Page 80 of Puppy Love

Violet shrugs.

“I don’t remember what it’s called. Anassia bought it for me.” A little crescent forms on the corner of her mouth as she gives me another sly smirk. “Wanna taste?”

I frown, crossing my arms.

“No, actually.” I look across the room at Adrian and Hayden. Adrian is chatting with, ugh, Anassia, but Hayden’s eyes are glued to me, a blonde brow raised. “I have to go.” I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “Bye.”

Violet chuckles, muttering under her breath, “Night, Sparky.”

twenty-six

Cunt

Violet

It’s funny how, when you spend enough time with someone, little things start to remind you of them. Like how, every time I see a service dog, I think of Hayden. Little shiny tubes of lip gloss make me think of Mallory, no matter how hard I try to fight it. But it seems, after that night I showed up on her doorstep, everything reminds me of Cam.

The little shark-shaped gummies at the gas station when I go inside to pay. Anything brown: the mountains, bare branches, my morning cup of coffee. I see people walking their dogs through my neighborhood, and I wonder if she is the one who cut their hair.

I even find Cam in things that have nothing to do with her at all. Veering through the winding, snow-clad city streets, I’m reminded of her bright, dimpled smile. It’s breathtaking and rare, and even though it’s something you have to earn, I never feel like I deserve it. Everything in pairs reminds me that she’s a Gemini, which is funny because it makes so much sense yet none at all. Every time I watch a movie, I wonder if she’s read the book. I think about what differences there might be, and if maybe I should read them too, so I can experience the story the same way she does.

I’ve never really been a reader. It’s hard to focus when it’s quiet, but it’s difficult to comprehend the words in front of me when I’m surrounded by noise. Cam loves reading though, and she makes me want to love it too.

Even now, standing here next to a bright yellow mop bucket, I’m reminded of her. Of the day after we met, that wide-eyed look of panic on her face. The silent nervous nods, and her refusal to meet my eye. I think about how we ended up in that shower two weeks ago, and how the two days almost seem like different worlds entirely, different dimensions merged into one.

I guess that’s what life is like with her around. Multidimensional.

Water trickles down the wringer into the murky mop bucket. Sounds of movement permeate the air around me, dogs barking and tussling, imperceptible staff conversations. It’s nice not to have to create my own noise like I do at home, blasting music or turning on the television. It’s one of the few things I do like about this job. The dogs, of course. And my coworkers, they’re amazing. But what I’m most grateful for is the lack of silence.

That’s why I’m still here, thirty minutes after my shift ended. I can’t afford silence right now.

“Still here?” Cam’s head turns, her eyes traveling to meet me. I pull the salon door shut behind me, the splintering wooden mop handle gripped in my calloused hands.

“Figured I could do a little cleaning up,” I shrug, then flash her a teasing grin. “Kinda grimy in here, don’t you think?”

Cam cocks a brow, then readjusts her gaze onto the dog in the tub.

“It wouldn’t be so grimy if you installed those vents I’ve been talking about for the last two months.”

A coy smirk plays on her lips, knowing that she’s won. It’s a win-lose scenario when Cam wins. She starts to act invincible, like she can get me to do anything. Whether or not she’s correct isn’t the point. But she also gets this glow about her, a confidence she doesn’t typically own. Her lips tug up, her eyebrow quirks, and the slight tilt of her head makes me want to lose just so that I can see it.

“The electrician never called me back,” I say as an excuse, my cheeks flushing. “But, touché.”

Cam’s hands glide through the thick white suds soaked into the dog’s coat. It’s comical to be jealous, but if you knew the way Cam’s hands feel in your hair, you’d understand. Nothing compares to the soft tug, the gentle massage of those smooth fingertips against your scalp. It’s cosmic, the way all the hair on your body stands as you melt into her touch. Cam is stubborn and morose, but the worst crime she could commit would be to never let me feel those hands again.

I don’t have a good reason to still be here, I know that. But if I could, I would spend every free second of my life here anyway, watching her. My eyes drop to the floor as the mop glides across a spot of dried soap.

“So did Anassia ever call Adrian?” I ask. I don’t bring up Anassia’s name to watch Cam’s eye twitch, but it’s a perk I can’t say that I loathe. Just like I hadn’t accepted the drink Anassia bought just to make Cam jealous, but I hadn’t hated her reaction then either.

Truthfully, I had accepted it for the opposite reason. I thought Cam would feel relieved, knowing the staff would see me publicly flirt with the person that was intended to be the main attraction of the event. After that, nobody would think twice about seeing us next to one another at the exhibits.

But after she power-walked over, her brows pressed together, that angry glare in her eye, I realized it had the opposite effect. At least it would have if mostly everyone hadn’t already left. I knew then, watching her stand between us, that Cameron Miller was jealous.

I haven’t had anyone act jealous over me before. Mallory was the showpiece, the person everyone’s eyes locked onto when she entered the room. She never had a reason to be jealous. Nobody ever felt like a threat.

I’m ashamed to say it, embarrassed really, but it’s a gratifying feeling to have someone fight to keep you to themselves. I know it means nothing; maybe just like me, Cam doesn’t like to share. But something still flutters in my chest when I think about it.

“She said it didn’t click with her studio,” Cam answers grimly. “But the Greenrock Gallery actually asked to display it, so it was a bittersweet outcome for them.”

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