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Behind me, Warren clears his throat. I look, and he’s squinting at Duke. “Is my dog wearing… a bow tie?”
The bow tie! I almost forgot that Bethany and I picked out one of the many bow ties that we made at the shop and attached it to Duke’s collar before she left. It’s plaid, and he looks thoroughly dashing.
I grin at Warren as I straighten the bowtie. “Yes! Do you like it? He was feeling like he needed a little something extra, you know?”
“Duke thought he needed”—Warren pauses—“a little something extra?”
I nod. “Sometimes he feels like everyone is looking at him, on account of him being your dog. And you post him on the Instagram and it’s important to him that he represents you well.”
“Can we circle back to how you know this?” Warren smiles like this is a joke. “Did he write you a note?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I tsk. “He told me via the pet psychic.”
“Right.” He nods as he walks inside. But at the last second, he stops and turns around. “You’re not serious, right?”
“Of course I am.”
“You hired a pet psychic to talk to my dog?”
“Well, to be honest, I made the initial appointment for Gary. On account of all the bad choices he’s been making lately. Obviously it made me question if I was providing him with the level of cat mom-ing he needs.”
“Obviously.” Warren nods, but I’m fairly sure he still thinks I’m kidding.
“And to be honest, the critter-catching was weighing on me. Like what if he ate the next one? I can’t live with that on my conscience.”
“You just had chicken at lunch,” he points out like my rationale is, well, irrational.
“That’s obviously different,” I reply, doing my best to not add ‘duh,’ to the end of the sentence, but I’m pretty sure my face says it.
“Please, go on,” Warren finally replies after a pause in which he taps two fingers against his forehead.
Honestly, I was hoping he’d want to hear more because I’ve been dying to have someone to talk to about this. “Okay, so then on my call about Gary she felt Duke’s energy, and she made this comment, and you know what? She turned out to be right about, um, something she said, so I’ve been calling her every now and again. And the other day, she told me he was partial to plaid and Bethany and I had made a couple of bowties with this vintage Burberry coat that met a tragic ending and ta-da!” I wave my fingers in a circular motion to indicate the magic of sewing. “And now he has a vintage, one-of-a-kind, Burberry bow tie.” I beam, watching Duke’s tail wag back and forth as he stands and puffs out his chest. “I hate to tell you, Warren, but your dog is extra. E-x-t-r-a and proud.”
Warren shakes his head as he closes the door behind us. “I feel like you just jumped about a thousand steps ahead of me. Did you say you talk to a pet psychic regularly?”
“A few times,” I clarify with a shrug.
“A pet psychic who works via phone calls?”
“Exactly! Phone calls and photographs. I think the pictures help her focus or something, I don’t really know. But it’s totally legit.”
“You… paid money for this?”
I throw up my hands and roll my eyes. Gary strolls in with his matching tie and promptly makes himself comfortable on one of the bags I’ve dropped in the hallway. Duke dances in a circle before settling down to stare at Gary as if he’s waiting on direction.
I place a hand on my hip and glare at Warren. “The pet psychic is a registered business, it’s not like she’s evading her taxes. And she’s a New York pet psychic, so she’s paying New York taxes. You’re welcome.”
“You’re insane,” he says, but he uses his hand to cover a smile. And to be fair, he’s not wrong.
“You’re into it though,” I reply, smiling back.
Because he is. He is so into my particular brand of crazy. I don’t know why, but fuck it, I don’t know why I find his stupid press conferences sexy either. Sometimes you just get lucky in reciprocated lust.
It catches him off-guard, at first, my reply. But only for a second. And in that second, something changes. The sexual tension that’s been building all day—all week—boils over. Because he’s into me, and I’m into him, and fuck the rest of it.
He steps towards me. One step, two. Then he trails his fingertip along my jaw before leaning in. I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he brings his lips to my ear and whispers a single, gruff word. The warmth of his breath and the intensity of the moment has every nerve ending on alert.
“Upstairs.”
Okay, same page then.
I dart a quick look at him as he straightens, then I spin around and take the stairs like my next orgasm depends on it.
