorrow? That seems like a lot of work.”
“I wanted to plan ahead.”
“But you didn’t text first?”
“I never do.”
“Oh look!” I jump in before the testosterone overload starts taking out the electric grid. “There goes a tumbleweed!”
Both men frown and then look in the direction I’m pointing.
While they’re momentarily distracted, I pry Max’s arm from around my waist and grab his hand, pulling him back into the house.
“Okay, sounds good. We’ll see you tomorrow, Clive.” I wave my free hand in a gesture that’s a little too Mickey Mouse Club enthusiastic. “Thanks for stopping by. Lou will be excited. See you then. Bye now!”
I practically have to drag Max over the threshold before slamming the door on Clive. Who, for a second there, I thought might try to follow us in.
