Page 48 of Pretending I'm Yours

Sure enough, when we get downstairs, signs of Pudge’s late night forage litter the floor in front of the refrigerator, even asthe greedy beast in question moans in front of his empty food dish like he’s been on a hunger strike for days.

“You are so naughty,” I say, wagging a finger his way as I grab a fresh trash bag from under the sink and start to gather the mess. Thankfully, there wasn’t much in there aside from mostly empty takeout containers that Pudge has licked clean, but I still feel terrible for messing Anthony’s tidy home. “I’ll get the mop in a second,” I assure him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “The floor looks fine and the cleaning service is coming in a few days.”

“Oh. Okay, that makes sense,” I say, adding another luxury item to Anthony’s list of expensive habits. But I don’t mind cleaning my house or…our house, should it come to that. I truly believe we could make things work financially should Anthony decide a future together is worth giving up his spendy lifestyle.

He’s so smart and charming. I’m sure he could find a wonderful job with chances for advancement that wouldn’t depend on him staying in supermodel shape or getting naked with strangers. Besides, he’s getting older. I don’t mind the age gap between us at all, but surely at forty, he’s starting to think about quitting the biz eventually…

I’m about to throw caution to the wind and ask him if he’s thought about when he might switch career tracks, when he distracts me with a steamy kiss by the sink before reaching past me to grab the kettle on the stove for coffee.

“And I have more enjoyable things in mind than mopping,” he says. “The storm is through and it’s going to be warmer today. What do you think about taking Pudge on a Manhattan adventure?”

I hum beneath my breath, staying close as he fills the kettle. “I’m intrigued. What kind of adventure are you thinking?”

“Ice skating in Central Park?” he asks.

I grin. “Do they have skates in his size?”

“Ha ha,” he says, giving my ass a gentle slap before stepping around me to put the kettle on to boil. “We’ll take him in your carrier, woman. I can wear it if you’re worried about falling on the ice. Not to brag, but I’m a beast on the rink. I used to play in an intramural hockey team before business got too crazy a few years ago.”

Refusing to think about what “crazy” business means for an escort or how many women Anthony has probably slept with, I shoot back, “I’m not too shabby myself. Never played hockey, but I grew up two blocks from the rink our town puts up in the park every winter. I can do a double spin. Never got the triple, but I haven’t fallen in a really long time, so…”

“Hot,” he says, grinning down at me as he wraps an arm around my waist.

I laugh, leaning into him. “Thanks. But I’ll still let you carry Pudge if you don’t mind. He might be a little much for me to manage on skates.” I glance down, to where Pudge is rubbing against Anthony’s leg with a passion he usually displays only with me. “And he obviously has a thing for you.” I shake my head with a faux disgusted sound. “Get a grip, buddy. Haven’t you ever heard of playing hard to get?”

“Don’t listen to her, Pudge,” he says, gathering my ginger love into his arms, where he immediately begins to purr. “You don’t have to play hard to get with me. The feeling is totally mutual and we’re going to tear it up on the ice.”

And that’s how we end up on the subway uptown an hour later, with Pudge in his carrier—a clear bubble backpack that lets him see everything around him while staying safe and cozy—and Anthony and I bundled in sweaters and scarves.

The walk through Central Park to the rink is pure enchantment, with fresh snow peacefully resting beside the recently cleared paths and holiday music drifting from vendors selling toasted nuts and mugs of cocoa.

Christmas may be over, but it doesn’t seem like anyone in New York is ready to let the holiday season go just yet. The rink is still bedecked in lights with a massive tree in the center that Pudge studies with extreme interest as we stop to take a quick selfie halfway through our skating session.

“He looks like he wants to be up that tree wrestling with the Nutcracker ornaments,” I say, laughing as Pudge meows in agreement.

Anthony glances over his shoulder toward the pack. “Oh yeah? Are you a Christmas tree terror, Pudge?”

“The worst. I had to switch to felt ornaments to protect the ornaments and his paws,” I say, as we skate off to join the rest of the people circling the ice on this peaceful morning. Thanks to our relatively early rise, we’re here before the tourists have descended and the city feels like it belongs to the locals again. But by the time we finish at eleven, the hordes are assembling at the skate rental.

“Hungry?” Anthony asks as we change back into our shoes, Pudge prowling the area around us on his leash, enjoying a break from the carrier. “We could grab lunch up here before we head back to our neck of the woods.”

“Starving,” I say. “But we’d have to find a pet-friendly place. I don’t think Pudge will be up for much more carrier time without an extended break to stretch his legs. Preferably somewhere warm and dry.”

Pudge meows as he shakes a paw made damp from melting ice rink shavings and shoots a slightly traumatized look my way.

I gather him into my arms, assuring him, “I know, wet paws are the worst. Sorry, buddy.”

“What about this?” Anthony asks, extending his phone my way.

I glance down to see shots of a cute café with exposed brick, fairy lights, and cat trees and climbing walls integrated into the decor. And they serve brunch!

“Perfect,” I breathe. “If it isn’t too far.”

“Twenty short blocks once we’re out of the park, but we could take a scooter.” His grin turns mischievous. “The electric ones go pretty fast.”

I exhale a nervous laugh. “But not too fast. I’m a chicken.”

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