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His arm slid behind me on the booth and he twisted toward me again. I’d abandoned my tostada half eaten and was turned toward him.
“I like what I do, but it’s like football. Your career has a shelf life. I intend to be retired by forty-five with the cabin in Grand Lake and a condo in Florida, a damn good boat in both places and enough money to make life good until I die.”
“So, what you’re saying is, it’s worth it.”
He went back to wrapping a lock of my hair around his finger. His voice changed and so did his eyes, from all business to warm and soft.
“Yeah, it’s worth it,” he stated then asked, “Do you like Florida?”
My stomach did a clutch. “Would Florida come with a housekeeper that puts your towels on the rail after you throw them in the sink?”
His eyes got warm. “That’s the ‘make life good’ part.”
“Then I might like Florida.” His finger tugged my hair playfully, but I ignored it and asked, “Who’s paying you?”
He let go of my hair, leaned forward and took out his wallet.
“Story time’s over. We have to get back to work.”
“I guess question time is over, too.”
His eyes slid to me again telling me question time was definitely over.
We were in the Crossfire when I told him we had to go to Tod and Stevie’s to pick up Chowleena.
“Sorry?” he asked.
“I’m watching her for a couple of days.”
“We’ll go get her later.”
“We can’t go get her later. If we go get her later, that wouldn’t be me watching her. That would be her alone at home withno onewatching her.”
“I’m not takin’ a Chow dog out to work with me,” Lee stated.
“She’ll be good. I swear. She’s a great dog,” I assured.
“No.”
I had to pull out the big guns. “There’ll be naked gratitude in it for you.”
Lee hesitated, but just for a moment.
“Shit,” he mumbled.
He steered the Crossfire toward Baker District.
NINETEEN
EDDIE AND DARIUS
We cruised up to Paris on the Platte with Chowleena in my lap, her face out the open window, eyes squinty in the wind, mouth panting and fluffy fur rippling. Steve Miller’s “Jungle Love” was blaring from Lee’s radio.
There were some songs that it was a crime against nature to listen to quietly, and “Jungle Love” was one of them, although Lee didn’t agree.
I was finding the promise of naked gratitude went a long way.
As Lee parked, I looked to Paris on the Platte, part-bookstore, mostly funky coffeehouse. It had been around for ages. They made Rosie’s coffee look amateur.
