Page 22 of Total Jane Wreck

“You’re just full of surprises,” I say.

“Well, it’s a crime that you’ve never seen this movie.” Chet gestures toward one of the chairs. “Have a seat. I’m walking Freckles first.”

After all the drama today, I’m sort of in a daze, so I don’t bother questioning Chet or his movie choice. And soon, I’m mesmerized by the old black-and-white film. Even when it’s my turn to walk Freckles, my eyes are glued to the screen.

However, once the credits roll, I turn to Chet. “I’m confused,” I say. “Earlier, you compared me to a rotting corpse and incestuous mother of a serial killer?”

He grows indignant, chest hitching. “I was saying that you’re not Norma Bates.”

“But I would be if I’d puked again?”

“It’s an imperfect analogy. Yet it still worked.” Chet’s crooked smirk, with that single dimple, appears. “You didn’t puke again, now did you?”

My shoulders sag. “What are we watching next? Perhaps something uplifting—a film that Freckles would enjoy.”

Chet shrugs. “Black Beauty?”

“Are you deranged? The horse in that movie endures some major trauma before finding his happily-ever-after. Besides, I have trouble believing that any live-action horse movie didn’t mistreat the animals.”

“Sorry. My bad.” Chet’s walking Freckles right now, and he pivots toward the horse. “What would you like to watch, Freckles? An animated, horse-friendly film?”

“Ooh—I know. How about Babe?”

“The one with the pig? Never seen it.”

“What?” I demand. “Why not?”

“It looks silly?”

“Well, it’s not! Trust me,” I say. “By the time we get to its last, classic line, Babe will be your new favorite movie. Otherwise, I’ll pay you five bucks.”

“Deal,” Chet says. “That offer’s way too good to turn down.”

So, Chet, Freckles, and I watch Babe. And at the end, when James Cromwell stares down at his beloved little pigs, saying, “That will do,” I steal a glance at Chet. He’s discreetly wiping away tears.

“Ha!” I cry. “Admit it! You loved the movie!”

Chet rubs his eyes. “Fine. It wasn’t half bad. Maybe not my favorite film ever, but you’re off the hook for five dollars.”

Around an hour later, Freckles poops. By that time, Chet and I are both punchy from fatigue. We whoop and cheer, and Chet grabs me by the waist, spinning me around. When I feel his arms around me, lifting me from the ground, every nerve ending awakens. A hot streak of desire flashes through me.

“We did it!” Chet cries. “Good job, Jane.”

I laugh. “What about Freckles? He deserves some praise.”

Chet places me down. I stumble back, hoping it’s too dark outside for Chet to see me blush.

“Sorry,” he says. “Got carried away.” He reaches for my elbow, steadying me. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Never been better,” Chet says. His voice is low, intimate, kindling-like.

I clear my throat so he won’t hear my heart pounding. “Well,” I say, “think I’ll take Freckles to the barn. Maybe he’s ready to eat and drink now.”

Later, Axel Rose arrives at work right as I put Freckles in his stall for a nap.

“Jane,” she says, “you’re going to get some rest now, too, correct?”