Page 83 of Doc Showmance
32
Amber
My attempt to avoid temptation failed. I’d become weak. So weak.
This was big trouble. It suggested heavy emotions were about to come knocking. The ones I avoided. They brought on clinginess, hand holding, cuddling, and buying groceries together.
Now ten p.m., I stood on the front steps of Ian’s apartment, Pinot at my side. I hesitated, not ringing the doorbell.Do I go in or leave the pie I baked for him and hightail it out of here? Why the hell did I bake him a pie?
Through the closed door, Ian said, “Are you going to ring the doorbell or not?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
He opened the door. “How about if I visit with the dog while you decide?”
To my surprise, Pinot pranced inside.
“Hey, he’s my dog, not yours.” I pushed into his apartment.
“He likes me better than you.” Ian plopped onto the floor and hugged the little dog.
“No, he doesn’t. I made pie.” I held up the pumpkin pie I’d cooked a few hours ago. “Not sure you like pumpkin, but it’s… We didn’t get proper dessert at Thanksgiving. It’s still warm.” I felt awkward as hell. As if I’d forgotten how to relate to him.
“Pie?” He jumped up. “I’ve never had anyone bring me pie.”
“What kind of women are you dating if they don’t bring you pie?”
“The kind who don’t eat sweets.”
“Women who don’t eat sweets can’t be as much fun as me.”
“They weren’t.”
“Have you ever dated someone who wasn’t a model or celebrity before? Someone who’s not afraid to throw a punch and enjoys a good burger?”
“Never dated anyone like you. I’ve got a can of whipped cream in the refrigerator. Come on.” He took the pie out of my hands. “Besides, we haven’t even established what this is. Are we dating?”
“We’re making the best of a crummy situation.”
I tried not to notice how droolworthy he looked in his dark jeans and worn T-shirt from some concert. The way the shirt outlined his pecs and the tightness of the sleeves captured his sculpted arms… I’ve never seen a man fill out clothes quite so well. It was clear he spent time working out.
“You’re staring.”
My face scorched. “Sorry. That shirt…the jeans… They look good on you.”
“Is this a kissing book?” The screech came from the corner.
I turned to stare at the African Grey in his cage. The bird cocked his head and stared at us. We both burst into laughter.
“Sorry.” Ian put the cloth cover over his cage. “It’s time for him to go to bed, right Fred? He’s usually quiet once the cover goes on.”
He sliced the pie and served two pieces with a swirl of whipped cream. He sat while I stood at the counter. One bite, and he declared, “This is good.” He held up a piece of crust.
“Don’t feed my dog. No. Don’t,” I warned.
Ian waved the piece of crust. He dropped it on the floor near Pinot, who gobbled it faster than I could dive for it, watching me the entire time he ate it. The little brat knew better than to eat dropped food.
“If he gets the shits on your floor, that’s on you. Stop bribing him for love. Not again.” I grabbed at him when he had another piece of crust in his fingers to throw to Pinot.
