Page 12 of No Place Like Home

Just. Like. That.

Like I weighed nothing.

“Thatthingis not a dog,” I said before turning around.

I could have sworn I saw a mane onSimba. Dogs didn’t have manes. Not caring, I bent to remove the dirt and grass off my kneecaps. These were my new yoga pants. It wasn’t like it mattered because everything I owned was black, but they still had that shiny new black tint. Once that was taken care of, did I turn around to the asshole who thought it was okay to have a lion-dog as a pet.

“He’s actually pretty friendly. I think he likes you.” I heard the teasing in his voice.

“So are serial killers, and they tend to kill you.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

The guy busted out laughing. I turned around in time to see him throw his head back in hysteria. He was wearing black basketball shorts, sneakers, and a white t-shirt that hugged all of his muscles. My stomach dropped. He was broad and tall, and his dark skin looked baby smooth. When he brought his head down, he did it smiling, his perfect white teeth gleaming against the contrast of his dark skin. His green eyes flashed when we made contact. He looked at my sister, and then at me.

Holy shit.

“Jess,” he whispered.

To avoid looking at him, I looked at my sister, who was about to get her hand eaten off by thatdog. I was right; it had a mane. The dog (lion) was huge, with golden fur and huge paws, and his tail had some fluff at the end. When I saw him open his mouth, his black tongue peeked through. I took a step back. That shit was not normal.

“Rosie,” I warned.

“He won’t bite,” Quincy assured me, and I could feel him staring at me.

Act cool. Act normal, I kept mentally repeating.

“He basically tackled me, so I’d say otherwise,” I mumbled.

“He’s like his daddy. Football is life.”

I couldn’t help but grin at him, calling himself “daddy” to that dog. Quincy gave me a glance-over that made me feel self-conscious. My hair was no longer pitch black with bangs; instead, it was my natural chestnut. My eyes weren’t covered in excessive eyeliner. Nowadays, I stuck with chapstick, my vampy lips long forgotten.

“You want to pet him?” he asked, his gaze lingering on my face.

“I’d rather live.”

“Jess doesn’t like dogs,” my sister told him as she happily petted Simba.

Her hands ran over the dog's mane. The dog closed his eyes in awe. Seriously, did Juliet not teach this kid about stranger danger?

“You don’t like dogs? How come I never knew that?”

“We weren’t really friends,” I replied nonchalantly.

When his eyes flashed with pain, I realized what I had said. Out of all the things my therapist wanted to talk about,thatincident had been one I was actually open to discussing. He didn’t owe me anything, and it had been my assumption thinking we had been friends. Being friendly with someone didn’t make them your friend. I didn’t blame him, and I didn’t say it to be mean; I was just stating a fact. We were just coworkers.

“Jess, I’m really sorry.”

Quincy took a step forward, and I found myself taking one back. Immediately, he went still and stopped right on the spot.

I felt like an asshole.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I wasn’t in a good place. I lashed out at you. If anything, I’m so—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, and my eyes went back to his. “Don’t apologize to me.”

Oookay.

If it wasn’t for Simba licking my sister's face, things would have been awkward.

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