Page 66 of Wanted

Sitting next to my leg, her tongue lolls from her mouth and she gives an excited bark.

“I think that means yes.” I scratch her fluff between her ears.

16

Jude

I want her.

By god, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.

I could tell she was special when she was lying on the dirty ground in a torn wedding dress throwing attitude at me, but I couldn’t have guessed the layers beneath her tough exterior or how much they’d entice me.

For three weeks, I’ve had a trespasser in my quiet, secluded life, and I suddenly can’t remember why I enjoyed the solitude. Why I ever thought myself and a pack of lovable dogs would be enough.

I didn’t realize until now how much I missed human connection outside of a familial source.

Now that I’m surrounded by her softness on a daily basis, I can’t get her out of my head.

I’m convinced I smell her on my morning walks with the dogs, mixed with the scent of the dewy, spring earth and fresh air. I hear her laughter in the quiet house. I watch her walk around nightly in my tee shirt and wonder when she sneaks off to wash it.

I know she does because the rest of her clothes are fresh, but she times it perfectly so that she never misses a night sleeping in it.

The sight makes me even more desperate to peel it off her body and run my hands up the curves I imagine lie underneath.

Yet, at the same time, I question my ability to be vulnerable. When she finds out my secret, she’ll look at me with a mixture of disgust and pity like they all have before. She’ll need the story, and it’s not one I’m sure I’m ready to divulge.

The more attention that’s drawn to my strange compulsion, the harder it becomes to control.

It took my family months to realize asking me about it constantly only made the counting worse. My anxiety would ramp up, and I’d pull away a little more each time until I’d successfully driven them away. Arm’s length plus ten feet felt good to me. Even if it became a little lonely, it gave me back control.

Frankie’s proximity threatens to tear that control away from me, and I’m not sure I can freely give it up.

With a scowl etched on my face, I refill the food bins in the pantry. My movements are heavy. My footsteps loud. Items crash against one another as I push them carelessly out of my way.

A startling tone rings from my back pocket. I yank my phone out and answer it bitterly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jude. It’s Silas.”

The uncertainty of why the police would be calling me starts the steady count. The unprogrammed number tells me this is official and not a friendly call. Otherwise, my friend would have used his cell.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I blink heavily and lean against the shelf at my back for support. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I hear through the grapevine that you’ve got a woman named Frankie staying with you. Is that right?”

I swallow thick and clench my hand at my side. The pace picks up.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Exhale.

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